Cleaned Out!

As promised, it took only three business days for the package to arrive.  Jim had coughed up the $14.99 "speed of Gabriel" delivery fee, and as Jim had figured, Jack Springer was a man of his word.

When Visa had called, roughly fifteen minutes after the transaction, wondering if there was fraudulent activity on his account, Jim had laughed.  The Visa clerk, the naive Visa clerk had had the gaul to ask none but three times if he was sure that the purchase wasn't a mistake.

"A mistake?", chuckled Jim, "God makes no mistakes and if you want proof, my dear friend, I'd advise you to turn to Channel 47 at 2:00 pm"

The lady had hung up the phone before he could complete the full sentence.

But there it was.  The package.  Simply wrapped for manna from heaven, a non descript box, the size of a textbook, wrapped in brown paper. 

In the top left corner a return address of "98746473324 ltd., 83211 Industrial Drive, Fort Worth, TX, 76086" was stamped crookedly in faded blue ink.  His name was hand written!  Hand written!  Jim wondered if Jack himself had penned his name.  Likely not.  Jack would be too busy healing to possibly have time for such menial work.  Likely a member of the Church Auxiliary or maybe Jack had a Youth Group.

He wanted to rip it open, there on the step in his mangy bathrobe, but he was too reverend for that.  The package deserved better.  So, after many, many days into the shower went Jim Couture, shaving with one hand, brushing his teeth with the other.  He sang to himself what the lady, Jim's assistant with the crisp red dress and the immaculate hairstlye, sang what she did, just before Jack had healed the first Lupus victim.

"We must fight through the night and find our waaa-aaaay into the.....liiiiiiiiiiiiight"

The suit barely fit him.  He had not worn it since graduation fifteen years prior, but he managed to straighten the tie around his neck., round out his shoulders and look into the mirror with a long sigh. 

It was time to open the package.

The End

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