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The winter sun was low on the horizon. Silhouetted against its dying rays was the New York skyline- a forbidding chain of mighty skyscrapers and towering apartment buildings dominating the landscape. How appropriate it seemed. James could see it all through the large glass window that made up the western side of his rented New York apartment. Glancing down at the roads below, he could see the criss-crossing twinkle of Christmas lights that were lining the pavements and smiled at the thought of seeing his grandchildren in California on the 25th - only a few days away.
James turned from the sunset to a small cardboard box containing, among other things, a pair of white surgical gloves. After snapping them on to his own long, white fingers, James delicately removed a number of objects from the box, including several rolls of festive wrapping paper; ribbon, a packet of what looked like plasticine and a carefully sealed tub of mismatched electronic devices.
Placing the assortment of objects on a desk by the window, James perched himself on the edge of the desk chair and began constructing The Present using the objects from the cardboard box. He'd created this present so many times before he felt quite competent in his work and allowed his thoughts to stray to his grandchildren. How pleased they would be when they opened their presents on Christmas day. The youngest, Andrew, was nearly eight and had recently been introduced to 'Star Wars' by his father. Although James had been part of the wrong generation for Star Wars, he was sure that Andrew would adore the poseable Wookie action figure he had wrapped for him. James had been careful to use different wrapping paper for this Present, though. Nothing could give him away.
It had been so much harder to buy for Christine and Lily, his two granddaughters. There was only a year's difference between them, although sometimes it felt like much more: they fought like alley cats and confused their poor brother no end. They had promised to behave at Christmas, though. James would make sure of that.
In the end he'd bought a pair of long silk gloves for Lily and a black leather jacket for Christine- his son told him she'd been gazing in rapture at one in a shop window last week.
The wail of police sirens brought him sharply back to reality. Dropping two wires he had been about to connect, James hobbled to the window and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that they had screeched to a halt beside a gang of hooded youths, who started flinging punches. It seemed the police squad would be occupied for some time. All the same, he ought to hurry. The courier would be arriving at number 54 soon, to collect a parcel from a Mr Smith.
Finished. James activated the present, stood back and admired his work for a second. Perfect. A grim smile crept across James' face. All that was to do now was wrap it. Naturally it would need many layers of paper: to delay the discovery, or rather, as James liked to think of it, heighten the anticipation.
Still wearing the surgical gloves, James gazed fondly at his creation and slowly cracked his knuckles before tenderly wrapping the first layer. After all, this was his magnum opus, his pièce de resistance, the final flourish of his career. He did not want to damage it in any way.
Each layer of paper was different, but all wrapped with the same devotion and care. The rubber gloved hands moved smoothly, flawlessly. James' hand had wrapped many presents in his time, but none quite like this. No, he'd never delivered a Christmas present quite like this one before.
After tying the ribbon in an elaborate bow around the now quite sizeable present, James checked the time. Five to. He peered out the window again. The police and the youths had now gone: James supposed he'd been working for several hours now. But there, there was the courier van coming round the corner. Yes, it was stuck behind a red light- he'd have time to leave the note.
Going back to the desk, from his printer he removed a typed note stating that this parcel was the one to be collected by courier. The note was signed 'Mr. H. Smith'
Not much time now. James quickly placed the note on top of the wrapped present and, still wearing the surgical gloves, picked up the present and eased open his door. Glancing swiftly up and down the corridor, James scuttled across it and delicately placed the present, complete with note, in front of number 54. He spared a fleeting look for the brass number fastened to the wooden door and thought momentarily of the couple that occupied 54. They were spending a holiday in Vegas: they would be arriving back late this evening. With a twisted smile James reflected that he couldn't have timed the courier better.
James' thoughts were interrupted by the steady droning clank of the lift as it slid up the shaft. His head turned sharply towards it and he heard the tuneless whistling of the courier. James headed for his own door, gazing only momentarily back at the present.
No sooner had James shut his door and peered through the peephole did a cheery young courier trotted happily down the corridor. James' eyes narrowed as he beadily watched the young courier examine the forged note and hoist the present securely into his arms. To him, it was just another parcel, another delivery. The courier trotted happily back towards the lift, present tucked safely under his arm. A grim smile crept across James' face.
Perfect.
***
Half an hour later, James was two blocks away from his flat, turning on a mobile phone. It was only two or three years old, and had been given to him by a 13 year old Christine. He fondly remembered her eager little face and how excited she had been when she presented him with this phone, proudly announcing how they could call him all the time now, even if he wasn't at home. She had babbled on about how great it would be when they could call him all the time and how useful the mobile would be to him. Well it was certainly being useful now.
He focused more intently. It was important he got this right. Nobody was paying him any particular attention. Good. Gazing fixedly at the phone's screen, he keyed in The Number. Call. Calling' answered call. 0:01
The phone line suddenly went dead. James strained his ears for the sound that would confirm. There was a low, rumbling, boom in the distance. A grim smile crept across James' face. None of the New Yorkers around him noticed the sound.
Wipe phone memory? Yes/No. Yes. Select. This will erase all phone memory. Continue? Yes/No. Yes. Select. Memory Erased. Power off? Yes/No. Yes. Select.
The phone went into a prepaid recycling package James had obtained a few weeks ago. James slipped the package into the post box next to him. The surgical gloves had already been disposed of.

James hailed a taxi and set off home.

***

Stretching, James hung up his coat on the hook by the door. His apartment showed no trace of The Present. It was almost a shame really, James reflected. It would be nice to have some sort of tribute to, or souvenir of each present he'd ever delivered. A sort of memoir.
James eased onto the sofa, regretting, once again, the fact that he had been unable to get that replacement hip. Reaching for the remote, he flicked the TV on to the news. A grim smile crept across his face.