Twenty-seven.
That was the number of stamps that filled the first few pages of J's album, though he wasn't one to talk about it. Hell, if someone from HQ had noticed the little brown book sitting on his desk J would have said anything to deflect ownership. Just holding it for a friend, he'd lie. Oh, that old thing? Just something he picked up while out on a stakeout, and hey, wasn't that Zed's voice calling?
J usually kept the small notebook tucked away in his desk drawer—partially in an attempt at secrecy, and in part in reverence. Each stamp represented a visit to the Truro Post Office, which was located inside of a lighthouse some 200 miles away. The fact he had so many stamps already was impressive in itself—shit, some of those suckers were limited editions and cost more money than J cared to admit, not to mention the time it took to get there. Thank God for hyperdrive. If he actually sat down and thought about it, he'd have a hard time justifying spending that kind of money on glorified stickers, so J preferred not to think about it. It was a tactic he'd adopted over the last five years and it worked.
For the most part.
...
"I can help the next customer in line."
An elderly woman shuffled toward the counter, struggling to hold the large cardboard box clutched at her chest. The mail clerk reached across the partition and carefully scooped the parcel from her hands, flashing a broad smile.
"That box's a mite too large for you, Mrs. Vigushin. Although I do appreciate your taking the time to wrap it correctly today."
Mrs. Vigushin breathed a sigh of relief and peered up at Kevin Brown, postmaster. He was somewhere on the back side of fifty, and despite the deep lines framing his mouth she thought he was a nice looking gentleman, especially when he smiled. Like now.
"What a nice smile. Do you know who you remind me of? My late husband, Richard."
Mrs. Vigushin offered her own watery smile as Kevin Brown processed her package and entered it into the system.
"That so? All right, now you take care now and we'll see you next week."
He handed her a few bills in change and sent her on her way. He watched as her small frame puttered towards the door, which was being held open by a young black man in a suit and tie. Instead of joining the line of customers, the newcomer hung back, preferring to watch from behind his dark frames.
...
J leaned against the wall nearest the door, studying the busy mailroom. A forward-thinking few had brought packages to ship out before the inevitable holiday rush, and the whole building buzzed with activity. He watched as the mail clerks greeted their customers with company issued politeness, but it was the postmaster that kept his interest.
Kevin Brown didn't know it, but he had been J's partner coming up on five years ago. J'd had a few other partners during those years, but none of them could fill the void K had left behind. Ok, so maybe the two of them hadn't spent a bunch of time together, in actuality it was only about a day, but damn those hours left an impression on J, and he hadn't quite been the same since. Thankfully Zed had seen to it that MiB's most renowned agent was situated in a comfortably small town near enough that J could visit him... which he often did. Policy prevented fraternization between agents, but K hadn't been an agent in years, and frankly J wasn't so sure he would have followed that rule in the first place.
No, he would have still found a way to this small shoreside post office, if only for the smiles. Stamps, it turned out, weren't the only things worth collecting here in Truro, Mass. K never smiled much before, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead his smiles were hidden in the wrinkles at his eyes, or perhaps in a bit of eye contact held longer than usual. But here at the post office he smiled with such frequency it fascinated J. Each smile felt like coming home after a grueling day in the field, and J found himself craving that sense of comfort.
The miles on the Mercedes could attest to that.
...
After several of the customers had been seen the man in the suit approached the line, removing his shades and taking his place behind a mother and her son. His face registered what looked like thinly veiled anxiety, Kevin decided, or maybe excitement; either way the man was a bundle of nerves, drumming his fingers along the notebook in his hands.
"Next."
The young man walked up and carefully set the notebook on the counter, studying the older man's face. The corner of his mouth twitched as if he was fighting back a smile.
"Yeah, K, not to sound weird or anything but do you remember me?"
"Of course I remember you."
The young man's face lit up almost immediately with the smile he had been holding back.
"You were in here just last week," the postmaster added, and suddenly the bright smile faded away.
"What can I help you with, Chief?"
The postmaster leaned casually against the counter between them, eyeing the small notebook with interest. He guessed it contained the stamps this man regularly purchased on a weekly basis. From the way he was dressed Kevin Brown would have guessed him part of a funeral procession, but the young man had worn the same suit last week, which meant unless he kept company with sickly folk, odds were he followed a different profession. The young man recovered in enough time to hide most of his disappointment and tried to play it off, as if he hadn't been expecting a different response.
"I was wondering if you had any of those Famous Painters stamps?"
"Fresh out."
"Uhh, how about the Royal Gardens?"
"Sorry, Hoss."
The young man let out a frustrated sigh. This was not exactly how he'd planned this would go. He glanced across the room to a display case situated next to a bin of discount packaging tape. It held an array of stamps currently available for purchase, and he picked one at random.
"Vintage, uhhh, Austrian Lithographs?"
"No, but I do have Endangered Sea Slugs."
Kevin Brown reached below the counter and produced a bundle of stamp books, held together with a rubber band. He carefully slipped the rubber band off the stack and offered the topmost book to the young man before him, along with a winning smile.
"Adding those slugs to your collection'll run you $9.50."
The young man took the stamps and reached into his pocket for money, his eyes never leaving the postmaster's face. Something in his expression suggested a man finding an oasis after years in the desert. Kevin Brown felt a twinge of cognizance as a feeling of déjà vu washed over him.
"Thanks."
"No problem, Ace. Same time next week?"
"Yeah, and it's J."
Kevin Brown reached out and clasped the hand offered him.
"Nice to meet you, Jay."