The Messenger (2011 reformat) (11 page)

Jane hung up.
"Carlton's not here right now. He's out on a delivery."

"I
thought you just said he's basically a personnel manager. You mean he also
walks a mail route?"

"In
emergencies, everyone in the pecking order has to go out," Jane explained.
"If the service area is crowded with customers and all the handlers are
busy in back? Sure. There are times when even a station manager like me, or
even a postmaster will have to grab a mailbag and pick up a route. Anyone in
management. Other times we have to go out and empty relay boxes and the regular
mail boxes. Especially in emergencies, like this."

"Oh, I
see. With the main branch closed for the time being, your branch has to do
extra duty and pick up all their slack."

"That's
right, Chief. And right now, Carlton is in the field. We got a late Express Mail
package and all the carriers are out. So he took it."

Steve looked
right at her, quite serious. "I need to know where he is. As in right
now!"

Jane's
impatience smacked into her confusion. She made another call out to the front,
jotted something down, and hung up.

"It's in
the scan log. Carlton left a half hour ago to take that Express Mail to the
Seaton School for Girls."

"Great.
Thanks." Steve rose, gathering his things. He seemed distracted.

"Chief
Higgins! What's going on?" Jane blurted. "You're wrong about Carlton,
I'm telling you-"

"I hope I
am," he said.

"There's
something you're not telling me."

Steve looked
down at her, a look of total skepticism. "Yeah, there is. It's not
definite proof of anything, but we have to check it out. And it's probably
cause for a search warrant."

More shock.
"What are you talking about?" Jane almost shouted.

"It was
just a basic incident report, Ms. Ryan. In a quiet, laid-back town like
Danelleton, not a whole lot happens. So we notice even the most minor incident
reports, stuff that in a big city like Tampa or St. Pete would be overlooked
because it wasn't deemed crucial."

"What
incident!"

"Last
night at about 3 a.m., a man pulled into the Qwik-Mart, walked in, got a
coffee, and left. The man was acting peculiar, so the guy at the register
called us to report it. Just a routine suspicious persons report. We get them a
lot, and ninety-nine percent of the time they're nothing. Just someone mad at
someone else, or someone overreacting. You know what I mean?"

Jane's face
was getting warm from aggravation. "No, Chief Higgins, I don't. I don't
have any idea what you mean. At this point, you're practically driving me nuts,
so would you please get to the point?"

"When I
came in this morning, first thing I do is look and see if there are any
incident reports filed by the night shift," he continued. "There was
only one, this one. Then I get the call about what happened here, so I'm
juggling two things at once but it occurs to me that the two could easily be
connected."

Now Jane was
just plain mad. "What was the incident?" she seethed.

"Look at
what happened, Ms. Ryan. Last night somebody dug up Marlene Troy's corpse and
put it inside your post office. And last night, we get an incident report about
a suspicious person at the Qwik-Mart. Follow me?"

"No!"

"The
clerk at the Qwik-Mart said the guy was "peculiar." 'Want to know
why?"

"Not if I
have to wait till I'm fifty to find out."

"The guy
was covered in dirt. It was all over his clothes, smudged on his face, his
arms, had dirt in his hair."

"Dirt,"
Jane said.

"As in
soil. Covered in it. Anyway, the clerk at the store recognized this man. It was
Carlton Spence."

I

Carlton
enjoyed driving the LLVs. They looked cumbersome and uncomfortable but they
actually rode well. Manufactured via contract by the Grumman Corporation, the
van-like vehicle's initials stood for LongLife Vehicle, and that was no lie.
They almost never broke down and when they did, service was efficient and easy.
The only feature that carriers complained about was the steering wheel on the
right side, for mailbox access. You either got used to it or you didn't. Most
did. Those who didn't caused many a fender bender. But driving it down
Danelleton's serene streets made Carlton feel like a genuine mailman again.

It made him
feel like a messenger.

He drove
almost as if someone else were driving, someone guiding him-a guiding dark
light. He was beginning to understand that light now, a little more with each
hour. It was as though his heart no longer beat solely for himself. It beat for
someone else, someone great, with an important plan for the world. Knowing that
this light was in his heart made Carlton feel important. God never made me feel
important, he reminded himself. No. God let my wife go fuckin 'psycho and get
killed in a car wreck. And God looked the other way when a bunch of sick fucks
took my beautiful daughter and put her in porn movies and made her turn tricks
and then killed her. God's done nothing for me. God is my enemy.

I believe in
someone else now.

Someone who
makes me feel important. Someone who will never turn his back on me...

Carlton's eyes
stared ahead.

I will worship
him to the ends of the earth...

The LLV
coursed through more sedate streets. Tall trees-some palms, some Australian
pines-threw down great, comforting blocks of shade. The houses lining each
street all stood neat and bright, with vivid green lawns and front gardens
bursting with delirious colors. Carlton saw Old Man Halm out for his daily
walk. Amiable enough of a guy, always stopped to say hello, ask how you're
doing. Would even loan you money in a pinch. White hair shining in the sun,
Halm hobbled happily down the street with his cane; then he looked up and waved
to Carlton.

Carlton waved
back and thought, You crotchety old fuck. I could take your old head off with
this machete, watch it roll down the street. Then I'd take that fuckin' cane of
yours and kill some people with it...

Carlton had a
machete in the LLV. His hand reached down for it-he could see the head flying,
blood sailing up from the stump in red strings-but then that increasingly
familiar voice told him, No. That's not the message for today.

Carlton
nodded.

You'd get
caught by the authorities before you got to where I need you to be.

Carlton
nodded.

He waved at
Old Man Halm as he passed.

