Flash

is Olivia Chantry. I'm the executor for the estate of Mr. Roland Chantry, recently deceased. In the process of settling his affairs, I discovered that he maintained a locker in this facility. I'm here to examine the contents. I can, of course, provide proof of my legal authority to do so."
    The attendant squinted at her and then shrugged. "Help yerself." He turned to go back through the door from which he had emerged.
    "I take it you're not real big on security around here?" Olivia called after him.
    The attendant paused. He looked at her over his shoulder, eyes slitted. "What we're real big on around here is privacy."
    "Privacy?"
    A demonic glint blazed in his squinty eyes. "That's the problem with this country today, y'know. No privacy anymore. The founding fathers went to the wall to secure privacy and confidentiality for the citizens of these here United States. Guys like me fought and died in a lotta wars for the right to privacy."
    "Yes, well…"
    "You'd think people today would have a little respect for all the blood that's been shed to protect the constitutional right to privacy and confidentiality. But, no. Every time you turn around the govmint's chipped away another piece of our personal privacy."
    Olivia decided to transition from assertive to soothing-the-client mode. "I understand."
    "Pri-Con Self-Storage guarantees absolute privacy and confidentiality to its clients. No questions asked. Long as you pay yer rent, you can store anything you damn well want in yer locker."
    "I was simply commenting on your lack of security measures."
    "Pri-Con don't guarantee security." The broad face worked furiously. "Can't rightly do that without a coupla grenade launchers and some mortars, which, thanks to the socialist elite that's taken over our govmint, us entrepreneur types can't hardly get hold of, let alone set up in front of our place o' business."
    "I see." Olivia cleared her throat. "Could you kindly direct me to Roland Chantry's locker, Mr. Uh— I didn't catch your name."
    "Name's Silas." He gave her a suspicious look. "Thought you was an executor."
    "I am." She held up the zippered pouch. "I have Mr. Chantry's keys and plenty of identification, but I don't have the number of his locker. Many of his records were lost in a house fire."
    "Huh."
    "Perhaps you'd like to call the lawyer who handled his estate," Olivia said smoothly. "He'll explain everything."
    Alarm flickered in Silas's eyes. "Don't want to talk to no lawyer. Got too many of 'em in this country. We got one rule here at Pri-Con. Whoever pays the rent gets to go inside the locker."
    Olivia recognized the opening he had given her and moved briskly to seize it "It may interest you to know that, as the executor of my uncle's estate, I now pay the rent on Roland Chantry's locker."
    "Huh." Silas mulled that over for a long time.
    "I will be happy to call my lawyer," Olivia said again.
    "Chantry's dead, you say?"
    "That's right"
    Privacy
and
Freedom
rippled on Silas's big arms as he raised his shoulders in a massive shrug. "Guess it'll be okay then. Guy's dead, probly don't care too much about his privacy anymore."
    He stalked into the office, sat down at the desk, and reached for a large rotary card file.
    "I see you don't use a computer for your office records," Olivia murmured.
    "Don't trust 'em." Silas flipped through the cards. "No privacy with computers. Chantry, Chantry, Chantry. Yep, here we go. Locker Number Four-ninety. That's up on the top floor clear to the back."
    A rush of excitement swept through Olivia. "Thanks. How do I get up there?"
    "Elevator's over there in the corner." Silas scowled. "Gonna need a hand truck or a platform truck to haul out his stuff?"
    "Not right away." She smiled brightly at him as she backed out the door. "I'll have to inventory the contents of the locker first to determine the disposition of the items."
    "Yeah, sure. Disposition 'em all you want. Light switch for each floor is just to the right of the elevator. Turn out the lights when you leave."
    "You bet."
    When the elevator door slid open on the fourth floor a short while later, Olivia understood why Silas had mentioned the location of the light switches.
    She could barely see her hand in front of her face.
    The fourth floor was cloaked in a thick darkness that was relieved only by the eerie green glow of an emergency exit sign above the stairwell.
    Olivia felt her way out of the elevator and groped for the light switch. She found it just as the door of the