The rich-looking glaze spilled thick and gooey over the hot doughnuts, drenching them in sugary goodness. Frank Krauser had to admit, it looked delicious.

Then came a series of gleaming steel dispensing machines, which coated the doughnuts with a shower of multicolor sprinkles or toasted coconut or crushed nuts, or drenched them yet again, with chocolate or white frosting. A select few doughnuts were penetrated by a rapid-fire cream-filling machine, whose nozzle dripped cream between thrusts.

Frank Krauser felt himself becoming aroused.

"All for show," he told himself as he broke away and took the only empty booth in the place.

It was a nice enough place. Clean. Polite people behind the counter. Coffee smelled good. But none of that mattered if the doughnut failed the Frank Krauser quality test.

At 9:18 a.m. on that momentous Monday morning, Frank Krauser bit into his first Krunchy Kreme.

At 11:56 a.m. on that same morning, he bit into his eighteenth.

"So, they as good as they all say, Frank?" asked Officer Ray, who stopped in about two that afternoon.

"Better believe it!" Frank leaned back in his chair and pulled tight on the bottom of his T-shirt. "They gave me this."

'"Krunchy Kreme Konvert,'" Ray read aloud from the front of the shirt.

"And proud of it. I ain't never eatin' no other doughnuts!" Frank didn't know how prophetic his words were.

When Ray went back to work, Frank noticed the Ford SUV parked across the street. He was sure he had noticed it before. Like an hour ago. He could see the silhouettes of two men sitting inside. Frank got worried. If he got busted again on Channel 8 News, it might not blow over so fast. He might be forced to take unpaid leave.