The Mailwoman: Chapter VII

Hugh Hamilton

"Graham Brooks," said Ben with an unmistakable hint of placidity.
Our two protagonists nodded quietly to themselves, not knowing how to react to the revelation.
"Where?" asked Hugh eventually.
Ben studied the envelope again.
"Oddly enough, he seems to be at 'Le Meridien Chari'," he said.
They began nodding again.
"That was that place you mentioned before, wasn't it?" questioned Hugh, shooing the pause out the door.
"Yes, that it was."
After overcoming a second horde of pauses, the two decided to head off to the hotel. The journey itself was, bar a few street-shootings, relatively uneventful and they made not near enough bones to prevent them from arriving at the comparatively classy front doors (I say comparatively because theirs didn't have any) of the hotel in which, they suspected, their mail recipient lay.
"I'm glad the police have such power here," commented Hugh as they entered.
"Yes," agreed Ben, "if you shoot all the criminals, there'll be no crime."
But enough of these ignorant Chadian judgements; there is still important work to be done. Pausing to admire the warmly lit room, Hugh and Ben sauntered arrogantly up to the desk and took no pleasure in being authoritatively turned down by the man behind it in regards to where a Mr Brooks resided. Glum-faced and gloomy, they slumped down on the warm plush chairs and sulked for as long as it took for them to come up with a better idea.
"So we climb up those highly-convenient drain pipes and slip into Graham's room?" said Ben without conviction as they stared up at the elaborately windowed hotel wall.
"Pretty much," confirmed Hugh.
"Might I ask how we find out which room Graham's in?"
"You might, but that would ruin the trial and error brilliance of the plan."
Ben sighed and followed Hugh up the drainpipe.
"Hello, is you name Graham?" asked Hugh cheerfully.
Startled to find two leering men question her femininity from behind a second storey window, the woman hurriedly closed the curtains and began phoning the police.
"I'm beginning to see the flaws in your plan," said Ben coldly as they shifted over to the next window.
"Yes, it's a very well-grounded plan isn't it?" replied Hugh as he peered through the glass.
Ben sighed.
"Hello, is your name Graham?" said Hugh again.
"Bang!" replied the shotgun of an American tourist as two dangerously young girls massaged his scalp.
Hugh and Ben deemed further interrogation unnecessary and moved on to the next window. A few storeys later, Hugh and Ben found themselves still depressingly Graham-less.
"Hello, is your name Graham?" said Hugh for the 42nd time.
A man wearing a t-shirt which stated: "Hello, my name is Graham" looked up startled from his thick non-fiction history of the Middle-East.
"Why yes, that is my name," answered Graham. "Do come in."
He opened the window and led Ben and Hugh into his friendly and highly welcoming room just as a group of well-armed policemen pulled up outside.
"Now, what is it you boys want?" asked the elderly man from beneath a comprehensively mouth-hiding moustache.
"Well," began Ben, "we want to give you this letter."
He handed Graham the violet envelope.
"Ah, I see." Graham seemed to recognise the envelope and he placed it down his desk.
"Aren't you going to open it?" asked a disappointed Hugh.
"No, one of the conditions of me receiving this letter is that the deliverers must not view its contents."
Hugh failed to hide his frown.
"Don't be like that," said Graham. "Look, I'd like to show you something."
He hurried over to one of his bags and plucked a beautifully archaic book from therein.
"Here," he said, handing Hugh the book.
"'The Post: How To Live And Die By The Mail'," quoted Hugh. "Uh, thanks."
Suddenly, an aggressive knock shook the door hinges.
"Oh dear," said Ben gloomily.
"One of the conditions of you receiving that book is that neither of you call me 'dear'," stated Graham as Hugh and Ben panicked in circles around the room.