Officer Elvis by Gary Gusick

talking you’d think this was Iraq,
he thought.
    The whiny reporter continued. “And I’m sorry to say that our view of the entrance is blocked so that we can’t see what’s going on. We do understand that several more Jackson Police Department vehicles have been called to the location and are parked behind the center. And just moments ago, an ambulance entered the area, suggesting the possibility of human injury.”
    That peckerwood is sure in love with the sound of his voice,
thought Daniels.
    “Your pulled pork special, with sweet slaw and sweet tea,” Ginger said, standing over him, leaning down. He glanced at her rack, couldn’t help but do so, and hoped she didn’t notice, or if she did, that she’d be the kind who would take it as a compliment. “You got your choice of sauces,” she said.
    He listened to hear if there wasn’t an invitation in her voice.
Yep
. There it was. Not the words she was using, but that soft-cooing way she said them. He’d be back tomorrow.
    “Thank you. I’d like the smoky sauce,” he said, still not daring to look into her eyes. Thinking if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave it at that.
    “Anything else I can do for you?” Ginger asked, not at all flirty now. In fact, a little bit of a hurry in her attitude.
    Job pressure is all,
he thought reaching for his fork. When he looked up, Ginger had already disappeared into the kitchen.
Shit
.
    He turned his attention back to the flat screen. Same bullshit report. Same damn reporter.
    Maybe next time Ginger walked past his booth he’d stop her and ask if her boss would mind if he took the remote and surfed the channels, thinking maybe one of the other stations might have more up-to-the-minute news or at least a less aggravating reporter. He decided against it. He didn’t want Ginger remembering how interested he was in the goings-on at the convention center. Anyway, all those TV news reporters had the same basic information. So despite this guy Klein’s irritating way of talking, it didn’t really matter what station was on.
    “No, ma’am, everything is fine,” he said when Ginger came to ask again if there would be anything else.
    “You enjoy,” she said.
    He lifted the top piece of white bread on his barbecue sandwich, doused it with the smoky sauce, and took his first bite, careful not to let the sauce drip down the side of his mouth, thinking how that would look if Ginger saw him.
    Daniels glanced up at the flat screen. “Stand by,” the reporter said, still holding his earpiece in place. “It’s this reporter’s understanding that an ambulance is now departing from the convention center, with a police escort.”
    He heard sirens screeching and they were getting louder, meaning the ambulance was coming down the street right past Petunia’s. Ginger rushed to the window and stood on her tiptoes, her round little butt tightening into muscle.
    “Obviously, this is a transport situation…” said Klein.
    Transport situation,
thought Daniels.
It’s a damn ambulance. What else would it be?
Dispensing with the straw, he took a big gulp of sweet tea, remained fixed on the TV report.
God damn it,
he thought.
Just say what the hell is going on.
    The reporter made a big show of putting his hand over his ear again. “All right, we’re getting another update. While we can’t provide the identity of the person in the ambulance, we are being told it’s a female, a woman believed to be a member of Senator Alan Brewsome’s campaign staff.”
    Hold on a minute,
thought Daniels.
That can’t be right.
    “I’ll fill you in when we know more,” the reporter continued. “In the meantime, the blockade remains in place.”
    “What’d he just say?” Daniels blurted out as Ginger walked up to his table.
    “A woman is injured. But they don’t know any more,” she said. “You want dessert?”
    “I can’t today. I need to get back to, ah, to work,” he said, standing up to leave. He fished in his pocket, retrieved a