Wheelan tucked his box of leaflets up under his arm. "Who do I see about a permit?"
"Me, Glenn." Chief Neff flipped off his helmet and stroked his crewcut, looking down the street. "Let's go down to the Blue Oasis and have a beer and talk."
"Can you drink while on duty?"
"Beer." He took Wheelan's arm.
"What about your motorcycle?"
"Won't come to any harm."
In one of the Blue Oasis's dark leather booths Neff said, "Don't you like the way the old town's blossoming, Glenn?"
"Cats make me feel crawly," Wheelan said, pushing his schooner back and forth in front of him.
"Why, even the slums are a sight to see. And San Miguel's getting to be a well-liked spot. Like Capistrano and Disneyland. Being well-liked is good for a town's civic pride." The chief grinned at Wheelan.
"I think there's something basically wrong with people turning into cats." Wheelan made up his mind not to drink the beer.