Another Dud

We descended into the basement of the apartment building
where we'd done a lot of plumbing, painting, and electrical
work over the course of the last eight months. The place
had started out as a brothel in the mid-1800s, then became
a moviehouse in the early Twentieth Century, was
subdivided into four separate units after that and was now
owned and rented out by one of Dave's customers.

"It looks a hundred percent better down here, doesn't it?"
Dave asked as he flicked on a light switch.

The place was a nightmare when we first encountered it:
dirt floors, wooden stalls that looked like dungeons, barely
any lighting, and a system of spiderweds thick enough
to slow your breathing. I was working for the union
when Dave tackled the basement cleanup project
and wasn't disappointed about missing out
on such a fun task.

"Yeah, man. Looks great. It's a shame I couldn't help."

Dave smirked and swallowed whatever words were
forming in his throat. He was good like that sometimes.

The grand tour led us to a room which had once
been full of defunct water heaters that plumbers of yore
had been to lazy to remove. The only thing still present
was a white spackle bucket sitting in the corner behind the door.
I walked over to it and investigated, assuming it was
left there intentionally. Dave, like myself, was a creature
of habit, if not reasoning.

"What's with the bucket?" I asked as I reached for
my flashlight to peer down into its contents.

"Take a look for yourself," he replied, his boyish
grin beaming at me in anticipation.

I reached down into the pail, which was half-full
of water, and pulled out a cylindrical object
eight inches long. It was a galvanized steel pipe
with caps threaded on both ends. One side had been
drilled and tapped, a small hole revealing the caked
white powder which had been packed inside the pipe.

"Is this what I think it is?" I asked in astonishment.

"Yeah," Dave said. "I hid it in there so the inspector
wouldn't see it. Probably the experiment of
some kid who lived here."

We both knew otherwise. A teenager would not
have had the foresight to drill and tap the cap like that.
I didn't raise this point, though. It was easier to
leave it alone.

"How do you get these messed up jobs?" I asked
my benefactor.

"Hey, someone's got to keep you busy
since our hall can't," he laughed.

It was true and I was grateful. My world would
be a far more dismal place without the aid of David.
A pipe bomb in the basement was no match
for the alternative-- sitting at home broke
and without a source for stories.