Harold clocked out and left by the back basement door of the mail room. His intention was to avoid Staines and get on with his next bit of business. He rounded the corner of the building heading for the next street and stopped; Staines was walking toward him, a big goofy grin on his face.

"Hey, thought I missed you. You always come out this way?"

"Aah, no . . . geez man, I forgot all about our drink date."

"So, are you still game?"

"Sure. Sure let's get a drink." He figured it was better to get it over with than try and weasel out of it.

Clyde's was an open all night throwback dive with Naugahyde booths and wall mounted jukeboxes; Harold did a double take when Staines bounced in and headed straight for a rear corner booth next to a mini stage with a tired looking pole dancer executing a sad routine.

"Are you kidding me? You come here to drink?"

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Pope."

"This isn't the cover, Bill, this is the guts."

"Grab a seat and just enjoy. Cheapest drinks in town and generous too."

"You sure it's the drinks you come here for?" Harold folded down into the booth, wondering if this guy was for real. A random thought landed and he looked at Staines watching the dancer. How come you were at the basement exit when I came out tonight?

Staines waved to the bartender and shouted their orders after asking Harold his preference. The dancer stopped and lit a cigarette, leaning against the pole and closing her eyes. Lost visions of a life missed, Harold thought, glancing at her.

"So, How was your day, Harold?" Staines' voice lost a small share of his usual congeniality.

"Much the same as every other. Same as any postman I expect. What about you?"

"Same, except I'm not a postman." He grinned and leaned back as the bartender set their drinks in front of them.

The beer was as good as advertised and Harold lifted the glass in an approving gesture.

"Guess you hear lots of gossip on your rounds."

"Not really, I just deliver the mail and keep on going."

"No juicy tidbits about who's doin' who?"

"Nobody talks to me and I'm sure I'm the last person they'd confide juicy tidbits too."

Staines swallowed some beer and wiped his mouth. "Not even that Walker dame?"

"Why would you say that?"

"Well I do hear juicy tidbits and one is that you are trying to make some headway there." He grinned and winked.

"What?" Harold leaned back.

"Is it true?"

"What the hell are you talking-"

"C'mon, Pope. You've been drooling over her for ages."

"Just what the hell is your game, Staines?"

"I think yours might be more interesting." Staines took another mouthful of beer and locked eyes with Harold.

The feeling Harold had earlier returned. Staines had met him at the basement door. How would he know? He asked about Della specifically. Again, how would he know? That night at the subway? And the way he cornered him on the elevator about having this drink?

He picked up his glass then set it down and stood up. "I'm outta here. I don't know what you think you know or want to know but whatever it is I ain't interested." He headed to the door and left without looking back.

********

The taxi ride home gave him time to think and to feel a little uncomfortable. What is this guy after? Who the hell is he? How come he's always on the damn elevator! The cab stopped and Harold paid and climbed out, watching as it drove away, the questions snagging on the corners of his mind.

Inside his apartment, he tossed his jacket over the chair and saw the post card Syd had been looking at sticking out of the pocket. He wasn't sure he wanted an assignment right now but he pulled it out and read as he wandered to the kitchen.

A man of some prominence had entangled himself with a younger woman, who was now threatening blackmail because he was ignoring her. Domestics. He really hated domestics. Where were all the crooks and killers that deserved his visits? Harold dropped it on the counter and opened the fridge.

He stared morosely at the contents and sighed. "Maybe I should have taken up cooking instead of killing." He complained aloud. He grabbed a block of blue coated cheese, a half empty package of bread and his dietary staple, beer. By the time he'd trimmed the cheese there wasn't enough left for a sandwich so he just ate the chunk and followed it down with the beer.

The bread went back in the fridge.

The questions about Staines rose again and he sat glumly assessing what he knew - which was nothing. He did say he lived just up the street from the subway, if that was true. But those questions about Della and his game set off alarm bells and he decided he needed to know a little more about Mr. Staines.

He turned his attention to the latest post card and read the instructions about the target. The woman was a fledgling model who debuted at the offices of Betts Fashions several months ago. The man (unamed) had taken an interest immediately, and not in her fashion poses. There was no deadline but sooner was better.

"Betts Fashions! Shit!" Harold looked about like he couldn't find the exit. "Betts." Then an idea suddenly formed as he thought about the invitations that had come to the mail room.

********

Friday rolled around and the office floors were all buzzing with the excitement over the Betts Fashion cocktail party as Harold trundled past with his cart. Women huddled discussing wardrobes and gasping about the choices. The single men, and some with wives, were worn out from winking at one another in anticipation.

Harold had lifted one of the invitations at random, and was now an anonymous attendee from the large production staff. The poor sod who wouldn't be getting his or hers would be crushed no doubt.

There were two venues at the party. The elite for upper management to be held on the roof garden of the company and the fashion floor for the middle and lower. The star models would be hostesses at the elite venue and the up and comers would strut with the herd at the other.

He dropped off his deliveries and stopped by Della's desk, giving a slight cough for attention.

"Again?" She snapped taking her mail.

"Look, I'm sorry if I said or did-"

"Like you don't know." She waved him off and turned her back.

He scratched his head, considering a reply but her loud, irritated sigh sent him on his way puzzling over her remark.

"Did you get an invite, Harold," a group embracing the water cooler teased.

"As a matter of fact." He replied, smiling at their stunned expressions and headed for the elevators.

********

Tony waited for Pope to leave then sidled up to Della's desk and when she looked up he lit his charmer smile and leaned closer.

"Hi, listen, I'm sorry about dinner the other night . . . you know."

"Why? The food was good. You chose a nice place."

He chortled slightly and turned intimate. "You uh- you know. You had to run off before- well right after we ate."

"Yes?"

"Well- well I thought maybe . . . look, do you have a come with for tonight? Can I take you to the party?"

"Sure, sounds great. Nobody likes arriving alone."

The dart hit home and Tony straightened up, blushing. "Fine, six okay? Your place?"

"Six it is." She turned back to her work and he stepped awkwardly away and back to his office.

"Wait'll she sees the treatment I get for bringing in the biggest account to Kirkland yet." He muttered under his breath.

Peter suddenly appeared where Tony had been and Della smiled to herself, then thought of the photo and the smile melted.

"You and Renesto a thing now? He seems to be hanging around a lot lately."

"Jealous, Peter?"

His face darkened. "I know you are on the elite list tonight and I want to make it clear that I will be attending with my wife and I don't want any roadside bombs, Della."

"Peter, I've met Shirley before. I would be remiss if I didn't at least say hello. besides, Tony just asked if he could take me and I said yes."

"Make least the operative word, Della. This is business, party atmosphere or not, and it affects all of us so keep that in mind." He rapped the top of the cubicle and left.

The rebuke left her stewing and she slipped the picture out of her purse with shaking fingers. 

********

Harold assessed his image in the mirror, nodding and then letting out a sigh. Wouldn't the Kirkland mob be gobsmacked if they saw anonymous Harold Pope, the mail guy in his Custom Brioni suit. He turned this way and that and then shook his head; not a good idea.

He slipped the suit off, put on a pair of dark grey slacks and a navy blazer. Harold wasn't ready to come out just yet. He picked up the invitation, read the address again and put it in his pocket. The post card was in another pocket. This one hadn't been torn up yet because he wanted to see the target first before deciding on accepting.

He had another list that lay on his table with check marks down the margin. It contained the names of all current Kirkland employees and their start dates. Bill Staines name was not on the list. If he turned up at the party then it could only mean he did the same as I did, Harold reasoned. And that makes him more dangerous than ever.

5825 Word Total (Microsoft word count)