The Mailwoman: Chapter I

Hugh Hamilton

Ben and Hugh, as they are affectionately known, were sitting well-groomed in a delectable café on Egg Street. Below them, on beautifully florid dinner plates, sat various mouth-watering pastries and cakes nestled between Hugh's fresh cup of steaming brown and Ben's considerably less-awakening hot chocolate. In between carefully chosen mouthfuls, they discussed issues of the day and ate through insubstantial sentences of cruel irreverence.
"Ben?"
"Yes?"
"This cake is very delicious," said Hugh with enough awe to fill a rodent.
"Indeed," indeedled Ben.
Noting the exhausted possibilities of the conversation, a sly pause snuck through the cracks of wind in the café and lurched over to Ben and Hugh's table for a four-minute stay.
"No, it is," began Hugh again.
"Yes, I know," mumbled Ben.
And then something happened. But more specifically: a woman, wearing the incongruous combination of braces and skirt, pulled up a chair beside our boys and began to query them on their profession.
"Yes," explained Ben, "we are."
"Good." She stayed silent for a minute while her eyes darted around the room suspiciously.
"How did you know who we were?" asked Hugh.
"Mmm? Oh, I followed you from your office."
"Ah, good," said Ben. "Now, what do you want?"
"I want you to deliver a letter," she said casually.
"We're not mailmen," complained Hugh.
"I know, but my letter is a special one."
"'L'?" offered Hugh.
The lady politely laughed and continued. "They won't allow me to send it through the post service."
"What is it?" asked Ben curiously.
"I'm afraid one of the conditions of me hiring you is to not find out."
"And where do we deliver it?"
"Overseas."
"We'll do it!" cried Hugh whilst Ben gave him another malicious glare.
"Great, bye."
She left before another word could be said.
"I sure hope she leaves us some details sometime," said Hugh.