Would You Do That At Home?

Mike came straight into the kitchen and sat down parking his size thirteens on the corner of the table. I duly clipped him round the back of the head and he let them drop to the floor with a thud leaving small ingots of mud on my laminate.
"Uh, sorry, so you think she's been ordering the stuff herself?" It felt strange having Mike the postman in my house even though I'd known him for years. He sipped his tea like a professional.
"No not at all. Someone has been using her credit card until breaking point." Mrs Williams was having a lie down in my spare room.
"Not Geoff then?"
"I think we can rule him out but first things first, lets find out where all her stuff went."
"What did the police say?"
"Didn't want to know. They suspected the bailiffs. Apparently it happens all the time. They turn up to collect a few hundred quid, find the owners away or on holiday and then call their people. They'd never do it themselves but they turn up later looking all innocent."
"Fuckers. Why don't they look into it?" Mike slammed his mug down on the table, slopping tea everywhere.
"Who knows? Perhaps they are their people. I got a name and address for the bailiffs so maybe I'll check it out."
"If they're local, let me know. I'll cut 'em off at the balls."
"Steal their post you mean?"
"Well yeah."
"Mike, who do you know at the Club?"
"Only one bloke if you can call him that. He's a kitchen porter, greasy little nonce, gets me some top notch stuff mind you. If anyone knows what's what it's Rocker. Wanna meet him?" Although I had the full membership card from Pharaoh Jones, I still wanted a man on the inside.
"Let's be careful." I thought about it. "What do you get off him?"
"Meats and cheeses mainly, occassionally wines."
"Excellent, my fridge is rather badly stocked at the moment." It was an afterthought really. "Why is he called Rocker?"
"Why do you think?"
"Because he's off his rocker?" I replied.
"There's a reason you're not a postman isn't there?"