First he complains about how I fix his margarita. Now he’s eyeing up my fish tank.
Let me tell you something about how things are here in Louisiana, Mr. Heron. I know every of those fish by name. (Well, okay, the school of Odessa Barbs I refer to collectively as “Yale”.) I find one of them missing and you will find yourself atop the list of ingredients when my good friends, the Fat Boys, make their next wild game gumbo.
I’m handing you off to your chauffers tomorrow for your drive to Key West. Behave yourself. They give me a good report and the grouper sandwich at B.O.’s Fish Wagon is on me.