The swift completion of his appointed round
The summer residence of Jack Caracas was guarded by a pack of hounds with severe anger management issues. So vicious were they that Switchback’s village postman had been forced into early retirement, his replacement had suffered a nervous breakdown, and the latest had asked to return to his original position at the British Forces post office in Helmand province, Afghanistan.
Alarmed at the attrition rate, the Royal Mail sent in one of their elite: Frank Ashizukai, the ninja postman.
A slight rustle in the leylandii was all that indicated the presence of the new arrival and his payload of 6,128 pieces of undelivered mail. Frank balanced himself on a twig and prepared to exploit the psychological weaknesses of the hounds.
‘Fetch!’ he shouted, throwing a star shuriken over to the other side of the grounds, then disappeared back into the shadows. Thirty seconds later he was on the balcony of the master bedroom, with the hounds barking ineffectually below.
It was the work of a moment to blow up the balcony doors. As the smoke cleared, Frank saw half a dozen scantily-clad women scattering from the bedroom while a bodyguard rushed in to the aid of Caracas.
‘Who are you?’ said Jack, from the bed. ‘Paparazzi?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Frank. ‘I’m your new postman.’
‘Really?’ said Jack. ‘I do have a letterbox, you know.’
The sack of undelivered mail was thrown down on his bed.
‘Wouldn’t have fit,’ said Frank. ‘Didn’t you wonder why you hadn’t received any mail for the past year?’
‘I was a little concerned about the lack of fanmail, I suppose,’ said Jack.
‘It’s up to you,’ said Frank. ‘Either keep your dogs under control, or get your balcony doors blown up once a day. Before 9am for special deliveries.’