CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
At exactly six p.m. that evening, Juan walked through the front door holding white bags filled with warm sandwiches. Sparky jumped from the couch, almost tackling Juan. The unmistakable scent of cheeseburgers filled the entire condo.
“Food,” Sparky yelled, yanking a bag from Juan’s overloaded arms. “Let me help. I smell French fries.”
“Eric,” Juan shouted over the excited voices. “I came by earlier with the truck and unloaded into the garage. Then, I went back to get the burgers and my rental car. Did you see the stuff?” He dropped three more greasy bags onto the dining room table before the two of them headed for the garage.
Giant metal drums, with yellow and black hazardous waste markings, filled the two-car garage. Eric ran a hand over his head in an effort to maint
