Robert Nowall

The house was a seedy-looking affair, roof fading, paint peeling, windows tightly curtained and closed. Two stories and not many lights lit behind the windows. But it was hard to get the full effect in the dark of the evening, as Artie approached.

Artie rang the doorbell with one hand while balancing the pizza box in the other. Then he hastily wiped his hand on his shirt while waiting.

Finally, the door opened. "Pizza!" Artie said.

The woman standing there was middle-aged, wearing a dark negligee, somewhat plump in the face, a pair of glasses balanced on her nose. She seemed vaguely Oriental in appearance. There was nothing from the Far East in her tone of voice. "Young man," she said. "You are late!"

"Uh..." Artie tried to look at his watch, which was on the wrist under the pizza box. He almost dropped it, then recovered. He looked at the name on the box. "Ms. Angela Li?"

"Never mind, never mind!" the woman said. She took the pizza from his hand, then said, "Come in." She stepped further into the house, her arm held out and her forefinger giving a "come here" wave.

Artie stepped in, somewhat nervously. She stepped further away, and he followed.

She led him up the dimly lit stairs, silently now, always stopping and seeing if he was following, gesturing for him to hurry and follow. He did, as he led up the stairs and through a door.

She stood in the doorway as he stepped through. Then she stepped aside and waved for him to go in.

The door slammed shut and Artie heard a lock click. He blinked; the room was better lit than the rest of the house. There wasn't any furniture in the room, but there were several people in the room.

They were all delivery men, of all kinds. Here a guy with Chinese food cartons. Here a guy with a bundle of wilted flowers. Here a guy in the brown UPS uniform.

Many had beards...and some of them were quite, quite old...

Before Artie could speak, the lock clicked again and the door opened. The woman came in, an open pizza box in her arms. "Young man," she said angrily, "this pizza has anchovies on it!"

"I, uh..." Artie began.

She closed the box and shoved it into his arms. "I specifically ordered pepperoni!" Then she shoved *him,* out of the room, down the stairs. "Get out! Get out of here!"

Then he was out the front door, which closed behind him with a slam. The evening was silent.

Artie stood for a moment, pizza box in hand. "But..." he said, "but what about the twelve-ninety-five for the pizza?" After a moment, he said, weakly, "But what about my tip?"