The bottom metal rim skidded hard against the lowered tailgate of Robert’s flatbed scrap truck before it slid onto the wooden bed with a loud thud.

Robert wiped his damp forehead with the back of his forearm and rested his thick hands on his leather tool belt.

“That metal will be chopped up and melted down at the scrap yard on Thomas Road before noon,” he said.

“Good,” I said, rubbing my knuckles as the sun hit the white paint.

“I don’t want a single piece of it on this property.”

Robert climbed up on the rear tire and pulled two heavy nylon tie-down straps across the top of the freezer.