"The man on that tape," said Q, "is Kenny 'G' Gorelick, recording artist. His 'Breathless' CD has spent 221 weeks in the Billboard top 10. He is to jazz what Budweiser is to real ale: unaccountably popular, but decidedly inferior. MI6 have discovered that his next release, 'Club Cafe,' is much more insidious, full of subliminal messages that drag one down into a catatonic, suggestible stupor."

"He's more than halfway there," Bonf remarked.

"Pay attention, 007." Q snapped. "Mr. G plans to control the world. The first single is released in two weeks. This man must be stopped. Your weapons are these two CDs."

Bonf glanced at them: the latest from Oasis and Blur. Q had certainly gone off his trolley this time.

Seven hours later, Bonf's jet touched down in New York. At Times Square, a hooker accosted him. "I never pay for it," Bonf sniffed. At MoMA, he picked up an asymmetrical-haired art student named Hilary; they made love until 6 am. When he awoke, she was still there, finally asleep; Bonf tiptoed out.

Pretending to be a Downbeat columnist, Bonf attended a pre-release party for 'Club Cafe.' Kenny G was signing autographs, kissing the ladies, and playing some desultory, throwaway solos. When the emcee cued up the CD, Bonf quickly ducked out; already feeling enervated by the music. Down the hall, he found a soundproof booth with recording equipment, and played Oasis until he could think again. He came up with an idea and called an agent in Los Angeles.

The next day, a newly pressed CD arrived express from London. Bonf took it with him to G's Christmas album recording session in upstate New York. He gained access to the studio, waited for a break, and took G aside. "There's something I really would like you to hear," Bonf said, laying on headphones.

"This sounds familiar," G remarked, hearing the opening strains of his "Breathless" CD. After hearing a few more notes, however, he struggled violently.

"This is a dedication CD, especially for you," said Bonf, showing him the CD cover. The title was "Asphyxiated: cover songs from 'Breathless'". There was a drawing of Kenny G hanging from a tree, neck broken, face distended. The artists were punk and ska bands; they had roughened up G’s songs considerably and added angry, profane words. Soon G's ears were bleeding and his eyes rolled backward in his head.

"You fiend! I've lost my musical talent!" G cried.

"Yours was slim to begin with," said Bonf. "You'll no longer crowd out more deserving jazz artists."

"My CDs will still sell forever."

"Not so," said Bonf. "This remote will detonate tons of explosives at the CD processing plant. None will be sold at all." He pressed the button. Far away, the plant was destroyed. Kenny G now sells television sets at Sound Factory on Route 9 in Passaic, New Jersey.