The idea wasn’t totally without merit, but lacked elegance. Too much noise, and it wasn’t like the bum had done anything to deserve a beating. Besides, Evan was Golden Gloves. Probably end up killing the poor bastard. Danny squinted, trying to think of a way to get rid of the guy without complicating the job. Then smiled. “I’ll take care of it.” He reached for the door handle.

“He looks dangerous. Don’t forget the pistola.” Evan held it out, a mocking smile on his lips.

“Fuck you.” Danny stepped out of the car.

At the sound of the door, the bum scrambled to his feet, holding his hands in front of him. The sleeves of his suit jacket were three inches too short. Beneath it he wore several sweatshirts. “I got nothing.” Drink rounded the edges of his words, and he reeked of urine and panic. “Don’t hurt me.”

Danny shook his head. But for the grace. “Relax, old man.”

The man peered at him suspiciously, ready to run. “You got a cigarette?”

“Don’t smoke. My friend,” jerking a thumb toward the car, “he smokes. But he will hurt you.”

The man stiffened, yellowed eyes darting. “Listen, mister-”

“Shut up.” Danny reached in his pocket, took out his wallet. “See this? Twenty bucks.”

The bum froze, eyes locked on the bill. “I – I don’t do that stuff, the faggot stuff…”

Danny couldn’t help chuckling. The guy clearly had no idea what he smelled like. “Take this money and go up to Grand and LaSalle. There’s a liquor store there. Buy a bottle, take a seat in the parking lot.” Danny stepped closer, his voice conspiratorial. “In about half an hour, a friend of mine will come by. I need to tell him something, but I don’t want to say it on the phone, know what I mean? My friend, he’ll be wearing a tan raincoat. You tell him – you listening? – you tell him the birds have flown the cage. You do that, he’ll give you another twenty.”

“That’s it?”