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Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. Love best-selling fiction?
  3. Also by McGarvey Black
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. Acknowledgements
  60. A note from the publisher
  61. Love best-selling fiction?
  62. You will also enjoy:

“None of the other parks are as big or as nice as this one,” said Sean. “When you’re here, you almost forget you’re in the city.”

“That’s true, but it’s still peculiar.”

41

A stocky mail carrier with an olive complexion parked his mail truck in a commercial loading spot on West 97th Street. Waiting for his favorite country song to finish on the radio, he adjusted his face mask, put on his sunglasses and pulled his official USPS hat over his curly black hair. Before getting out of the truck, he looked at his reflection in the large rear-view mirror. His image with a mask, hat and glasses made him laugh. I’m a postal ninja, silent and lethal.

Climbing out of his truck, he walked around to the back and opened the doors. He slid his mail cart out, and made sure the sorted mail packets were locked and loaded. The district supervisor had warned all postal employees about a marked increase in local mail theft. A number of his colleagues had their mail trucks vandalized and packages stolen. A couple of USPS handcarts filled to the brim with mail had been taken while carriers were distracted delivering a package or getting a signature for a certified letter.

The mailman took a long look down the street to make sure no sketchy people lurked nearby. I’ve got a switchblade under my left pant leg and a Glock 42 in the waist of my pants. Screw with me or my mail cart and you’ll be sorry, sucka.

After carefully examining the neighborhood and the people in it, he locked his truck and pushed his full cart down the street to the first building on his route. Stopping in front of a medium-sized elevator building, he opened the unlocked outer glass door and went into the foyer leaving his cart outside. Using his master key, he opened the brass frame that surrounded the mailboxes. Once unlatched, the open wall revealed a cubbyhole for each tenant’s mail. He placed letter packets into slots, starting with the top row. As he worked, he scrutinized various envelopes.

That’s nice, Diane Mattioli in 3B got her social security check on time this month. That was terrible when it was so late last time. How was that poor woman supposed to eat? She looks very good for ninety. He placed a few envelopes into Ms. Mattioli’s mailbox along with some coupons for cat food that he had collected for her and reached for the next packet. More parking tickets for Bill Gibbons. One day they’re going to arrest him. He must have over 500 outstanding tickets. You can run, but you can’t hide, Mr. Gibbons. He placed Gibbons’ mail in the appropriate cubby along with a flyer for an attorney and reached for the next packet of envelopes.