[Side-eyeing the knife comes next, because apparently Rafe is stocking a goddamn arsenal on his person these days and it makes him wonder whether the guy has taken up more serious hobbies.]

I'm not worried about the permits, I'm worried about the statement, Tex.

[David points out, slipping around the counter and prodding at the small of Rafe's back before snagging half a bagel.]

Please tell me you don't have a poncho in the back of your conspicuously slick car.