Package Deal

Carl was already at the curb when Eddie pulled up.

“Morning, Eddie.”

Eddie stepped out of the brown truck, scanner in hand. “Carl.”

They stood there for a moment, two delivery drivers in different uniforms, staring at the same house like it had offended them.

Carl nodded toward the driveway. “You’re early.”

“I’m on time.”

“You’re ten minutes ahead of your usual stop.”

“I adjusted my route.”

Carl considered that. “That explains the decline in standards.”

Eddie ignored him and walked toward the porch.

Carl glanced at Eddie’s truck. “You still throwing packages, or did they finally teach you to place them?”

Eddie didn’t look up. “We deliver them. You photograph them.”

Carl nodded. “Documentation matters.”

Eddie smirked slightly. “So does getting there first.”

Carl nodded toward the porch. “Try not to block the walkway this time.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Try not to need three scans to prove you were here.”

Carl replied, “Accuracy prevents disputes.”

Eddie said, “Speed prevents complaints.”

They arrived at the front step at the exact same time.

Carl held up his scanner. “FedEx delivery.”

Eddie held up his. “UPS.”

They both looked at the door. It was slightly open.

Carl frowned. “That’s not normal.”

“No,” Eddie said. “It is not.”

They waited. Nothing.

Carl knocked once, firm and professional. “Delivery.”

No answer.

Eddie leaned slightly, peering through the crack. “You seeing anything?”

“Dark hallway.”

“Same. Smells… off.”

Carl sniffed. “That’s just suburban carpet.”

They both nodded. Carl reached out and pushed the door open another inch. It creaked.

“Hello?” Eddie called.

Still nothing. They exchanged a look.

“Protocol?” Carl asked.

Eddie considered. “We leave the packages, note ‘door ajar,’ move on.”

Carl nodded. “Agreed.”

They both set their boxes just inside the threshold.

Carl straightened. “Unusual.”

“Not our problem,” Eddie said.

As they turned to leave, a voice drifted from down the street. “Morning.”

They turned. Frank, the USPS carrier, was walking his route, satchel over his shoulder, moving at the steady pace of a man who had seen everything and chosen not to be surprised by any of it.

“Morning, Frank,” Carl said.

Frank glanced at the open door. “That normal?”

“No,” Eddie said.

Frank nodded once. “Mm.”

“You see anyone go in or out?” Carl asked.

Frank shook his head. “Been quiet.”

Frank kept walking, then added over his shoulder:

“Dog didn’t bark either. And that dog barks at everything.”

They both paused.

Eddie frowned. “There’s a dog?”

“There’s always a dog,” Frank said, not turning around.

Carl and Eddie watched him go.

“He notices things,” Carl said.

“He always notices things,” Eddie replied.

Frank, shouts out, “Catch you guys later. I’ll be looping back this way in about an hour. There’s a package I accidentally left back at the ol’ mail room I need to deliver over here.”

They stood there a second longer.

Then Eddie said, “We’re done here.”

Carl nodded. “We’re done.”

As they were walking back to their trucks, they saw a “Sahara” van speeding by.

“Sahara guys don’t follow rules,” Carl remarked.

“They follow vibes,” Eddie added.

“Especially Derek Vega,” Carl replied.

Carl and Eddie drove off in opposite directions.

Carl knew something was wrong about twenty minutes later. It wasn’t a specific thing. It was a collection of small ones. The kind that said: this will become paperwork.

He sighed. “I hate paperwork.”

The open door. The silence. The way the house had felt—like a room where someone had just stopped talking. He pulled over, tapped his scanner, and frowned. Same address. Two deliveries. Same timestamp window. He sighed.

“Unusual,” he muttered.

Eddie knew something was wrong when the black sedan ran the red light behind him and didn’t slow down. He checked the mirror. Still there.

“That’s not ideal,” he said to no one. “Fantastic,” he continued. “I’ve made a friend.”

He turned right. The sedan turned right. He accelerated slightly. The sedan matched.

Eddie sighed. “All right.” He reached for his phone and called Carl.

“You being followed?” Eddie asked.

Carl blinked. “No.”

“Wait,” Carl added, checking his rearview mirror. “I might be.”

“Well, I am definitely being followed. Aggressively,” Eddie said.

