I am fond of my alligator suit. Five of the scaley suckers bought the farm so I could wear this fine three-piece ensemble. The lapels on my jacket are just wide enough to accomodate my yellow carnation. Don't you think it sets off the magenta handkerchief in my boutoniere just so? The vest is made from all belly-scales, and my trousers are oh-so-snug just up to the point at the knee where the flare starts.

Keeps those darn mud guzzlers at bay too. Especially helped while I was collecting those pages. They smell their own -- and they know when a superior species is wearing the skin of one of 'em to steer clear.

I almost got all the pages before the authorities arrived, too. Should'a fed that paper collector to the crocs instead of just tying him up for interfering. The boss won't be happy that some of the pages to his life's work got lost. Serves him right for not having a backup, I say.

Well, that gumshoe's already onto me. I'd better head back before the before the boss realises that I am the one that screwed up and somehow got attention diverted to her, as if a woman in a purple kimono and a feather boa doesn't attract enough attention by herself.

I bet this damn gumshoe will try to find her and arrange for a date or something and I bet she will screw up and give away our plans whilst in the throes of passion or something.

I must divert him away from her somehow. I guess I will go back to Bourbon Street and make sure she is safe.