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concerned him was that he’d stepped into his apartment to find them propped on his kitchen table.
    The retro clock on the wall seemed loud. Danny thought of gunfighters in the old West, the silence before the storm of bullets. He dropped his bag on a stool, tossed his keys on the counter. Kept his voice calm as he spoke – ‘Make yourself at home.’ His fingers tingled with adrenaline, but it was too late to back out now. It wasn’t just dogs that could smell fear; criminals had a pretty good nose for it, too.
    ‘What’s with the Heineken in the fridge?’ Evan leaned back in his chair, rocking it up on two legs, the picture of comfort. There were three empty green bottles on the table already, a fourth well on its way.
    ‘Karen’s.’
    ‘Tastes like piss.’
    Danny glanced around casually. If there were any other surprises planned, he wanted to know about them. The table sat in an alcove beneath the window, bright with afternoon sun. The rest of the kitchen didn’t offer much cover, just a small counter and a pantry on the far side. The pantry was maybe large enough for a person, but the bifold doors would make for an awkward exit. How long had Evan been here? And how had he known Danny would be the first onehome, and not Karen? ‘Didn’t seem to slow you down any.’
    Evan shrugged. ‘Been a while since I’ve been able to enjoy cold beer. I’m still catching up. Of course,’ his eyes now hard, ‘you’ve had plenty of time, haven’t you?’
    Something tightened in Danny’s gut, that humid stirring through his entrails, like the wind preceding the subway. It was an old feeling, familiar, but not missed.
    He turned away, went to the fridge. Grabbed a bottle for himself, thought of the cooler move, took another. Popped the caps and handed one to Evan as he sat down.
    Evan finished the beer he’d been working on in one open-throated swallow. The black T-shirt he wore traced the lines of his muscles. The upper curves of a blue-black tattoo extended just past the collar. The design was ragged and messy. Ink from inside always was. Tricky to be precise with a straight pin and a ballpoint.
    Danny played at being casual as he undid the top button of his oxford and rolled the cuffs, but his mind crackled and hummed. There was no good angle from which to see Evan breaking into his house. It ramped the tension between them, elevated it to action. The disrespect would have been intentional. Only one conclusion to draw.
    Evan was stepping things up.
    Which made cool all the more important. Cool was currency. Cool suggested a lack of fear, an equal footing. He raised the beer. ‘Cheers.’
    ‘Cheers.’ They clinked bottles, looking into each other’s eyes, neither acknowledging the tension. ‘Just like old times, huh? Two friends bullshitting over a beer.’ Evan’s tone was jovial. ‘You know what it reminds me of?’
    Danny smelled a setup, chose to play along. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘This con I knew in Stateville. Chico. Chico was a prison queer, shaved his chest and wore his jumpsuit half open. You remember the type? Suck your cock for two packs ofsmokes, or one pack of menthols. He belonged to Lupé, this big Norteño Mexican, but they had an understanding. Chico could work to keep himself in luxuries, long as he split the take.’
    Evan paused, holding his beer by the neck, eyes still drilling into Danny. Didn’t seem like he’d blinked yet. Danny met the gaze, knew better than to look away. The tension in his gut grew worse.
    ‘I’d been in a couple months when Chico got a new cellie, some eighteen-year-old transfer. Word round the yard said it was love, that Chico’d been hitting his knees for this new boy with no smokes required. Truth be told, Lupé might have tolerated that – he wasn’t a fag so much as a player – but Chico took it too far. Told Lupé they were through. He’s a changed woman, and not working anymore.’
    Evan paused to take a sip of beer. ‘You know what? I’m coming