Carl nodded slowly, even though Eddie couldn’t see it. “That complicates things.”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“Same house,” Carl said.

“Same house,” Eddie confirmed.

Carl sighed. “All right. I’m turning around. Where are you?”

Eddie said, “That is deeply against protocol.”

Carl replied, “So is being murdered mid-route.”

“…Fair.”

They met in the parking lot of a closed hardware store. Eddie pulled in first. Carl arrived a moment later. The black sedan rolled past slowly, then kept going.

Carl watched it. “That’s deliberate.”

Eddie nodded. “Yes. I don’t like deliberate directed at me.”

They stood between their trucks.

Carl crossed his arms. “You think this is related to the delivery?”

“Yes.”

Carl nodded. “Agreed.”

“I don’t like this,” Eddie said.

“You don’t like anything that deviates from schedule.”

“This is a significant deviation.”

Carl allowed that. “Fair.”

They both looked back toward the road.

Carl crossed his arms. “What do we know?”

Eddie ticked it off. Carl crossed his arms. “Frank said the dog didn’t bark.”

Eddie frowned. “There’s always a dog.”

“Yes.”

“And it didn’t react.”

“No.”

They stood there a second.

Eddie’s expression shifted slightly. “That means something.”

Carl nodded. “Yes.”

“Dog hears everything. Mail trucks, footsteps, doors.”

“And strangers,” Carl added.

Eddie looked back toward the street. “So, if it didn’t bark…”

Carl finished it. “Whoever went in wasn’t a stranger.”

Eddie: “…I don’t like that.”

Carl: “You don’t like most things.”

Eddie: “I especially don’t like familiar murderers.”

Carl considered. “…That’s a reasonable boundary.”

Eddie shifted his weight. “We should go back.”

Carl looked at him. “That would be against protocol.”

“So is being hunted,” Eddie said.

Carl sighed.

“…All right.”

They arrived back at the house together. This time, the door was closed.

Carl frowned. “I liked it better open.”

Eddie stepped forward and knocked. Nothing. Carl tried the handle. Unlocked. They looked at each other.

“Protocol?” Carl asked.

Eddie paused.

Then: “We’re already off protocol.”

Carl nodded. “Agreed.”

They stepped inside.

The living room was neat. Too neat.

Coffee cup on the table. Still half full.

A chair slightly out of place.

And on the floor—

Carl stopped.

Eddie followed his gaze.

A man lay on the carpet, unmoving.

Eddie exhaled slowly. “That’s…not good.”

Carl checked his pulse. “Alive. Barely.”

Eddie scanned the room. “What happened?”

Behind them, the floor creaked.

They turned.

A man stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

Calm. Well-dressed. Holding a gun like it was just another tool and wore the expression of someone who liked plans more than people.

“You two are thorough,” he said.

Carl straightened. “We try.”

Eddie raised his hands slightly. “We’re just delivery drivers.”

The explanation came smoother than it should have. The man introduced himself as Grant Harlow—a “logistics consultant.” Which, as he explained, meant he specialized in moving things without attracting attention. Including information. Including money. Including people.

The homeowner, it turned out, had recently taken out a very large life insurance policy—one that would pay out to a business partner: Grant.

“The problem,” Grant said, “is that insurance companies dislike obvious murder.”

Eddie nodded. “They’re picky like that.”

“So,” Grant continued, “we create an accident. A reaction. Delayed. Untraceable. Something involving household delivery items. Tragic. Unfortunate. Covered.”

Not able to restrain himself from breaking out into a monologue, Grant gestured toward the opened boxes.

“Individually,” he said, “perfectly ordinary. A backup power unit. Pool maintenance supplies. Suburban life, but together…”

He pointed toward the device.

“The unit activates when unpacked. Generates heat. Small electrical cycling.”

Then to the vial.

“And that has a compromised seal. Slow release. Odorless at first.”

Carl’s expression didn’t change. “You built a reaction.”

“I arranged one,” Grant corrected. “Contained. Delayed. The kind of accident that reads well on paper.”

Eddie shook his head. “And the delivery logs?”

“Corroborate the timeline,” Grant said. “Two separate carriers. Independent arrivals. No suspicion of coordination.”

