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scars down the right side of his face. He was wearing a blazer now but Hector knew those little scars ran all the way down his right arm. But the most noticeable thing was the heavy black patch that covered his right eye. Hector sometimes wondered if the scars were from a bomb he’d been building that had gone off accidentally. He couldn’t understand why his mom pretended to like this guy. He was obviously trouble.
    “Can I help you find anything today?” Mr. Zahedi asked kindly.
    “No, thank you.”
    He walked around the store a few times. The little table where Mr. Zahedi and Pappous sometimes played checkers was empty. His grandfather was just as bad as his mom, hanging out up here swapping stories or whatever.
    Hector finally bought a soda and a strip of beef jerky and brought them to the cash register. When Mr. Zahedi leaned forward to take Hector’s money his jacket fell open and Hector gasped. There was a small pistol strapped to his hip. Mr. Zahedi saw Hector’s stare and turned his body quickly to hide the gun, but Hector had already seen it.
    “Thank you, my boy,” Mr. Zahedi said with a plastic smile. “Please give your family my regards.”
    “I’ll do that…” said Hector, and backed slowly out the door, his eyes fixed on the bulge beneath Mr. Zahedi’s jacket. What would he be doing with a gun? Hector thought.
    Once outside he’d only just opened his drink, still rattled by the gun, when he caught a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He looked quickly to see a tail disappear around the edge of the store. Probably just a stray cat, but it still was something alive to pass the time with.
    He crept to the edge of the wall and peeked around. There, not ten feet from him, was a tiny ball of gray fur with terrified, green eyes. Hector set his drink down, and emerged from around the corner. The kitten’s eyes grew as large as marbles, and it bolted to the back of the store.
    Hector padded after the tiny animal, only to chase it under a dumpster that backed up to a wall of unkempt foliage. He used his teeth to rip off a piece of the jerky and stuck it under the edge of the dumpster. An instant later a gray paw swiped out and pulled it in, making Hector smile. A few more pieces and Hector hoped he could coax the stray into the open. He peered under the dumpster, almost hearing his mom’s voice censure him for snooping around where he wasn’t supposed to be. Good thing she wasn’t here. In the darkness under the steel bin, twin green gems twinkled out of the darkness, coming closer. But the eyes suddenly extinguished when Hector heard a car approaching. He darted behind the dumpster and forced himself between the untrimmed shrubs and the metal box.
    Peeking around the edge, Hector could see it wasn’t a car but an old gray van with no side windows, like some kind of mobile meth lab. The driver, deeply tanned with a heavy moustache, climbed out and glanced around nervously. Once convinced that he was alone, he slid open the side door and knocked on the back door of the store.
    Mr. Zahedi opened the door. The two men exchanged a brief hug and disappeared inside. Hector began creeping out of his hiding place, when he heard their voices grow louder. When they came back out, each was carrying a large white bucket bearing a black, skull-and-crossbones – and beneath it, the word CAUSTIC. Hector fell back behind the dumpster before they could see him. Caustic? That was like acid, or, that other thing they’d talked about in science class… a base. Whatever was in those buckets could eat human tissue, like skin or eyes. One after another of the containers disappeared into the van – a dozen in all. If they were as heavy as they looked it was enough to take out… Hector’s mind froze. An attack! There could be no other explanation. Mr. Zahedi was a terrorist! That’s why he had the gun. In case…
    Hector strained to hear as the driver made a call. “Yes, I’ve got the stuff… I’m