“None,” I say. “I’m a vegetarian, remember?”

“That’s right,” he says, sounding extraordinarily disappointed. He takes another half page of notes. “There seems to be a large quantity of same-sex pairings in birds. However, the zoo turned down my request to observe the penguins there, and I’m just absolutely terrified of pigeons. I was assaulted once when I was younger by two pigeons who wanted to eat my cotton candy when I was on the boardwalk, and I really haven’t been the same since.”

“There used to be a seagull that hated Bear,” I offer, only because I am at a loss for anything else to say.

“Was it a homophobic seagull?” Eddie asks. He pours me a glass of water and sets it on the small table between us.

“I really couldn’t say.”

“That’s too bad. It’s one thing to document homosexuality in animals, but could you imagine documenting animal hate crimes? That would be groundbreaking!”

“The Nobel Prize would surely be yours.”

“The laurels would never cease,” he agrees. “Since the zoo recklessly denied me entrance and since pigeons are the spawn of the devil with nothing but malice in their hearts and minds, I thought it best to proceed with ducks. I staked out a prime location at a duck pond in the park nearby and attempted to record any sightings of homosexual behavior.”

“You were in the bushes, weren’t you.”

His face lit up. “I was! I figure if there’s any chance of seeing homosexual sex, the best place would be in the park in the bushes. I read on the Internet that it’s a prime homosexual hunting ground.”

“You’ve really thought this through,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.

He sighs. “Sadly, it was not to be. The ducks soon became aware of my presence and unfortunately banded together to chase me from the pond. I should have known by their erratic behavior that something was wrong. It was abundantly clear when I thought back on it. It wasn’t gay behavior I was observing.”

“Oh?” I ask, picking up the glass of water. “And what was so obvious?”

“They were all high on drugs. I’d inadvertently stumbled upon a group of ducks addicted to quack!”

I spray water all over myself, the desk, and Eddie Egan.

He grimaces as I struggle to breathe. “There’s something to be said for comedic timing,” he says as he takes a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes his face. “I’ve worked for days on that punch line.”

“You told me,” I gasp, “that whole story so you could tell a joke?”

He shrugs as he dabs his notepad, some of the ink smeared from my projectile spraying. “I figured it was the best way to get you to open up. It’s been a while since we’ve talked face-to-face.”

“Did you really go sit in the park in the bushes to try to find gay ducks?”

“I did,” he says. “Though I admit to the last part being a joke. I thought it might make the segue easier.”