THERE WAS ONLY one person working behind the counter at A-1 when Roy and Mace walked in. He was young with ear buds and lines dangling to an iPod hung on his belt. His head was swaying to the music as he sorted the mail on the counter. Mace led Roy over to the wall of mailboxes. A quick check showed that while they were numbered, none of the digits on the boxes matched the one Mace had written down from the original key.
“Plan B,” she whispered to Roy.
Mace walked over to the guy at the counter. “Hey, dude, got a question.”
The kid took one ear bud out but his head kept swinging. “Yeah?”
Mace held up the key. “My aunt fell down the stairs and broke her tailbone. That’s the good news.”
“That she broke her tailbone?” said the kid, perplexed.
“Yeah, because but for that she wouldn’t have gone to the hospital and they wouldn’t have checked her out and discovered she had like this weird form of leprosy she contracted in Africa or some crazy place. That stuff’ll eat your skin right off. And it’s like so contagious that if she like breathes on you, your eyeballs fall out. I’ve never seen anything like this crap. It’s got some long-ass medical name.”
“Damn, that sucks,” said the kid, his head still swinging to the rhythm.
“Anyway, this is her key and she asked me to get her mail. Only she can’t remember which box was hers.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So I can’t get the mail. And she has some checks and medical bills she needs. It’s a hassle but I’m the only relative she has.”
“What’s her name?”
“Diane Tolliver.” Mace crossed her fingers, hoping that the kid had not read of the woman’s murder.
He clicked some keys on the computer. “Yeah, she’s got a box here.”
“So what’s the number?”
The kid took out the other bud from his ear and his expression hardened. “I’m not really supposed to give out that info. Mail regs or something. You know, like terrorist stuff.”
“Damn, never thought of that.” She looked at Roy. “Well, hell, you better go get Auntie and bring her in here then so she can show some ID.” She turned back to the kid. “They couldn’t keep her in that hospital anymore because they’re not set up for contagious crap like that. So we’re driving her to Johns Hopkins. We just got going and then she started screaming about her mail. Between you and me I think this stuff messes with your mind too. You know, like forgetting your mailbox number? I know it screws up your sex drive. Docs say it kills the libido like dead, especially in younger people. Anyway, she’s out in the car with boils popping all over the place. And her face? It’s like tar sliding off. Now, we got inoculated against this shit so we’re good, but if I were you, I’d go hide out in the back or something. And anything she touches in here make sure you clean it up with like Clorox or something. The bacteria can live for like weeks on pretty much anything. An orderly at the hospital found that out the hard way.” She looked at Roy again. “Go on and get her. Make it fast. I don’t want to get caught in traffic going to Baltimore.”
Roy turned to head out the door but the kid blurted out, “It’s Box 716. Second to the left on the top row over there.”
“You sure?” asked Mace. “I don’t want you getting in trouble. And Auntie’s right outside. She can walk but she falls a lot because of the boils bursting and her feet slipping in the juice. You ought to see the backseat of my car. It’s beyond gross.”
The wide-eyed kid took a step back. “No, it’s cool. Go on ahead and open it up. Your auntie ain’t got to come in here.”
“Hey, thanks, man.” Roy put out a hand for him to shake. The kid took another step back and picked up a large tub of mail. “Yeah, dude, you’re welcome.”
Roy and Mace headed to Box 716.