by Milky Puppy
Inside the laundromat, all was as it should be. Washers spun clothes about wetly. Dryers spun clothes about dryly. And the people just watched and hoped for the best. There was no-one here who might recognize him, so the spy stepped inside and prepared for an ordinary afternoon of laundering.
The spy surveryed the laundromat for possible alternate exits but could find none. He briefly considered the idea of establishing some sort of underground railroad to a top secret mountain stronghold but realized that he didn't have that kind of time. The mission called.
The spy got some change from the change machine. He already had enough change, but a few people were watching, and there was no need to arouse suspicion about exactly how he had acquired his change. The spy surveyed the scene as he walked over towards the washing machines - about twenty people of various sexes, age ranges and ethnic groupings - most reading or otherwise occupied. He'd hardly be noticed at all, he thought to himself with a smile.
He noticed a young mother and her child who were playing cards while they waited for their washing machine to finish. He couldn't help but notice that there was no man with them ... and then he suddenly realized that they could help provide the perfect cover.
"Hi honey and daughter!" the spy exclaimed in a loud and natural voice, as he plopped down his laundry atop a machine and stood beside the two. "Playing with that deck of cards I got you during my BUSINESS TRIP to New York two years ago, I see," he said with a bit of a wink.
The woman stared at him blankly. Her daughter looked a little nervous. Damn, the spy thought, they weren't catching on. He opened his eyes wide and glared at them in a manner which would express the danger they were all in, and said, "So, how are you today, WIFE and DAUGHTER?"
"Who are you?" the woman demanded in a voice which was slightly too confused to be truly angry. The daughter put down her hand and began moving towards her mother's arms. She looked as if she might cry.
"I am your husband ... a NORMAL, ORDINARY BUSINESSMAN named Nick Shipley, HONEY," the spy said, taking a quick look over his shoulder to perform some minor damage assessment. About a dozen people were now looking their way; some seemed concerned. This was getting a little tense. "How is your concussion anyhow?" he said, peering at the back of her head intensely, desparately. "I forgot that you accidentally HIT YOUR HEAD ON A ROCK WHILE SKIING last week," he said in a voice which was at once forceful and pleading.
"I think you're confusing me--"
"I'm NOT confusing you HONEY, YOU are my WIFE and SHE is my DAUGHTER," the spy exclaimed, half to the woman, and half to the other customers. "I am an ORDINARY BUSINESSMAN NAMED NICK SHIPLEY." Now the daughter started to cry and the woman gathered the girl up in her arms. A few of the other customers began to mutter and point. They didn't look happy. Damn, the spy thought to himself, I've blown my cover again. The spy tossed off the three nerve gas grenades and slipped on his personal breather with one swift, fluid movement. The room quickly filled with mist. The other customers fell to the floor and shook a little before becoming still. The spy set down the thermonuclear device and left to try his luck at the cleaners.