Free Spy in the Alley by Melanie Jackson Page B

mini-blobs, hung over the city. Liquefied by the dropping, plopping mini-blobs, city hall collapsed, followed by the museum and several stately houses.
    â€œIsn’t it time for Deathstalker to arrive?” I mused, forking out a hole in my mashed potatoes so the gravy could flow in and smother them. The same effect, you might say, as a mini-blob.
    â€œDeathstalker’s busy hacking his way out of the blobby chains that the evil Mega-Blob put him in,” Pantelli reminded me.
    We were eating our dinner in front of the TV. As a rule, Mother didn’t permit this. However, tonight she was too busy upstairs trying to soothe Madge to object.
    â€œOooo, here’s Deathstalker,” said Pantelli. “He looks pale.”
    â€œHe always does, after breaking blob chains.”
    â€œYeah, positively sickly. And boy, does Madge have bad acne!”
    â€œHuh?” I looked up from the green beans, which I’d been spearing one by one into a fat forkful. That way you have a chance at getting them all down in one gulp. “Madge has porcelain skin, dodo bird.”
    With his dinner roll, the dodo bird pointed at the TV screen. I stared. He was right. It was Madge — covered with red spots!
    A billboard Madge, anyway. She was posing in what had been a white — now red and white — tennis outfit to promote both Bonna Terra Sports and an upcoming tournament Bonna Terra was co-sponsoring with Fields Tobacco. Somebody had splattered the billboard with red paint. The letters “GASP” were plainly visible; I guessed that all the extra spots and splashes were added just for effect.
    The news announcer was exclaiming, “We break into our regular Deathstalker programming to show you this shocking eyesore! Lovely model Madge Galloway must be seeing red by now — Roderick Wellman sure is! He’s the owner of Wellman Talent, which is working with Bonna Terra and Fields. His car got spray-painted with GASP slogans! In pink , yet!”
    A shot of the Mazda. Beside it, Roderick, somehow managing to look indignant and dweebish at the same time. “I know this is GASP’s work,” he told the camera.
    â€œHa!” I said. “This is the work of Buckteeth, the mutant GASPer. Jack and his friends would never do this.”
    Roderick continued to spout off. “In my opinion, the whole GASP operation should be shut down. I’m sure it will be, when the national GASP office hears about this vandalism. Then, finally, Bonna Terra, Fields Tobacco and I can just get on with our work together.”
    Suddenly I heard Mother’s voice on the stairs: “I’m so glad you’re coming downstairs for dinner, dear. Things are never so bad as you think.”
    â€œHmph!” That was Madge, accompanying her.
    Mother said soothingly, “Really, you were a bit harsh with poor Jack, dear.”
    She and Madge would be down in seconds. “Oh no,” I moaned. “Throw me the remote, Pantelli. I gotta switch away from this. Maybe there are some tigers attacking antelopes on the Discovery Channel … anything but this … ”
    I don’t know if it was the urgent note in my voice or the prospect of watching bloodthirsty tigers, but Pantelli got so excited he fumbled the remote and dropped it plunk! into his mashed potatoes.
    Madge descended the last step just in time to see the camera refocus on the red-splotched billboard of herself.
    â€œThat does it,” she said ominously.
    At which point I saw my matchmaking plans for her and Jack go up in smoke. Fields Tobacco smoke, to be precise.
    An hour later, Pantelli and I were trudging down the alley with a gift intended to console Jack: a broccoli-and-cheese casserole, prepared by Mother. She believed everyone should be fed large amounts of broccoli, as often as possible. Especially people who had troubles.
    Jack had lots of them, after the news footage of the spray-painted car and billboard. The head of