Chapter 7

“I’m sure you’ll find out,” he said, cryptically.

“Shouldn’t you be speaking to her?” I said.

“I have my reasons.”

Immigration! They were nice enough to me. I can’t complain. Shoot ... there goes the Start Bell. I better get.

“Today,” said the foreman, “Surprise is going to the finishing shop. The rest of you louts ... up on the mold.”

“Finishing?”

“Michael Miller wants you in the cabinet shop, and Mike gets his wants.”

So ... I hiked to the air-conditioned building over in the far-east corner. The dust free air-conditioned building. The one with the air lock and the clean paint suits and shoes that stay in the shop.

Miller met me in the double doors. “Surprise Flintkote?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Miller.”

“Mike.”

“Yes sir, Mike.”

“You need to suit up ... and change shoes.”

He pointed at a locker and a couple of boxes on the bench in front of it.

“Do you own a padlock?”

“Yes, Mike.”

“Combination or key?”

“Key.”

“Go get it. Bring both keys.”

“Both?”

“Drop one off at the office. Just in case.”

“Yes, Mike.”

I hoofed it to the boat.

Immigration was there. He was quite annoyed that I was on the boat.

“I thought you were working.”

“Sent for my lock. I’ll just fetch it, shall I.”

“Go.”

I got my lock and ... just for the hell of it ... a grand in hundreds from the safe. I was back in the salon in seconds. Cyn looked scared and Immigration looked pleased.

“What?”

“Business. Your sisters, not yours.” He looked my dismissal.

Out the door I went. Mike was waiting at the finishing booth.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Get dressed. Slip off your shoes and get a paint suit. You should wear sox every day.”

“Yes sir.”

Surprise me! The suit fit. So did the shoes.

“Lock your locker.”

When Mike opened the interior door there was a puff of air.

“Positive pressure,” Mike said. “We try to keep outside air outside.”

Just inside the door were 8 boxes of plastic... 4 sizes of latex and 4 of nitrile. SM, M, L, XL. The latex four shaded of blue were blue, the nitrile, unrelenting black. I took several pairs of the black.

“Not the latex?” asked Mike.

“Latex allergy. I break out.”

“More common than one would think,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Grapes, bee-stings ... and penicillin,” I said.

“Grapes? That’s unusual,” Mike said.