Page 6 - Like No Business I Know
P. 6

Rejuvenol

        unmistakable. Since I had suffered no ill effects from contact with
        the substance, I looked back at the previous day’s log to determine
        what it was and where it had come from. I need not specify the
        name of the liposuction clinic—they cannot be held liable for the
        container  breaking.  Thus  I  discovered  HFF,  the  Human  Fat
        Factor. From that day, my course was set.’”
          Myron Probst glanced up at his employer. Her head was oddly
        twisted  to  one  side,  like  a  Chihuahua  listening  to  an  unfamiliar
        whistle. He decided to plunge ahead; there wasn’t much more to
        read.
          “‘Since five pounds of human  fat rendered only ten  grams of
        HFF,  I  immediately  had  supply  problems.  I  set  up  a  small
        company under another name to collect raw materials at a better
        rate  than  my  former  employer  had  offered,  but  still  production
        was limited. The process itself, being simple, could not be kept a
        secret forever, especially since I had several employees of dubious
        loyalty.  Once  I  realized  that  all  the  liposuction  waste  on  the
        Eastern Seaboard couldn’t increase my output by more than fifty
        percent,  I  decided  to  sell  the  business  and  relocate  in  South
        America.’”
          Probst halted. There was more, but he felt Gilda Fishel’s eyes
        boring into the bald spot on top of his head. He looked up and
        met the gimlet gaze unflinchingly.
          “I’m afraid it’s true,” he said slowly. “Animal fats differ slightly
        in  basic  chemical  composition.  Lanolin—sheep’s  fat—is  not
        anywhere near human fat, but close enough to provide a base for
        hand creams and—”
          “No!” she shouted.
          Probst  stopped  and  licked  his  lips.  Was  this  a  display  of
        temperament, her reaction to being forestalled by a rank amateur?
        Clearly,  the  guy  had  his  money  and  was  halfway  to  Brazil.
        Nothing wrong with the deal, unusual or not; even a layman could
        see that.
          The  brains  behind  Chic  Salons  sat  up  behind  her  desk  and
        fashioned her diminutive digits into the roof of a cathedral.
          “Myron, please don’t give me a lecture on biochemistry. I’m not
        in the mood. Now, you have the formula: correct? Then leave the



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