Chapter 3

13:50 Monday, July 29^th, 1991

L&M Autobody & Collision Repair

1220 8^th Avenue, Oakland CA 94608

The bell tinkled as the door opened. Chief Kostowe went in first, and held the door open for Lenore. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the cool dark interior. When they had, Lenore saw that there was thick dust everywhere, the accumulation of years of sanding and paint overspray.

The smell was a little odd, too, she thought, slightly sweet. Just then a word came back to her from her high-school Chemistry – aromatic. The smell was from aromatic hydrocarbons, the paint thinners and various chemicals in autobody paint. Lenore looked around, eagerly, as they walked through a small area with a counter and sheaves of paper work invoices on it, through a small office area where a large lady sat in front of the typewriter on the desk before her. Every horizontal surface in the room had stacks of paper and dog-eared books on it. There wasn't time for a closer inspection, as the Chief led the way into the shop portion of the business.

Once in the large bays, Lenore tried to take it all in. Ancient fluorescent light fixtures hung from the ceiling, giving bluish light through the haze of smoke and dust below. Large, ancient garage doors fronted eight bays, and cars of all description were jammed in, haphazardly. Rows of benches and toolboxes separated the bays, and air lines on reels hung suspended from the ceiling. Filling the last bay was a large box that held windows glazed with chicken-wire reinforced glass, the glass oddly dark. With a small smile of self-congratulation, Lenore realized it was the paint-spraying area, and the windows weren't intentionally painted, but had collected overspray over the years.

All around was bedlam and organized mayhem. Air tools were warbling, and hammers and other handtools were banging. A sizzling, popping sound came from the far corner, and actinic blue light reflected weirdly off the walls and cars in that area.

And in the middle of it all stood Kostowe, a smile on his face as he took in the industry around him. He's in his element again, Lenore realized, where men are working together for a purpose. I think this is his second love.

Suddenly, Kostowe pointed. "Over there," his voice projecting over the din. "Come on."

Together, they picked their way towards a middle-aged bear of a man, his barrel chest and hefty beer gut encased in a blue one-piece work suit, heavy boots on his feet. A paper dust mask hung behind his shoulder blades by a thin, flat elastic band around his neck. His eyes widened in recognition, and his scowl changed to a pleased grin as Kostowe drew nearer, threading between cars.

"Chief! You're a sight for sore eyes!" the huge man boomed. Lenore studied him quickly, surprised that she was comparing him to the men she knew, then smiled as he turned to her. "Let me guess. You're the Chief's long-lost great niece, come to California for college, and he wants to get you set up with a good car."

The Chief and the large man had closed to arm-length distance, and their outstretched hands quickly turned into a short hug. Lenore stifled a giggle when they seemed to almost bounce off each other, but the respect and friendship between the men was clear to see.

"Actually, Donatelli, this young lady is my protégé. She's been helping me work up a boat, and I couldn't ask for better help. She's smart enough to say when she doesn't understand, not like some Electrician's Mates I could name."

It was so obviously a dig at an old friend, even Lenore smiled, and found herself warming to the big man, Donatelli. The three of them moved toward the office area, where the swinging door behind them separated them from the noise and haze of the bays they left behind. The woman behind the typewriter stared at Lenore, her eyes never leaving her, making Lenore slightly uncomfortable.

Donatelli asked Lenore some questions, rapidly. Lenore gave the answers, slightly perplexed. "Blue, not white. Yes, darker is better. Yes, I can drive a standard. Four-door is OK, so's two. Cloth, leather, no preference. AC is probably a necessity. Huh? Oh, well, the family might not like an import so much, but my brother in law is in Texas, he's not too likely to see it ... no, no plans for children in the near future."

She said the last with no betrayed emotion, though she felt Kostowe's sudden sharpening of attention. Refusing to give anything away, she waited for Donatelli's next question, not long in coming. "About thirty-two hundred, so I have some for first-year's taxes and insurance." She rather proudly told Donatelli she had a draft from the Bank of America for the funding, and he gave her a quick smile.