quite new. If you have any problems with this feature that cause you to experience a loss of service, we will happily provide a free replacement headset and thirty days free Redtooth service."
"Thanks a lot."
"You're welcome, Mr. Charvesky. Please hold."
Bob put his hand to his forehead and tried to make sense of what was happening to him.
"Never have to charge it," said the man behind the counter. "Runs on blood. Works good."
"Why have you done this to me?" Bob asked.
The man just grinned and offered him a pistol, "Here. You need this."
"I certainly do not need a gun," Bob said. Then he grabbed what was left of his Bluetooth headset and backed toward the door.
The man shrugged and watched Bob retreat. Then he smiled and waved, "Have a nice day."
Bob's heart raced as he scanned the area, looking for the stern-faced man or the driver of the other car. Both cars remained where he'd last seen them, but they appeared to be empty and no one was in sight. His hands trembling, he fumbled with the keys and had trouble unlocking the door, but no one attacked. Still, adrenaline surged through him; he made a hasty left-turn out of the pawnshop and accelerated to fifty-four in a fifty. "To hell with the law at a time like this," he thought to himself. The smell of beans billowed from his tailpipe. All Bob wanted at that moment was to get to a hospital and have the infernal earpiece carefully and skillfully removed.
Taking advantage of the silence, he tried to remember how to get to the hospital but found himself confused and disoriented. "Perhaps it's the fact that I have a vampire for a headset," he thought, but then he had to watch the road as the stern-faced man reappeared in his rearview mirror and was growing larger by the second.
"Turn left in three-hundred meters," Carol Ann said without preamble.
"I'm going to the hospital. They'll remove you from my ear, and then I won't have to listen to you any more." Bob replied, while trying unsuccessfully to do metric-to-imperial conversion in his head.
"You don't want to do that," Carol Ann said in a serious tone. "There is a stiff penalty for premature termination."
Bob had no time to ask what that penalty was, as the stern-faced man swerved into the left lane and roared up alongside. He cast Bob an implacable look and pointed to the side of the road. Then with a roar of his engine, he pulled in front and began to slow down.
"Turn left in 150 meters," Carol Ann said.
"I'm being pulled over."
"Don't pull over, Mr. Charvesky. That man is a KGB agent who thinks you're a German spy, but don't worry, I'm here to help."
"So what exactly do you suggest I do?" Bob asked, somehow knowing it would do no good to ask why anyone, let alone the KGB, would think he was either German or a spy.
"First, Mr. Charvesky, I'm going to need you to shoot out his tires."
"I don't have a gun," Bob said.
"You're supposed to have a gun."
"Well I don't have one."
"You're not very well prepared, Mr. Charvesky, but I'll see what I can do to help you. Do you have a knife or anything you could stick his tires with?"
"Um . . . no."
"Any explosives or anything you could throw at him?"
"I don't have any explosives. All I have are some Tic-Tacs," Bob said, convinced he was losing his mind.
"Spearmint?" Carol Ann asked, sounding almost hopeful.
"Peppermint."
Carol Ann made an annoyed sound, "Please hold."
Bob began to hope for insanity, as that would at least mean none of this was real.
"Have you ever watched the show: COPS?" Carol Ann asked.
"Uh, yeah."
"Do that thing where you hit his bumper and make him spin out."
"The PIT maneuver?" Bob asked.
"Yes. That's it. Do that."
"I'm in a modified Renault Le Car that's running on vegetable oil."
"Perhaps it's time for an upgrade, Mr. Charvesky. Please hold."
As Bob watched the needle of his speedometer drop, fear crept along his spine. What if the stern-faced man really was a KGB agent? What if Carol Ann was right? In that moment, Bob made up his mind, and, screaming like a ten-year-old girl, slammed his foot down on the accelerator. After a sputter and several lurches, the Renault roared to life. With a yank of the wheel, Bob slammed into the stern-faced man's bumper. Nothing happened. Bob wasn't even certain the stern-faced man noticed. Determined, he veered right then hard back to the left. To his surprise and the stern-faced man's dismay, it worked. The other car spun as if in slow motion and blew a front tire when it struck the curb.
"You see, Mr. Charvesky, I knew you could do it."
"I did! Didn't I?"
"Yes, you did."
Bob felt a thrill run through him that was undampened by the fact that his car had developed a nagging and seemingly random squeak. "Now what do I do," he asked, suddenly grinning and imagining himself as a secret agent. It seemed as good a delusion as any.
