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Back THE MAILMAN Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. DEDICATION
  2. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
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  10. 8
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  57. 55

The mailman stretched out a thin pale hand. “Now would you please hand over the undelivered mail in your possession?”

Doug shook his head. “Take me to court. I’m giving these to Howard.”

“Fine,” the mailman said, his voice eminently reasonable. “Now, would you please step aside? There are other people waiting behind you, Mr. Albin.”

Doug turned away from the counter and strode out of the post office to his car. It was not until he was halfway home that he remembered that he had not told the mailman his name.

The mailman had simply known.

12

Hobie arrived home feeling good. The pool had been crowded today, and not just with kids. A gaggle of women in their early to mid-twenties had arrived in the afternoon and had taken up residence near the deep end of the pool, far away from the children and their mothers. Before their arrival he had been casually scoping out Mrs. Farris, who was trim and fit and wore a pinkish-peach bathing suit that became nearly see-through when it was wet, but his attention shifted as the new group set up their towels and broke out the tanning lotion. They all had the brown smooth bodies of aerobic instructors, and they all had incredibly great tits. One of them, a brunette, was wearing a modified string bikini, and when she bent over, he could see almost up the crack of her perfectly formed ass. The others wore brightly trendy swimsuits cut so close to the crotch that he knew they had to shave.

It had been a damn good day.

He pulled out his keys and opened the door, taking his mail out of the box before walking inside.

Although Hobie lived in a large brown-and-white mobile home near the center of town, just down the road from the shopping center in what was admittedly not the best section of Willis, he was comfortable with his place of residence. The houses here were close together and not as nice as those in the rest of town, but that suited him just fine. No one bothered him, no one told him to turn down his stereo, no one told him to clean up his yard or get rid of his automobiles. He knew that his property looked like a miniature junkyard. There was no lawn to speak of, only flat dirt, and there was a 1974 Vega and a 1979 Datsun parked in the front and a 1965 Mustang on blocks in the back. His carport was littered with various auto parts and two old engine blocks. But he didn’t mind it, and neither did his neighbors.