A warm, gritty bastard wind stirred the garbage in the street. From an apartment window came the sweet, sad cry of Coltrane’s sax, wailing out from somebody’s oversized stereo system. Private dick Hamilton Beach swung open the door of his Eldo, sliding his prizefighter’s frame out out of the car and into high noon on DeWitt Avenue. Immediately, a boy in a St. Louis Hawks t-shirt bolted away from his perch on the corner and into a six-family brick flat. Just one lookout? Hamilton wondered if the Rabbit was slipping, losing focus, getting soft, enjoying the spoils of his numbers and dope rackets instead of taking care to protect them. He wasn’t careful, somebody might snatch it all away. On these streets, somebody was always ready to.

“Beach!” the Rabbit yelled as Hamilton strode into the opulent first-floor living room. “Have you lost your mind? Striding right into my opulent first-floor living room?” The bloated, indignant crime boss leaned forward on the sofa, one hand fumbling around under its soft leather cushions. “Where’d I put that damn .38?”

The tall private eye laughed. “Forget about the rod, Rabbit. I’m not here to bust up your operation. Not today. See, I’ve been told something is going to happen to you. Something bad. Something painful. I’m here to stop it, for my own reasons.”

Rabbit didn’t get where he was by taking everybody at their word. Eyes narrowing in the fleshy folds of his face, he spat, “I don’t know what you mean, detective man. And I don’t want to hear any more. In ten seconds this place will be crawling with muscle. I suggest you be gone by then.”

Beach shrugged. Like they say, you can lead a fool to knowledge… “Suit yourself, Rabbit. I was going to hip you to the Stay or Go Stainless Thermal Carafe Coffeemaker. Makes a good pot of coffee, they say. Programmable timer, auto off, the whole bit. But it also brews right into one of the included 12-ounce travel mugs. Mugs with lids, get me? Insulated mugs with nice rubber grips. But I see a man like you’s got better things to worry about. So goodbye, Rabbit. Keep cool now. And stay dry.” With that, Hamilton walked out the front door with the same unworried, unhurried gait that brought him in.

Just then, Cousin Bugs ran in from the back of the house, a pistol in one hand and a tray of four cups of takeout coffee in the other. As the Rabbit’s first lieutenant of security, Cousin Bugs was particularly concerned about Hamilton’s incursion. Damn, he thought, step out for five minutes to get coffee and the boss almost gets wiped. “Was that Beach? What’d he want?”

Rabbit scoffed dismissively. “Man’s lost his mind. ‘Stay dry.’ Please…” Reaching for the coffee, his sausage fingers recoiled from the heat of the beverage through the flimsy paper cup. The involuntary jerk of his hand set the cup to toppling out of the tray, splashing scalding coffee all over the startled crimelord and drenching a week’s worth of bookkeeping sitting on the ironically-named coffee table. The Rabbit leapt up with the quickness of his namesake, batting in vain at the burning brown liquid on his legs and torso. Through the pain and panic, a foggy image of the proud private eye rose in the Rabbit’s mind. And this mental spectre of Hamilton Beach, the cat who somehow knew this spill was going to happen and tried to warn the haughty Rabbit, was laughing.

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