Yeah, you're
lucky today.

Next house,
there was Margarita Poole, on her hands and knees in the garden. She was
pulling weeds. What a fox, Carlton thought. I would do her up so right...
Five-two, a hundred and ten, and tan, tan, tan. She could be an Hawaiian Tropic
model with all that flowing bronze hair and those grapefruit breasts. The
gardening gloves didn't mesh with the rest of the look: fluorescent green
bikini top and jeans cut off so high they could've been a denim thong. Christ.
Carlton wanted to take her down right there in the garden, put those dirty
gardening gloves on and strip her and feel her up but good. Then he’d give it
to her hard in the mulch. Yeah, those gloves are a nice touch, he mused. When
he was done with her, he'd strangle her with them. Then he'd chop her up in the
yard, play with her pieces. Let all the neighbors see him, wearing only her blood
as he danced in the sun.

Carlton waved
at her when he passed, and she shot him a great big white smile.

I work for the
Messenger now, he reminded himself. I can't let myself get distracted...

No, the voice
in his heart said, agreeing with him. But there's no harm in pondering.

Pondering.
Dreaming as he drove. What a luxury. He turned the LLV at the next corner.
Somebody mowing their yard waved. Then a FedEx truck drove by in the oncoming
lane, and the driver waved. Everybody knows me, Carlton felt secure. Everybody
likes me. But they won't for long...

He was being
manipulated. He was being guided. Someone else's hands were on the wheel,
someone else's spirit sharing his psyche. It made him feel exultant, it made
him feel elevated. Carlton's heart just kept singing as he drove, not even
consciously aware of his destination.

At the corner
a group of kids were waiting at the crosswalk, the old lady crossing guard
holding up her hand for them to wait. The kids were all grade-schoolers, a
little rowdy as kids would be, laughing. Good kids. Going places when they got
older because they were diligent and they obeyed their parents and they did
their homework every night. Yes, six of them, waiting for the guard to let them
cross.

Oh, it would
be sweet, wouldn't it?

The guard held
her hand up to Carlton's lane. Carlton stopped, just ten feet from the line.
The kids were coming across now.

Time it just
right...just right. He knew he could do it! His booted foot fidgeted over the
gas pedal. If he waited two more seconds and then floored it-

He'd get them
all.

There's where
I want you, kids. Under my wheels...

He could mow
them all down in one bunch, drag their bodies under the chassis. Wouldn't
necessarily kill them all, but he could turn around, couldn't he? Finish the
job. Or maybe not. Maybe just drive away and leave some of them crippled.

Carlton shook
his head.

No, no. You
have a more important message, the Messenger told him.

Carlton knew
the Messenger was right. He'd have to put his human weakness away and be
strong.

But just as
God tested Job, perhaps someone else was testing Carlton, dangling temptations
before his eyes.

Carlton sighed
at what he saw next.

When he turned
another corner, to the last road before he'd be heading out of town limits, he
saw Joanne Malloy getting out of her Mercedes wagon. She was like a lot of the
rich bitches out here: well-tended, well-jeweled. Her husband made a fortune
suing nursing homes and convalescent centers. Ooo, Carlton thought, slowing
down. And it looks like the twins are home from school-Harvard, of course.
Joanna was cut from a familiar mold: forty years old but looked thirty from a
distance.  Kerchief around her head like she was Jackie Kennedy on vacation in
Cape Fucking Cod. The face-lifts got rid of the wrinkles and crow's feet from thousands
of days lounging on the beach. Augmentation from the best plastic surgeons in
the county took care of the saddlebags and boob sag. She looks like a million
bucks, Carlton thought, which was probably what her husband had spent on her.
Not very friendly, a stiff bitch. Nose in the air. Better than everybody else.
And of course her spoiled-rotten nineteen-year-old twin daughters had the same
disposition. Like mother, like daughter. They were in their first semester in
college, and Carlton could bet they spent the whole time turning heads. And
I'll bet they fuck their professors for grades, and pay them off with Daddy's
money.

They'd just
come back from the beach, all in matching designer bikinis and flowing sarongs,
hundred dollar flip-flops and sunglasses that probably cost half a g-note a
pair. Yeah, there's a threesome, all right, Carlton mused again. He imagined
the most debauched things, scenes that beggared description. All under force,
of course, under the threat of death. Naw, I'm afraid there wouldn't be much
cuddling. He eyed their perfect contours, the outlines of their perfect
breasts, six long tan legs all walking in unison around the half-circle
driveway. The front door to the house could've been the front door to an
embassy. You know, Carlton thought, I'll bet that fucking door cost more than
my car.

It did, his
guide replied. And there's something you must know.

What?

They hate you.
They think they're better than you. They think you exist simply to serve them.
You're a servant to their falsehood and gluttonies.

Oh am I, now?

Carlton waved
as they passed.

Joanna turned
and looked at him, soulless in the sunglasses. She didn't wave. She didn't even
smile. All that returned Carlton's greeting was the blankest of looks-a look of
no acknowledgment-which Carlton deemed a worse insult than a frown. Hell, she
could've given him the finger, and it wouldn't have been as mocking. The two
snooty twins turned their heads, too, with the same looks. One of them shielded
her eyes, gazing more intently.

"Who's that,
Mom?"

"Oh, it's
just the flunky mailman," her mother said.

Carlton heard
that one. Oh "Just the flunky mailman?

He'd go in
there and show them the flunky mailman. Oh, yes. Carlton pulled over to the
curb and stopped the LLV. He turned the engine off.  In all the delectable
musings of these past few minutes, one suddenly occurred to him that easily
ranked superior to the others.