"Turn left in one meter."
"Uh."
"You missed your turn."
"Uh, yeah. Should I make a U-turn?"
"Please hold."
At a four-way stop, Bob looked both ways and decided to go straight, seeing a circular drive ahead where he could execute a nice wide U-Turn. Tight turns in the Renault were often accompanied by a disturbing grinding noise, and Bob did his best to avoid them.
In the silence, Bob realized that he actually missed Carol Ann's voice in his ear. This ensured him that he was insane. After executing his turn, he returned to the four-way stop with a sense of trepidation. The stern-faced man approached from the other direction, his car riding low on the miniature spare tire. Cars also approached from the right and left, and it looked as if they would all arrive at the intersection at the exact same time. The Renault's steering wheel vibrated and pulled to the left as Bob pumped the brakes, and the engine sounded as if it might stall.
"Thank you for holding, Mr. Charvesky. Please make a U-Turn."
"I already did that, and now I'm at a four-way stop with the KGB agent," Bob said, and then he recognized the driver of the car on his left. "And the man from Chin's pawnshop is to my left. And I think the car to my right is the other car from the pawnshop. What do I do?"
"The car to your right has the right-of-way at a four-way stop, Mr. Charvesky. Turn left when it is your turn."
Bob didn't bother to respond; he was frozen in place as the stern-faced man got out of his car. The thick-fingered man got out next and faced the stern-faced man, his hand in his coat pocket at all times. Then the third man climbed from his car. He was a slimy little man with a perfect smile, which gave him a decidedly creepy appearance.
"They're getting out of their cars," Bob said, somehow hoping Carol Ann would know what to do.
"I'm here to help," she said. "Just get out of your car and try to look menacing. The man to your right is a German spy who thinks you're a CIA double-agent."
"What about the thick-fingered man from the pawnshop? Who does he think I am?"
"He's pretty firmly convinced that you're an idiot."
"Oh," Bob said; then, doing his best John Wayne impression, he climbed from the car and stood to face the other men. No one spoke, and the tension grew.
"What do I do?" Bob asked under his breath, as panic gripped him.
"One moment, Mr. Charvesky."
"Don't put me on hold again," Bob begged. "Now is not a good time."
"OK. This is the best I can do on short notice. Repeat after me." Carol Ann began to speak in German, and Bob did his best to sound imposing and repeated the words as she spoke them. All three men looked at him strangely and each took at least one step backward. "What did I just say?" he asked in a whisper.
"One moment."
"I must have said something by the looks on their faces. What did I say?"
"I'm not exactly certain, Mr. Charvesky. My German is a little rusty and you were pressuring me. I don't work well under pres
sure. If you'll just take a deep breath and remain calm, I'll translate it with Babel Fish. One moment."
Bob winced, just waiting for her to put him on hold again. The effect of his initial statement was wearing off, and it seemed the only thing keeping any of the men from attacking was distrust of the others.
"This can't be right," Carol Ann said. "I'm sorry, Mr. Charvesky, I learned German by reading German translations of Turkish romance novels, and I think I may have made a mistake."
"What did I say?" Bob asked in a low voice that was almost a growl.
"You said: 'I love you all, and I would like to cuddle, but I have a nuclear device in my ear.'"
"Nuclear?"
"I apologize, Mr. Charvesky, I've always had a flare for the dramatic, and it seemed a bit of subterfuge was called for, but I'm afraid your reaction has spoiled the effect. I am a bit surprised that you had no problem with the love and cuddling part. To each his own I suppose. Please hold."
A haze drifted over Bob's vision; swaying, he took an awkward step backward. The three men moved toward him, and the sight of a shiny, blood-red helicopter landing on the roadway made him question his senses. From the chopper emerged a slender woman in a red pantsuit. Her short, dark hair curved inward, creating a neat awning over thick-rimmed glasses.
Bob thought he was hallucinating when Chin emerged next, followed by Sheila, and both of them were grinning like fools. He stumbled as the world began to swim.
"He's gonna pop," the thick-fingered man said as he stepped forward to catch Bob. Languishing in the man's meaty grip, Bob tried to regain his composure.
"It's nice to meet you Mr. Charvesky; or should I say Mr. Hanks."
Bob nodded--sort of.
"You'll be fine in a moment. You seem to have had a