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Jonathan Goedeke

Stakeout

When you joined the CIA, you never thought one of
the greatest dangers would be getting fat.

Yet, as you contemplate the last donut in the Krispy
Kreme box, all you can think about is how your waistline
is cinching a little tighter than it used to. Unconsciously,
you run your hand down the inside of your belt to loosen
things up.

"Frank, you still got your eyes on the door?" Crap.
Turning back to the open apartment window, you raise
your binoculars to watch the club entrance across the
street and try to find a more comfortable position beneath
the windowsill. It isn't possible; the carpet might as well
be painted on the floor for all the protection it gives your
knees. The bed is all one piece, and you won't begrudge
the new man the two ratty pillows he claimed from it.
The CIA can't afford "expensive" hotel rooms for
stakeouts. In fact, you observe, it can't even afford
expensive flops for stakeouts.

As you watch the red canopy and carpet of the
building two streets over, you can't help thinking about
that donut. About how its sweet, crusty coating would
melt on your tongue as the just-so-soft-without-being-
chewy dough gave way in your mouth. Why, you wonder,
don't they teach us to resist torture by obesity. In your
fifteen years of experience, this is a situation an agent is
much more likely to find himself facing than being
strapped to a chair and worked over with a knotted rope.

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