Free Closure (Jack Randall) by Randall Wood

phone. The Tropicana’s kitchen was open all night.
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    Sam pulled up to the gate and punched in the code Paul had given him. The gate decided that it was all right to let him in today, so Sam slowly cruised through and turned to the left. As he went by the office, he saw the silhouette of a person at the desk, feet up, TV on. The shape did not turn its head as he drove by. He followed the signs to unit 32B, a ten by twenty with a full-size garage door. He quickly checked to see if he had any company. The aisle was clear, but he could hear voices in the next one over. He looked up at the orange roof of the storage facility. He hoped it reflected at least some of the heat. Technically it was winter, but winter in Las Vegas was still hot and dry. Sam had wisely gotten up early to beat the heat, but it was only 8 a.m., and the temperature was already in the high 80s and climbing. He needed to get moving. He left the car running and quickly exited with the key in hand. Sam paused long enough to examine the lock closely. The small bit of wax that Paul had left on the lock showed that it had not been picked. The desert dust on the handle and door looked thick. With one more look up and down the aisle, Sam inserted the key and opened the door. A blast of cooler air quickly disappeared as the door bounced on its springs. Sam returned to the car and quickly drove it into the unit. The door was soon down and the lock inserted into the hasp to hold it shut from the inside. Only then did Sam turn on the light and examine the contents of the unit left there by his brother-in-law almost a month ago.
    Sam peeled off his T-shirt and picked up a crowbar leaning against the wall. He had the three crates open in about five minutes and compared the contents to the list he had in his head. Paul had even half-assed disguised the place with some old furniture on the off chance that it would be opened by mistake. He made use of an old chair and a coffee table as he examined the items more closely. A small toolbox contained an electrical tool kit complete with soldering iron and a magnifying lamp. Also a book and some printouts from the internet to help guide him through the areas he may have problems with. Some servos that Paul had suggested he swap for some higher quality ones, shouldn’t be difficult. He eyeballed the small crate with the red paint on it. It was way more than he needed, but the stuff was only sold in that quantity or larger. He’d leave it in the crate till he was ready for it. He unzipped the nylon cases long enough to see the long guns. He had to smile. Like most men, Sam loved having the right tool for the right job. Paul had a good eye. Sam had taught him well. But these tools were for later; there were things he needed right now.
    Sam dragged the other crates over and pulled out the packaging to get to the items he needed for tonight. He plugged in the laser and ran it through a self-test. It answered him back with a polite beep, telling him it was ready to go. The earphones he adjusted to fit so he could easily pull one side off while keeping the other on his head. He assembled the tripod and mounted the laser to it. Everything was finger tight and would break down quickly. The small monitor had a cord that refused to stay unraveled, and Sam fussed with it for a few minutes. The camera was really no different than the night-vision goggles or night-scopes he had used in the Army. The quality was better, and the addition of the IR capabilities was a definite plus. He hoped that they worked at the range he was using them for. The literature claimed it was within the specs, but you couldn’t always trust the advertising. He assembled the camera’s tripod and test mounted it. Easy. The GPS unit got fresh batteries installed, and it fired right up. He would plug in only the way-points he absolutely needed. Talk about leaving a trail. If he lost the GPS it was better than breadcrumbs if someone