Desmond stopped walking so fast that he felt the man following him almost bump into his back. "I never told you my name," he observed carefully, eyes narrowing as he turned around. If this was some bullshit Detective Barker was pulling, and this guy was an informant, he was doing a really bad job.<br/><br/>Crossing his arms loosely over his chest, he drummed his fingers on his arm and considered the man carefully. Informants weren't supposed to stand out, and more importantly they weren't supposed to let you know that they already knew who you were. Even if Des wasn't surrounded by them recently, they were pretty obvious to spot out if you knew what to look for. Des' fingers stopped tapping their idle rhythm before his arms dropped to his sides and he jerked his chin in the direction of the other side of the street, beckoning the other to follow.<br/><br/>Once he had jogged across the street, he darted into an alley a few buildings down. He didn't bother to look behind him to see if the hobo-informant was following him. If it was really that important, he'd show up momentarily. Desmond leaned back against warm, callous bricks and waited.