“Yeah. It’s shaped like my wife nowadays.” They laughed and Mr. Wu handed over an ultrasound report done by the state boiler inspector. “Can you make heads or tails of that?”

“It’s all right,” Paul said after a while. “There’s some flame erosion on that back sheet, but it’s within tolerances. Should last at least another three years of daily use.”

Mr. Wu took a long draw on his beer can and smiled, the silver bristle on his skull moving back.

*   *   *

At three o’clock Paul got called into his boss’s office. Mason’s face, usually thin and olive-colored, was as dark as old iron. “What’s the story on Wu’s boiler?”

Paul did not sit down. “It’s in the report.”

“Come on. That thing’s old as the hills. There’s got to be a possible crack or bulge somewhere.”

“Nope. I didn’t see a thing. What’s a possible crack, anyway?”

His boss ignored him. “I want you to file a request for the boiler inspector to X-ray the thing. Say you suspect a crack.”

“I don’t suspect no crack.”

“Just do what I tell you.”

Paul put a work shoe on the padded chair next to him. “You want state government to send one of their assholes down and condemn the unit so you can sell Wu a new one. He can’t afford it.”

“We can put a package boiler in there for a hundred and fifty thousand.”

“It’s an old plant. If we take his main boiler, the business might fold. To pull the bastard out, he’ll have to pay to demolish an exterior wall.”

“Get your damned foot off that chair and go file the request.”

He didn’t move. “There’s nothing wrong with the boiler. He has the ultrasound to show it.”

“I don’t want to hear that shit. The owner of this business is on my back to pick up earnings.” He stood and put a finger in Paul’s face. “Since you have such great morals, I’ll make the damned request myself. And when the state knocks that unit down, I’ll send you to install the new one so you can comfort your Chink friend.”

Paul straightened up. “Hey, the old guy only keeps ninety pounds on that thing for his pressing machines.”

But his boss was already digging through his desk for a blue form. “Thibodeaux, if you keep whining, I’m gonna fire your ass, you hear that?” He slammed a drawer. “I might do that anyway.”

“I got one word to say about that.”

“What?”

“Disneyland.”

His boss crushed the form in his hand, and when he saw what he had done, he began searching for another one, perhaps remembering that the Magic Kingdom had heard about Paul and requested him to consult on their steamboat and locomotives. “You’re a lucky bastard, remember that.”