Eddie nodded slowly. “…That’s annoyingly thorough.”

Carl added, “I hate how much I respect the paperwork.”

Eddie tilted his head. “And the insurance?”

Grant smiled faintly. “The policy pays out quickly in cases of accidental death with clear documentation.”

Carl: “You used us as documentation.”

Grant: “You’re very reliable.”

Eddie: “We aim to please.”

Grant raised the gun slightly. “Unfortunately, now I need to tape up the loose ends of box.”

Eddie sighed. “Of course you do.”

Eddie frowned. “If this was all planned, why were you here earlier?”

Grant didn’t hesitate.

“Because accidents sometimes require assistance,” he said.

Carl tilted his head. “You needed him to open the packages.”

“Yes. And to do so promptly. People procrastinate. It complicates timing.”

Eddie nodded. “So, you… what, gave him instructions?”

“I encouraged efficiency.”

Carl gestured toward the house. “And the door?”

“Unlocked,” Grant said. “So, your deliveries would be completed without delay.”

Eddie added, “And the dog?”

Grant paused, just slightly.

“Contained,” he said.

What followed was not graceful. Carl knocked over a chair. Eddie grabbed the coffee table and flung it toward Grant. The gun went off—loud, sharp—splintering wood.

Carl ducked. “I really don’t like this!”

Eddie: “We established that!”

They ran. Out the door, across the yard, toward the trucks.

“Left!” Eddie shouted.

“Right!” Carl countered.

They split anyway. Carl made it to the corner before the sedan cut him off.

Grant stepped out. Same calm look. Same professional demeanor.

“This would be easier if you cooperated,” he said, adding “This is unnecessary.”

Carl raised his hands. “I prefer necessary things.”

Behind him, another engine roared. The driver turned. A dark blue van slid into the intersection sideways, tires screaming. The door flew open. A man jumped out with the confidence of someone who had never once second-guessed himself.

“Gentlemen!” he called.

Carl blinked. “Oh no.”

Eddie skidded to a stop beside him. “…Is that—”

“F****** Sahara,” Carl confirmed.

Eddie nodded. “Of course it is.”

The newcomer, Derek Vega, spread his arms slightly, positioning himself between them and the gunman.

“Not on my watch.”

Carl leaned toward Eddie. “He practiced that.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

The next thirty seconds were chaos—but efficient chaos. The Sahara driver moved like he’d been waiting for this his entire career. He grabbed a loose package from the van, hurled it—not at the man, but at the sedan’s windshield. It shattered just enough to distract. It cracked.

“Fragile!” Sahara-Man shouted helpfully.

Eddie tackled the gunman. Carl kicked the weapon away. It skidded across the pavement—and stopped at someone’s feet. Frank looked down at the gun. Then at them. Then at the man on the ground.

“Busy morning?” Frank said.

Carl, slightly winded: “We’ve had worse.”

Eddie looked at him. “We have not.”

Frank bent and picked up the gun. “This doesn’t belong here,” Frank said, like he was spotting a misdelivered catalog.

“You boys all right?”

Derek Vega brushed off his hands. “Handled.”

Frank nodded. “Mm.”

Sirens approached.

Frank added, “Told you that dog was too quiet.”

The homeowner lived. Grant did not get his payout. Carl adjusted his scanner. Eddie leaned against his truck. Derek stood proudly. Frank walked past.

“Everything sorted?” he asked.

“Appears so,” Carl said.

Frank nodded. “Good.”

He kept walking.

Eddie watched him go. “He knew.”

“He always knows,” Carl said.

Derek grinned. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Carl nodded. “You were…dramatic.”

“Heroic,” Derek corrected.

Eddie said, “You threw a package at a car.”

“It was properly labeled,” Derek said. “Insurance would cover it.”

Carl paused. “…That’s responsible.”

Derek was busy being interviewed by the local news station reporter, as Carl and Eddie were wrapping up their long day.

Carl: “Clocking out?”

Eddie: “Clocking out.”

Frank, from down the street: “Try not to get shot tomorrow.”

They got into their trucks. Eddie glanced over. Carl glanced back.

Eddie said, “Same route tomorrow?”

Carl said, “Wouldn’t trust anyone else with it.”