SPY GAMES®! ISIS MOLE BREAKER

A Chance Encounter Part of Chapter 1

A Chance Encounter

Angela balanced three laundry baskets on top of each other as she pulled them from the back seat of her 2006 Kia Altima. Then she was satisfied that the stack wasn’t going to topple over, she bent to encircle the bottom basket in a bear hug, straightened up and kicked the car door closed in an awkward move that left her wondering why she hadn’t closed it before she picked up the baskets.

Stop blaming yourself for every little thing, she thought. There’s plenty of other people to do that for you. Brad, for example. The real Brad had left her four years ago when he found out that she was expecting their child. Now he was entirely out of her life and probably couldn’t care less if she lived or died. Mental Brad, though, still lived in her head and followed her everywhere pointing out every mistake she made. She’d love to get rid of him and his sharp, annoying, scolding voice.

She turned her head slightly so that her nose wouldn’t get stuck in one of the plastic-framed squares of the middle basket and waddled to the Laundromat door. Once there she turned around to push the door open

with her bottom, and backed into the warm, soapy world of Herbie’s Helpee Selfee.

Angela grimaced with displeasure, but not surprise, when she spotted Mrs. Screamer and her Spawn from Hell occupying the front lounge of the Laundromat. No matter what time or day she came in to do her laundry, Mrs. Screamer was there. She was an older woman - about mid-thirties - but she had two pre-school criminals-in-training who were determined to wreck everything in the business. In addition, she carried one baby in a car-seat and another in her belly. She looked about eleven months pregnant.

She doesn’t enjoy these kids, Angela thought. It must be a religious thing.

Obviously she doesn’t believe in birth control or day care.

Of course, ‘Mrs. Screamer’ wasn’t her real name. Angela just gave nicknames to people she saw regularly but didn’t want to get to know. Take for example, Mr. Reader and Mrs. Watcher, the ancient people in the lounge at the back of the business.

The lounges in both the back and the front consisted of six locked-together plastic chairs. The back lounge also boasted of a wobbly wooden table that held a small box-style TV set that was always tuned to a game-show channel. The man and woman who occupied that space may have been a couple - or maybe not. They were always there at the same time but they never seemed to be aware of each other’s presence.

Right now, he sat in the second of the six-chair lineup and she sat in the fifth. They had effectively taken up all the chairs and closed that lounge off from any other sitters. Angela didn’t care. She wasn’t up to being blasted by a 1986 re-run of The Price Is Right anyhow.

She headed for a single plastic chair in the middle of the establishment that was placed where a washing machine had been removed and never replaced. Sitting between two clanking washers meant that she didn’t have to listen to either Mrs. Screamer or Bob Barker.

Her spirits fell as she heaved her baskets to the middle of the rows and saw someone’s head poking up from her favorite spot. She cheered up quickly, though, when that someone stood up and faced her. It was a man in his mid-twenties - about her age.

He was clean-shaven with neatly trimmed hair. His new white shirt and navy blue pants completed his young-professional-on-the-way-to-the-top look. Best of all he was smiling at her and gesturing for her to take his recently vacated place.

She smiled back suddenly aware of her disheveled hair and ripped, baggy sweat pants. You might try wearing makeup occasionally, Mental Brad growled at her.

Who puts on makeup to go to a Laundromat? She thought defensively. Mrs. Watcher does, if you count smearing bright-red lipstick on the wrinkles

around your lips as wearing makeup. Mrs. Screamer never does, but that might be part of her religion as well.