Who’s Elvis?
Around 11:00, Penny came in with the mutts. “Cuervo’s not a big fan of seagulls.” She said and laughed.
Another mystery solved, I thought. What did you do? I asked him, Knock over another bag lady?
Better, Tawny said. He ran into one of the other undercover agents, knocked him to the ground, and made him lose his radio-earpiece.
Nice job, I said to Cuervo.
It was an accident. I saw some seagulls talking to a squirrel and had to break it up, he growled.
You didn’t happen to see Elvis did you? I asked.
No, who’s Elvis?
If you have to ask, I replied.
Don and Pete shuffled in with a box of donuts.
“Nice look, Don,” Stormy said, “Does your wife know you left the house like that?” He was wearing a bright orange Hawaiian shirt over green plaid shorts. The dark blue socks he wore with his cheap plastic flip-flops, framed the whitest knees I’d ever seen.
“He actually wore this to the station,” Pete said, shaking his head. Pete was wearing a pastel colored oxford, tucked into a pair of ironed blue jeans over polished black cowboy boots.
Chuck snapped a picture of Don with his phone and whispered to Bailey, “This is for the next time you complain about my clothes.