Postal Problems [FICTION]

“Three weeks late. These gifts are three weeks late.” That mantra races through my head over and over as I make my way through the post office parking lot with my oversized box.

I stop short as I find two tall men blocking my path.

 

I finally look up, “Excuse me. I just need to get inside…”

“We can’t do that ma’am,” the taller of the pair says, flashing me a badge.

“We need your help,” his shorter companion flashes me another golden badge.

The taller man takes over, “We are in the middle of an important sting operation. We can’t really tell you what is going on, but you have a nice honest face.”

“And obviously you can’t be a member of law enforcement,” his shorter counterpart adds as he  gives my rumpled clothes and scraggly hair a disapproving look.

“We just need you to go inside and make sure you are helped by a man named Burt. Tell him, ‘My stamps are looking a bit square these days, if you know what I mean.’”

“What?” I ask.

“Tell him. ‘My stamps are looking a bit square these days, if you know what I mean.’” He repeats.

“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I can help you.”

“Please.” Shorty grips my hand insistently in his.

“Just repeat the words back, so we know you have them right.” Stretch glares down at me.

“Um. ‘My stamps are looking a bit square these days, if you know what I mean.’” I repeat in my most insolent voice.

“Don’t worry. We will be watching the whole time. You have nothing to worry about.” Stretch reassures me.

Shorty takes my package out of my hands..

“Hey. I need to mail that.”

“I’ll mail it for you, next day air.”

“Hmm. Sounds good.” I feel some of the anxiety I felt over mailing my best friend’s birthday gift three weeks late easing off my shoulders.

It is quickly replaced by different concerns as I step inside the building. No one pays any attention to me. Some of them seem to be shuffling huge piles of cards. Others are carefully selecting stamps from a kiosk. I join the line behind two other patient postal customers. Two people are working the counter. Since one is a woman, I assume the man is Burt. Luckily, I am next in line when he announces his window opens. I step forward.

“How can I help you?” His deep voice resonates through the room.

I lean in, take a deep breath and whisper the magic phrase. He glances around the room. After carefully looking at everyone but me, he scrutinizes me with dark eyes.

“I think I can help you with that.” He smiles as he makes one more glance around the room.

His suspicion causes my eyes to wander around the room as well. I don’t see anyone familiar. Neither of my new friends has made an appearance. I offer a smile that I hope doesn’t show the concern that rises as I wonder how they can keep me safe without me seeing any sign of them. Something about my sudden discomfort, decides him. His shoulders soften a little. He looks over my shoulder, out the door for a moment, and then he leans to his left, reaching into a drawer. Whatever he pulled out was so small, I couldn’t see it until he slipped it across the counter to me.

“This should help round out your stamps,” he smiles at me as he raises his hand, revealing four little white pills in a tiny bag. “Your postage is going to cost you two grand today.”

I balk. I wasn’t prepared to be asked for money, especially not that much. 

“Oh…I…uh…”

His smile fades and the packet disappears faster than it appeared. “If you can’t pay, your postage stays square.”

I stand staring at him, unsure what I am supposed to do. He frowns at me, all hints of friendliness washed away.

“Move on.” He looks back toward the line, waving the next customer forward. “She’s done. Come on up.”

I turn to see a familiar box approaching in the hands of an unfamiliar woman. She offers me a warm smile as she brushes against me. I feel the heavy weight of a gun on her hip. She nods her head as my eyes widen and tilts her head as if to adjust the way her hair falls across her cheek, but I read more in the action and step up the pace on my way to the door.

I am still struggling to maintain the happy medium between getting out of there in a hurry and not looking suspicious when a hand grabs my arm. Though the fingers lock around my arm gently, I still have to stifle a scream.

“Calm down. Calm down,” Shorty reaches out to place his free hand on my other elbow and guide me away from the door and past the window.

“Agent Jens has this covered. I just wanted to make sure you are okay,” he reaches into my pocket and pulls out a tiny piece of tech. “And get this back.”

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“You already know more than we would like you to.” He smiles at me. “Thank you so much. You were very brave.”

“Was I?” I ask, still out of sorts.

“Yes. We heard everything with this.” He holds up the piece of tech again. “Glad I was able to slip this into your pocket.” He slides it into his own pocket and tilts his head to listen to the soft buzz in his ear.

He steps past me toward the door, one hand straying to the gun under his jacket. The buzzing starts up again. Shorty finally releases my arm as the noise tapers off. He steps toward the door. I find myself watching him and wondering if I have been released from service now.

“There you are.” Stretch looms over me out of nowhere.

I jump.

“Sorry.” His severe expression doesn’t back up his words. “We need your info, so we can contact you. If you are needed in court.”

As he pulls out a pad of paper and prepares to take notes, a commotion draws all eyes to the door. Burt comes through the door with Agent Jens clearly dictating his movements. She keeps a firm grip on his handcuffed wrists, forcing him in the direction of her choosing though he tries to resist and stop multiple times as they stand inside the automatic doors.

“I’m innocent. She planted that stuff on me.”

Agent Jens doesn’t bother to respond to his accusation. She guides him toward an unmarked car at the curb. He never looks toward me. I am not sure if she planned that, but it reassures me. I don’t want him remembering me. I take a couple of tiny steps to stand behind Stretch who has stepped forward in case his help is needed.

Shorty steps forward to talk to Jens. I can’t catch a word of their brief exchange, but she hands him what looks like a receipt. He comes back over to us.

“Thanks for the help. Here is your receipt in case you need to track your package.” He hands me the paper.

Stretch takes my information and I am free to go. Next year, I am mailing my best friend’s gift early. It should be a lot less dramatic.

(One of my best friends does have a May birthday. And now you are wondering, so did she really not mail it yet? I sent her Christmas presents a couple of weeks ago. Close enough to birthday presents, right? Nothing this exciting happened though.)