Project Produce by Kari Lee Harmon Page B

conversation? I forced down another giggle, and he said, “Aha. It twists at the base, see.” He gave the vibrator a good twist.
    The wrong way. Bzzzz-rrrrrrrrr!
    Good ole Jack surged into full speed.
    Gadget’s hand jerked and he nearly dropped it, fumbled, grabbed at the air, then finally caught the wiggly sucker with a horrified look on his face. I grabbed on for good measure, and the head began to rotate like a convulsing snake just as a group of pedestrians walked by... and stopped... and stared.
    “Uh, just practicing for a new movie. Attack of the Killer Vibrator,” I blurted, and the ungodly contraption chose that moment to spit what looked like whipped cream, everywhere. But mostly on me, since Gadget still had the blasted thing pointed in my direction. “Must be poisonous.” I forced a laugh.
They gave me an appalled look, then hurried along.
“Give me that thing.” I yanked it from Gadget’s hands and twisted it the opposite way until, blessedly, it shut off.
“Attack of the Killer Vibrator?” he sputtered.
“It was either that, or Inspector Gadget Has a Sex Change.”
“Inspector who?” His brow puckered.
“Never mind.” I stuffed Jack into my backpack and held out my hand. “I’m Callie, and you are?”
“Dumbfounded.” He shook my hand in a daze, still staring at my backpack.
“You are?” I prompted again.
“Oh, um, my lips are sealed. My cover, remember?”
    “Right.” Cover, schmover . “A word of advice?” I tugged on my mittens, slipped on my backpack, and headed into the street.
    “Sure.” He matched his strides to mine with difficulty, considering the bulk of his coat.
    “Maybe you should dress a little less conspicuous.” As he adjusted his coat, his pockets gaped open, and I stole a quick glance. Holy cow, he really did have a gun in there. Peering closer, I choked. A gun? Sweet Jesus . He had the entire police force arsenal in there. Why, he even had a pair of binoculars and a magnifying glass. This guy really was Inspector Gadget. What next?
    “It’s the overcoat, isn’t it?” When I nodded, he stared at his feet. “Damn, I was afraid it would be overkill, but you can never be too careful, you know.”
    “What did you say?” I stumbled, then caught myself.
    “I said you never can be too careful. Why?”
    “No reason.” I started walking again. No reason except he was the second person today to talk about being careful. What on earth was going on?
    Note to self: This is weird, even for me .
    “Well, nice meeting you,” I said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
    “Hopefully not,” he muttered. When I frowned, he added, “I won’t have a job for long if I can’t keep my cover.”
    My backpack chose that moment to start buzzing, reminding me of Gloria. Gloria . Wait just a freaking minute, she knew a lot of strange people. My new pal Jack had been surprise enough. If she was playing a trick on me, she was dead meat. I was talking six-feet-under dead meat.
Gadget eyed my jiggling pack and shook his head. “I think I’d find a ‘less conspicuous’ weapon if I were you.”
“Funny. Well, bye then.” I started down the stairs to the subway but stopped when I heard the words, “Brat two.”
“Excuse me?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Uh, my radio. Probably work. Gotta go.” And with a whoosh of camel-tan coattail, he disappeared.
    “Right.” Work, my big ole behind .
    Bzzzzzzzz!
    “Oh, shut up, Jack,” I snapped and continued down the stairs, praying no one would notice.
    ***
    Later that evening, I leaned back in my chair at the kitchen table in the small, one-bedroom apartment. As I sipped my third Bahama Mama, while listening to one of Gloria’s salsa CD’s, I rubbed my stomach. After having eaten an entire box of macaroni and cheese, I was ready to burst. Then I glanced at the clock on the wall just as Gloria--Ms. Six-Feet-Under-Dead-Meat--strolled in.
    “It’s nine o’clock, honey. Time to take a break. You’re gonna fry your brain with