Amicia stood in front of a shuttered door. Araña’s network had given her the account number for a storage unit. Still, it had been years since anyone had come asking for it. She feigned that it was her husband’s unit and that she just knew he was hiding all of his old football junk here. When she started complaining about how much money her fictional husband was wasting just to store trophies from his glory days, the receptionist rolled her eyes and gave her the key. It was bittersweet to know just how many doors opened for you if you were annoying enough.
Amicia unlocked the unit and pulled it up the slightest bit, just enough for her to duck under. She stepped into complete darkness. She pulled out her phone to find the light switch. Flicking the lights on, she found herself in a room filled with used furniture. Everything had a fine layer of dust. With a defeated sigh, she began rummaging around for whatever it was Araña had left here.
She searched for the better half of an hour without any luck. She felt like she was going crazy. Did the app give her the wrong account? What was going on? She was on the verge of giving up when she spotted a cabinet drawer. It was a dusty thing, but under the dust was a little etching of a spider’s web. Amicia rolled her eyes.
She pulled the cabinet drawer out into the open floor. It was definitely heavier than it looked. She pulled both of the shelves of the cabinet open. Both the top and bottom shelves were empty. However, she pulled a latch connected to the top of the lower shelf. She heard something from the cabinet click. A panel on the side of the cabinet drawer fell open. She peered inside to see a box. She reached for it, bringing it out into the open. Amicia laid the box on top of the cabinet drawer. She pulled the top off and examined the contents.
The box held a gun. A glock M-19 specifically. There were 3 magazines of ammunition in the box as well as a canted holster. She set the ammo aside which revealed a wallet. She grabbed it and spread it open.There was a picture of herself on one side and an FBI badge on the other. Special Agent Amanda Hoschner. There was also cash in the wallet to Amicia’s relief. $3000 in 100 dollar bills. The new I.D would be useful. She could get access to witnesses and police files in an official capacity. It seemed that scoping out the campsite was back on the table.
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She gave the box one last check. Under everything else, she found a picture. It showed Araña along with her brother. They were both smiling. She recognized where they were in the picture. It was her brother’s apartment. He had been struggling for some time after he graduated. She remembered him telling her how listless he felt. That he had done everything right for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to help people. She was worried for him. Then suddenly, he was ok again. He told her he had found a new purpose.
She tried to get her brother to open up about his new found lease on life. He was just abruptly back to being himself. He bought a new place. He came back to have family dinners. Avery started living again, but he kept deflecting about what had changed in his life. She didn’t know back then why he started being so secretive. They were always open to each other. She knew what happened now though.
Araña had found her brother and opened his eyes to a new world. He showed Avery how to take the first step on a new path. A path that ended with her brother dead. A path that she walked on now. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She folded the picture gently and placed it in her new wallet. A piece of her brother and their mentor would walk the path with her now.
Amicia stepped back out to the front desk, making sure to lock up the unit first. She pulled her shirt out to cover her new pistol. No need to spook the poor receptionist. She walked up to the woman, catching their attention.
“Was everything in order, miss? Do you need to cancel your husband’s account?” the receptionist asked.
“What? Cancel? No way! He’s got all his dumb football stuff in there, but he’s got his band equipment in there too. Better to have it here than in the house. I love the man, but he is just god awful on the saxophone. Mister I could’ve gone to Julliard. Yeah right.” Amicia grumbled. She handed the receptionist the key back. She mustered as much annoyed wife energy as she could while leaving.
On the street she called for a taxi to give her a ride. With the mirror on her phone, she started to fix her messy clothes and hair. If she was going to be an FBI agent while she was in Pocatello, she needed to look the part. When the taxi arrived, she got in the back and gave the driver an address. 911 N Seventh Ave. It was time to meet the local police.