She stepped off the curb and right into the big glob of blueberry gum. The way it stuck to her 3 inch heel reminded her of the experiment that had gone so horribly wrong last night. She and Corg disagreed sharply on how to handle the legal aspect. He thought they should just cover it all up, but she wanted to call in Clancy and his team. Clancy would be fast and thorough, but cut deeply into their profit margin.

After picking up the special cheese danish she'd ordered from the fat lady's bakery, she sat down on a bus stop bench to remove the disgusting germ ball from her Louis Vittones. Her cell phone vibrated, pulsating a little too appealingly in her pocket, and looking down she noticed it was Corg. The hiccups started instantly, and her fingers started to itch. "Damn," she breathed, "why can't the little bastard just wait til I get there?!"

Corg was the original lab-rat-geek that all the girls at Quantico bristled over. His thick spectacles and sweaty upper lip upset even the hardiest lesbian cadets. No one knew how old Corg was, and no one wanted to. He wore draggy-ass tan polyester slacks and armpit stained short-sleeved white shirts every day. He drove an 88 Chevy Citation, snot brown and broken to hell. He smelled like feta cheese and sewing machine oil, and his teeth were the shade of hard-boiled egg yolks.

But she liked him.