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The basement was dark and dank. The back room, however, was brilliantly lit. The smell was something of a cross between an epoxy factory and an old high school locker room. Waseem was disgusted. On his first visit, he expected better. Things should have been in order and more cleanly in anticipation of his visit. Two decrepit couches lined either side of the box-shaped space, one man sleeping on each. Waseem glanced at them; his face twinged against the sharp odor.
In the center of the room, lying on a heavy hewn, homemade workbench, was the prize. It was cylindrical in shape, about three feet long, and twenty-five inches in diameter. On the left end was a heavy metal collar with handles surrounding an aluminum valve and threaded nozzle. Had it been smaller, it would have passed as a
