Storage Unit 59

He had a secret, and so did she. One had a black book, and one would live to keep a secret.

Crystal chandeliers sparkled over the mammoth ballroom, a swirling mix of tuxedos and glittering designer gowns. The party dripped opulence with Washington’s powerful, greedy, and scheming politicians as piano notes rippled sedately over the conversations. The air hinted at luxurious perfume and expensive liquor.

Paul Allred slid his hand slowly down the back of his wife’s silver sequined dress. The dress, a perfect complement to his black tailor-made tux. Outwardly the touch appeared loving. His wife, Margo, knew it wasn’t. It was his constant need to control, obsessed with perfection. He checked if she was gaining weight, if the dress fits perfectly, a touch of dominance.

Scanning the room, he tolerant the greetings from fellow partygoers, ignored the whispers. Everyone here knew he was close to indictment over government contracts fraud. The eager, cubby German consulate chatting with his wife didn’t seem to mind the scandal. Looking around, he hid the smile; Paul Allred was superior, above them all. Scheming was his forte.

He had a secret and one last pesky detail that needed elimination. That detail was his wife. This party was imperative for all to see his loving interactions with her. He admitted that the carefully staged attempts on his life over the past months had been one of his better masterful ploys. Seeds of information that the Mafia were after him carefully planted. After tonight, they would both go missing. It would be months before they found Margo; no one would ever find him. Cancun was lovely this time of year, especially after a round of plastic surgery to change his looks and his mistress warming his bed. Margo had been useful, but sadly, everyone gets older, and frankly, she just bored him now.

He answered a question from the Consulate, but he didn’t care what he was saying. Caressing Margo’s arm, he felt her tremor. She needed better control of her emotions. He found her fear annoying, but after tonight, Margo would be dead in storage unit 59.

When he found the rundown storage facility in the low rent district of D.C., it was perfect. No security cameras, just a senile frumpy older woman with her cat in the office taking his money, renting him a unit in the back of the property. Wisely not asking questions. Running gun and drug sales had been remarkably simple from the location. He was also skimming money out of government contracts, the icing on the cake. Now, all unit 59 held was suitcases of cash, a new identity for him, and a red-eye flight confirmation.

Margo Kennedy Allred had a secret, one that her life depended on. She conversed fluently in German with the Consulate. Paul had demanded she learn several languages. Among a myriad of other things since their marriage. When they first met, it was like a fairy tale. She had been young, no family, and Paul had been dashing with gifts and romantic getaways. Within his vast estate and growing construction company, she had everything she could imagine. Then the spiral came; dark cracks appeared, slowly swallowing her.

Before the wedding, he wiped out her existence by changing her name. He informed her Margaret Kenny was not a name for a powerful, influential man. Margo was much classier. Kennedy to let people conclude on their own perceived connection. Rounds of cosmetic surgery, her hair changed to blonde, and of course, her weight checked every day. A half-pound meant three days locked in her room with no food, no exceptions. She learned quickly he controlled everything down to every morsel of food she ate.

Leaning in, he murmured, “Are you enjoying yourself?” She smiled brilliantly at him, knowing the game and the stakes of playing it. “Yes, Paul, thank you for bringing me.” Both aware of the couple next to them, smiling at the loving embrace he gave her, the light kiss to her cheek. Margo wondered how soon before Paul would want to leave. The timing was vital. The Consulate grinned, switched to English, focused on Paul, “Mr. Allred. Our government is very interested in your firm.”

It was her chance, “Pardon me.” Paul watched her intently as she went into the restroom, irked he couldn’t follow her, then turned back to the conversation. Inside the bathroom, she held her hand to her nervous stomach, studied her face in the wall of mirrors, then pulled lipstick out of her purse. He would kill her if he had any idea what she knew. Looking in the mirror, who was she kidding, holding back the urge to laugh, then cry. She was going to die anyway tonight if she didn’t find a way out.

Margo knew everything. Paul had missed a detail, so quick to erase her past life. Her major had been art, but computers were her minor. When he left at night to see his mistress, oh yes, she knew all about the tart he had found on business in Mexico, then moved her to a condo in the city; Margo had been busy. Spending countless hours late at night tracing his bank accounts, memorizing details, hacking the systems, but it all came together when she found the black book. Note after note, just number 59, transferred twenty thousand, a date scribbled by the amount, black on white, page after page. The puzzle of what it meant kept her searching, then suddenly she found the terrifying trail to a storage unit, number 59.

The last shipment of drugs and illegal guns was sold yesterday. He had millions tucked away in secret accounts. With the indictment looming, everything pointed to tonight when Paul would vanish. She carefully applied blood-red lipstick. Thankfully it was only him and her tonight, not the usual round of bodyguards watching her every move. But then again, he wouldn’t want any witnesses; it proved tonight was the night. Checking she was alone, she opened her purse to put away the lipstick studying the contents, then closed it with a prayer of desperation. Carefully opening the door a crack, gauging when to exit.

