I didn’t hear Lindsay come back that night, and I couldn’t shake the idea that she was out with another man. It shouldn’t matter to me. I didn’t really know her, but the idea of another man running his hands across her hips, brushing his fingers over her skin until her pouty lips parted and she moaned, was enough to make me crazy. I hoped our rain check date would happen soon. For the sake of my mission, and myself.

I’d stopped at the store the day before to buy bread and eggs and a few other basics, so I made a quick breakfast before heading out for work. I hoped I’d catch Lindsay in the hallway, so we could walk to work, but I didn’t hear her leave all morning and even though I slammed my door closed, hoping to draw her attention, she didn’t come out of her condo.

As I walked, my mind began to wander. Had something happened to her? Had she been abducted while out on her date? Or had her boss’s misdeeds caught up to her? Was she currently trapped in some mafia clubhouse somewhere being held for ransom? I knew I was being ridiculous, but I still had to resist the urge to drop by her office and check on her before going down to the basement.

Mr. Yancey was already there, sipping on the world’s largest mug of coffee and reading the paper.

“Mail truck already came by,” he said, never looking up from his paper.

I dropped off my lunch bag and immediately left to go pick up the mail carts, not even bothering to argue with the old man this time. At first, it had seemed like four carts wasn’t near enough mail for an entire building, but then I realized how small envelopes were. Each cart had four racks and each rack could hold at least one-hundred envelopes.

I sorted everything into departments and Mr. Yancey sorted those piles alphabetically. Occasionally, he had to stop and squint at the address labels, but otherwise, he moved with the speed and dexterity of someone much younger.

“You said you’re retired?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

He grunted in the affirmative.

“Retired from what?” I asked with a sigh. I wasn’t a great conversationalist, but Mr. Yancey might be worse.

“I was a mailman.”

I stopped and stared at him. “Aren’t you a mailman now?”

“Why would I retire and then keep doing the same job?” he asked, lips pulled back in annoyance. “I worked for the United States government. Now, I work for the company who owns this building and am forced to look at your face all day.”

I wanted to tell him that retiring from mail delivery to continue delivering mail was basically the same job, regardless of employer, but I didn’t feel like getting on the old man’s bad side. We would be trapped in the cement prison of the mailroom for several hours every day, so the least I could do was make it tolerable.

After a few minutes, he chuckled to himself and said, “I couldn’t handle all the walking anymore. I needed a job where I could sit on my ass and get some young kid to do the legwork. So, enter you.”

“Why not stay retired?”

“Boredom,” he said. “My wife died, and the house was quiet.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Then, I came across a piece of mail for Richard Sabella. Mr. Yancey didn’t strike me as the kind of man who stood for any bullshit, so I decided not to beat around the bush. “You know anything about Richard Sabella?”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, raising one eyebrow high, and then went back to sorting. “Security.”

“Right, he owns Sabella Security. You know anything else?”

Mr. Yancey’s white-stubbled chin wrinkled, his lower lip pouting out, and he shook his head.

I hummed. “I’ve only been here a few days and already heard talk.”

This was completely untrue, but I was hoping I could prey on Mr. Yancey’s watchdog instinct. He had worked in the building for a while, and he seemed like the kind of man who would pride himself on knowing what went on in the building.

“You’d do well to ignore most people’s talk,” he said. “Empty brains, empty words.”

“You’re probably right. What do these office workers know about organized crime, anyway?”

Mr. Yancey stiffened in his seat and then readjusted. I could only hope I’d caught him off guard, rather than having said too much. Richard Sabella was known to have eyes and ears everywhere. What if he’d recruited Mr. Yancey to keep an eye on things for him? It would be a smart move, considering he worked in the mail room. He could lay his eyes on every piece of mail coming in and out of the building. He’d know if people were snooping around the premises.

I continued sorting through mail, waiting for Mr. Yancey to break the silence between us. I had already said as much as I was willing to. Finally, he took a deep breath and, in an uncharacteristic move, swiveled on his chair so he was facing me. His eyelids were heavy, but I could see the seriousness reflected in the nervous clench of his mouth.

“Listen, kid,” he said, voice low. “You’d be better off just keeping your head down and doing your job. You got me?”

I didn’t say anything, just stared at him. My silence prompted Mr. Yancey to lower his chin, looking up at me from beneath his bushy brows. “Do you got me?” he annunciated.

I nodded. “I heard you, but I’m trying to decide if you’re serious.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked, back to his usual gruff tone as he spun back and began sorting mail again.

“Are you telling me the rumors may not be rumors?” I asked. If Mr. Yancey was working for Richard Sabella, he wouldn’t have said anything like that to me. He wouldn’t have legitimized the wild rumors I’d mentioned. Now, it seemed Mr. Yancey was not only a good guy, but a well-informed good guy.

He shook his head. “No, I’m trying to tell you that it is a lot safer to just keep your head down and do your job.”

I leaned my hip against the edge of the table and crossed my arms. “You have to tell me what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. I’m here to do my job, and you should do the same.” He shoved a pile of mail towards me. “This is sorted. Put it on the delivery cart.”

I wanted to intimidate him, tower over him and demand he tell me what he knew, but Mr. Yancey wasn’t a man I could scare. He was a steel trap and a stubborn old man. But now I knew for certain that he knew something. Perhaps, if I proved myself as loyal, he’d tell me. Or, perhaps he’d never tell his secrets.

Soon enough, I’d get a call from my boss asking for progress, and I wanted to have something to tell him. I needed to get close with someone who might know Richard Sabella’s secrets or, at the very least, put me in a position to find them out for myself. And as things were going, Lindsay was my best option.