VELOCITY - DEE JACOB [21]
“Yeah, I think I do,” said Bobby. “Can’t say I fully understand the reasons, but it’s simple enough.”
“I see material headed your way now,” said Murphy. “So you get ready now. And next time you have a chance, take this other stuff back to where you got it. Hope you have a good career here at Oakton.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that,” said Bobby.
And Murphy walked on, as behind him Bobby shook his head in puzzlement.
A little before ten o’clock, Murphy commandeered a college kid working an internship, gave the kid his car keys, and sent him to the parking lot. The kid returned with a Styrofoam ice chest and followed Murph to a particular compressor motor whose inefficiencies were known to generate a reliable and continuous 173°F to 186°F ambient temperature. Murph then relieved the kid of the burden, sent him on his way, and removed from the ice chest a black, covered, cast-iron kettle, which he then set next to the motor cover. He left with no explanation to anyone in the area, as everyone knew that the kettle was not to be touched.
When Murphy returned an hour and a half later to retrieve the kettle, it had been joined by something wrapped in multiple layers of aluminum foil. Murphy took the kettle to a windowless, out-of-the-way, unused toolroom that contained only some shelves with seldom-used tooling, a few file cabinets, and a steel table with two chairs. A few minutes later, in came Jayro carrying a cardboard box containing the aforementioned foil-wrapped object, as well as paper plates, cheap napkins, and various fixings.
“What you got for me, Jayro?”
“Got for you? What you got for me? That’s what’s important.”
“Oh, I might have a little something – if you got anything good to trade.”
“I always got good. Since when have I ever brought anything bad?”
“Well, there was that gumbo awhile back. Just about took the top of my head off.”
“Nuthin’ wrong with heat. It’s good to sweat.”
“Couldn’t taste a thang for three days!”
Every Monday for the past seventeen years Murphy and Jayro had been having lunch in this toolroom, just the two of them. Several times over the years they had attempted to include a few others, but it had never worked out. The two of them could talk about anything – and did. With other people in the room, the chemistry was different. Certain subjects had to be avoided. So they tactfully went back to having their Monday lunches be a private matter.
“Got the good stuff today, Murph.” Teasingly slowly, Jayro pulled back the foil to reveal a beautiful, dark, brownish red slab of ribs. “Got spares.”
“Mmm-mmm,” Murphy murmured, leaning close to inhale the scent.
“They got my special, secret rub. Smoked over apple wood five hours last night while my son and I watched the game. What’s yours?”
Murphy lifted the lid of the kettle and another smoky, spicy aroma wafted into the room.
“Barbeque, Jayro. Picnic ham from my neighbor’s hogs. Nine hours in the Lang with seasoned hickory from my own woods. Plus my wife’s coleslaw, and a jug of sweet tea. Now, grab yourself a bun, tear me off some of them ribs, and let’s have at it.”
The two men ate in silence for a few minutes, both savoring the delectable feast.
“Hate to ruin a good meal and all,” said Jayro, speaking at last. “But I spoke to that Garth Quincy in California.”
“You track down what he needed?”
“Yes, and guess what? It just came on the schedule this morning. It’s already a week late, and it just came on the schedule. The Geniuses in Rockville didn’t give it the design review clearance until last Thursday.”
“How long did they have it in their hands?”
“Over two months. I guess nobody got around to dealing with it. Slipped through the cracks or whatever. Now we’re caught holding the hot potato. Now we are the ones who look bad, like it’s our fault.”
“Jayro, I have tried for years to solve this problem. And I have gotten nowhere. Those Geniuses at F&D, they are in their own world, and they do not