Paul glanced up, and his eyes narrowed. Margo approached with glasses of champagne. He fought the urge to snap at her. She knew better. People of their class were waited on; they didn’t serve drinks.

Handing a drink to the Consulate and one to Paul, she lifted her glass, “May I present a toast to your beautiful country.” Paul drank the champagne in one gulp and looked at his watch. “I am sorry, Consulate, but we need to leave. We have another engagement.”

His hand bit into her arm as he hurried her outside to the valet service. Inside the Mercedes, she clenched her purse, watching the dark streets flash by, counting minutes. “Where are we going, Paul?” He remained silent, driving further out of Washington, passing rundown buildings, cruising through dark, quiet streets. The car stopped in front of a shabby office with a sign haphazardly hanging on one hook, Grandma’s Attic-Storage for All. The building stood with one lone light, foreboding, with a high barbed wire fence around storage units next to it. He got out of the car and yanked her out of her side. She felt the gun pressed to her ribs. Fear crawled over her as he whispered, “One word, and I will shoot you.” Pulling open the door to the office, an orange tabby cat sat on the desk, watching them, tailing switching. Behind the desk, an older woman looked up from a pile of papers, surprised. It was the last emotion she had when he shot her in the head. The cat bolted under the desk.

Margo fought a wave of dizziness as he pulled her out of the office back door, half dragging her down dark rows of storage units. “Paul, have you lost your mind!” He pulled up the door of a unit, shoving her forward on her knees. Bent over, gasping for air, she braced, not surprised when he backhanded her. “Stupid bitch! How many times have I told you not to be a servant?” She wiped the blood from her lip, glanced at her watch, praying for just a few more minutes. He laughed, hovering over her, “I haven’t lost my mind, but I am losing my wife,” His laughter chilled her to the bone, “and gaining a brand-new life.” He forced her up by the arm and heaved her to the back wall. “Sit in the corner where your blood won’t run out.”

In the gloom of the unit she saw the gun aimed at her, “Any last words?” he slurred. The only thought she had was the last laugh was hers. She had transferred all his money to an account in Switzerland in the early morning hours. Suddenly he dropped to his knees; gun pointed at her, she held her breath, waiting for the shot.

One year later.

Eddie hadn’t understood much of the legal bullshit the attorney had been spewing for the past months. But yesterday, he understood clearly when the probate judge said they could finally take over aunt Edna’s storage business. Standing with his brother in the dusty, cat hair-filled office, stacked with paperwork and draped with cobwebs, he surveyed his new kingdom. “Can you believe aunt Edna left us her business in her will!” Eddie pulled up his sagging jeans over his beer belly, grinning at the bolt cutters in his hand. His brother, Arnold, scuffed his shoes on the floor, uneasy studying the bloodstains on the carpet. “Geez, Eddie, can you at least be sad she got whacked off in this very office.”

Eddie swung the large bolt cutters over his shoulder, “Well, can’t bring her back, so let’s get to the good stuff. Have you got the list of units that haven’t paid? It’s going to be just like that show on TV. Units filled with shit, we can sell for a fortune!”

In the back of the lot, they stopped, looking at unit numbers. “Here it is, Unit 59, hasn’t paid for months, and it’s a big one! Can’t wait to see what is inside.” Eddie snipped the lock, smirking at Arnold; he yanked the door up. The stench of old death reared up and crept to them. Eddie stepped back and immediately lost his lunch on his boots as the skeleton’s eye sockets watched, its body wrapped in packing tape slumped in the corner.

Off the coast of Maine, a newspaper sat in the mailbox. A lone figure among the pine trees, leisurely strolled down a dirt driveway to get the mail. The forest was heaven in this new life. Opening the paper, a sigh escaped, seeing the headlines. “Body of Paul Allred Washington Businessman Found! Mafia Suspected.” Scanning the lines, it appeared he starved to death, tied up and gagged in a storage unit. His wife was presumed dead. Someone had murdered the owner, leaving the business closed off for months.

Holding the newspaper, she still had her secret. The week before that fateful night, she had caught the chauffeur smoking pot, happily stoned. In exchange for not telling Paul and losing his job, he had given her two capsules. He said it would knock someone out within an hour when put in a drink. Disgustingly he winked and told her the girls liked it. It was a perfect mix with champagne for Paul. Margo, now content as Sarah, walked back to the lovely little cottage she had built in the woods. An orange tabby cat waited for her at the door. She smiled and scratched his ears. “Our little secret, new lives for both of us.”