Joe Malenkowski,” I told the young woman with chocolate-colored skin and big brown eyes sitting behind the reception desk. I said it slowly and tried to talk through my nose. It wouldn’t have worked at an audition for On the Waterfront but she merely said, “I’ll give it him” and held out a hand.
The motorcyclist evidently hadn’t arrived so I breathed easier and said, “My instructions are to give it to him personally.”
The phone rang to divert her attention and she waved me to a double door.
“Know where he is?” she asked.
I nodded confidently and moved to the door.
“Got a badge?” she called out.
I turned to her, patted my chest and nodded again. She went back to the phone and I went on through.
Offices took up the first part of the corridor. Computers, fax machines, copy machines and other equipment that I didn’t recognize outnumbered people. Machines were spewing out coiled yards of paper while other machines were taking in full sheets and filling plastic barrels with shredded strips. A man came out of a doorway and stepped in front of me.
“Looking for something?”
He was heavyset with prominent veins in a red face. I had a vague feeling that I had seen him before but maybe not.
“Got a package for Malenkowski.”
“Who?”
“Malenkowski,” I said in an Everybody-knows-him tone. “Joe,” I added to emphasize how well I knew him.
“Where’s he work?”
“In the lab.” It suddenly struck me that this building was all labs and I expected him to ask me which one but he didn’t. He motioned me down the corridor.
I walked on, looking for labs.
I soon found them. White-coated workers were watching screens, tinkering with glass equipment and peering into the backs of instrument panels. A pungent acid smell hung in the air. Somewhere, an automatic washer clanked glass in metal trays. I picked out a skinny, fluffy-haired girl standing tapping a pencil against her teeth and asked for Joe.
“He’s out today. Kid’s sick. Other car’s in the garage for a new transmission.”
“Sorry to hear that. Who works with him?”
She pointed with her pencil. “You might try Anton.”
He was an earnest Ukrainian, with sparse light hair and a quiet demeanor. I commented on his accent but he didn’t even notice mine—he was too engrossed in telling me of his horrible time in a government laboratory in Odessa and how lucky he had been to get out and come to the United States.
“Is Joe a Ukrainian too?”
He was and had been very helpful to Anton when he first arrived. That was my chance.
“I was hoping you’d be helpful to me,” I told him. “I’m trying to find out about the Ko Feng that you tested.”
“Ko Feng?” He looked puzzled.
“A spice. You must have tested it for FDA approval.”
Anton shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s take a look.”
It wasn’t easy to find but he did find it. It was known to the lab as AM 51—Marvell had used his initials. Anton was able to identify it only after I mentioned the Mecklenburg Institute in San Francisco.
“What work did you do on it?”
He studied the file. “We submitted to the FDA a proposal to establish nontoxic and noncarcinogenic properties, also that it was suitable for human consumption.”
“You did all that and no problems?”
He looked again, nodded his head. “Just routine.”
“What else did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Mass spectrograph? Submicroscopic molecular pattern? Any other testing?”
Anton frowned, puzzled. “No. Why should we? What would we be looking for?”
“I was just wondering,” I told him. “You have so much equipment here—you must enjoy using it all.”
That prompted laments about the lab in Ukraine and contrasts with his surroundings here. I thanked him and he looked queryingly at me.
“I haven’t seen you here before. What department are you in?”
“I’m new here. They told me I ought to get around some of the other areas. See what you guys who do all the
The motorcyclist evidently hadn’t arrived so I breathed easier and said, “My instructions are to give it to him personally.”
The phone rang to divert her attention and she waved me to a double door.
“Know where he is?” she asked.
I nodded confidently and moved to the door.
“Got a badge?” she called out.
I turned to her, patted my chest and nodded again. She went back to the phone and I went on through.
Offices took up the first part of the corridor. Computers, fax machines, copy machines and other equipment that I didn’t recognize outnumbered people. Machines were spewing out coiled yards of paper while other machines were taking in full sheets and filling plastic barrels with shredded strips. A man came out of a doorway and stepped in front of me.
“Looking for something?”
He was heavyset with prominent veins in a red face. I had a vague feeling that I had seen him before but maybe not.
“Got a package for Malenkowski.”
“Who?”
“Malenkowski,” I said in an Everybody-knows-him tone. “Joe,” I added to emphasize how well I knew him.
“Where’s he work?”
“In the lab.” It suddenly struck me that this building was all labs and I expected him to ask me which one but he didn’t. He motioned me down the corridor.
I walked on, looking for labs.
I soon found them. White-coated workers were watching screens, tinkering with glass equipment and peering into the backs of instrument panels. A pungent acid smell hung in the air. Somewhere, an automatic washer clanked glass in metal trays. I picked out a skinny, fluffy-haired girl standing tapping a pencil against her teeth and asked for Joe.
“He’s out today. Kid’s sick. Other car’s in the garage for a new transmission.”
“Sorry to hear that. Who works with him?”
She pointed with her pencil. “You might try Anton.”
He was an earnest Ukrainian, with sparse light hair and a quiet demeanor. I commented on his accent but he didn’t even notice mine—he was too engrossed in telling me of his horrible time in a government laboratory in Odessa and how lucky he had been to get out and come to the United States.
“Is Joe a Ukrainian too?”
He was and had been very helpful to Anton when he first arrived. That was my chance.
“I was hoping you’d be helpful to me,” I told him. “I’m trying to find out about the Ko Feng that you tested.”
“Ko Feng?” He looked puzzled.
“A spice. You must have tested it for FDA approval.”
Anton shook his head. “I don’t know. Let’s take a look.”
It wasn’t easy to find but he did find it. It was known to the lab as AM 51—Marvell had used his initials. Anton was able to identify it only after I mentioned the Mecklenburg Institute in San Francisco.
“What work did you do on it?”
He studied the file. “We submitted to the FDA a proposal to establish nontoxic and noncarcinogenic properties, also that it was suitable for human consumption.”
“You did all that and no problems?”
He looked again, nodded his head. “Just routine.”
“What else did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Mass spectrograph? Submicroscopic molecular pattern? Any other testing?”
Anton frowned, puzzled. “No. Why should we? What would we be looking for?”
“I was just wondering,” I told him. “You have so much equipment here—you must enjoy using it all.”
That prompted laments about the lab in Ukraine and contrasts with his surroundings here. I thanked him and he looked queryingly at me.
“I haven’t seen you here before. What department are you in?”
“I’m new here. They told me I ought to get around some of the other areas. See what you guys who do all the
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