His name was Adam Kyler. He had eyes as black as licorice jujubes and a spit curl hooked across his forehead that reminded me of a young Superman. He was nine years old. It wasn't his fault he was standing in the alley, but I shot him just the same.... Dopple Dribble is a story of revenge from beyond the grave and I guarantee you without a shadow of a doubt that after you hear this story, the very next time that you hear the sound of some kid walking down the sidewalk under the streetlights dribbling a basketball you are going to spend the rest of the night scared stiff and wide awake. Don't say that I did not warn you.