Chapter 1
THE PIZZA DELIVERY GUY
Everybody Wants a Slice.
By Ashley Tapia
Chapter 1
The Man, The Myth, The Extra Sausage
Jake Marino had three rules in life.
Never trust a woman who says she's only ordering a small pizza.
Never argue with a customer who claims pineapple belongs on pizza.
And never, under any circumstances, let Tony Romano answer the phone after his third espresso.
Unfortunately, it was already 6:15 on a Friday evening, Tony was on his fourth espresso, and Jake was beginning to suspect that tonight was going to be a very long one.
"MARINO!"
Jake stood behind the counter, carefully folding a pizza box.
"What?"
"Phone!"
"Then answer it!"
Tony pointed at him with a wooden pizza spoon.
"Special customer."
Jake stopped folding.
"Define special."
Tony grinned.
"Mrs. Patterson."
Jake closed his eyes.
"Oh, for the love of mozzarella."
Tony picked up the phone and switched on his most professional voice.
"Thank you for calling Sauce Your Pies, where every order comes with a little extra love. How can I help you tonight?"
Jake shook his head.
That was not the official company greeting.
Tony had invented it himself.
A woman's voice floated through the receiver.
"Oh, hello, Tony. Is Jake working tonight?"
Tony slowly turned toward Jake.
"Why, yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's standing right here."
Jake mouthed, "Don't you dare."
Tony ignored him.
"Would you like to place your usual order, Mrs. Patterson?"
"Oh, yes. Large pepperoni, extra cheese, garlic knots..."
Tony began writing.
"And?"
There was a pause.
"And tell Jake I'd appreciate his usual personal delivery."
Tony's grin widened.
"Of course, sweetheart."
He hung up.
Jake stared at him.
"What does personal delivery mean?"
Tony shrugged.
"Apparently, you're very good at it."
"Tony."
"What?"
"I'm delivering pizza."
"That's what I tell everybody."
Jake rubbed his forehead.
He was twenty-nine years old, had a perfectly respectable work history, and had never once imagined that his professional reputation would depend on how enthusiastically he carried a box of pepperoni through someone's front door.
Tony handed him the receipt.
"Address is on there."
Jake glanced down.
"Mrs. Patterson? Again?"
"She's a regular."
"She ordered twice yesterday."
"Good customers deserve good service."
"She ordered one pizza each time."
Tony leaned closer.
"Jake, I'm going to tell you something about business."
Jake sighed.
"Here we go."
"Repeat customers keep the lights on."
"She's ordering enough pizza to feed a football team, and she lives alone."
Tony shrugged.
"Maybe she's hungry."
Jake looked at the order.
Large pepperoni.
Extra cheese.
Garlic knots.
Two chocolate brownies.
And a handwritten note at the bottom.
Please wear that black shirt again.
Jake slowly raised his eyes.
"Tony."
Tony smiled.
"Customer preference."
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
By 7:00 p.m., Jake had completed four deliveries, collected three generous tips, and received a phone number written on the back of a twenty-dollar bill.
He hadn't even reached the busiest part of the evening.
Sauce Your Pies was located in a suburban neighborhood where everyone knew everyone, privacy was apparently a myth, and the local women had developed an unusual appreciation for the company's delivery service.
Jake was beginning to think the business needed a loyalty program.
Not that Tony hadn't already suggested one.
He called it the Sauce Your Pies VIP Club.
Jake had asked what VIP stood for.
Tony had answered, "Very Interested People."
Jake had threatened to quit.
At 7:23, the phone rang again.
Tony answered.
"Sauce Your Pies!"
A familiar voice spoke.
"Is Jake available?"
Tony's eyes immediately shifted toward the kitchen.
"Well, look who it is. Mrs. Daniels!"
Jake groaned.
Tony covered the receiver.
"You're popular tonight, Romeo."
"Just give me the order."
Tony listened.
"Mm-hmm. Two large pizzas? Certainly."
A pause.
"Extra sausage?"
Jake dropped a stack of napkins.
Tony slowly looked up.
"How much extra?"
Jake pointed at the ceiling.
He was begging for divine intervention.
Tony listened again.
Then he smiled.
"Well, we certainly have someone qualified for that particular order."
Jake grabbed his jacket.
"Give me the damn receipt."
Tony burst out laughing.
By 7:45, Jake was pulling into the driveway of Mrs. Daniels' house.
He checked the order twice.
Two large pizzas.
Extra sausage.
Garlic bread.
A bottle of soda.
And a note.
Don't be a stranger.
Jake stared at it.
"Lady, I'm literally bringing you dinner."
He climbed out of the car, straightened his shirt, and walked toward the front door.
Before he could knock, it opened.
Standing there was Linda Daniels, forty-six, recently divorced, and wearing a silk robe that suggested she had absolutely no intention of going anywhere that evening.
"Jake!"
"Good evening, Mrs. Daniels. Your pizzas have arrived."
She smiled.
"Always so professional."
"That's what they pay me for."
She laughed and stepped aside.
"Come in for a second. It's cold outside."
Jake hesitated.
He knew better.
He really did.
But she was a regular customer, and he didn't want to be rude.
"Just for a moment."
Inside, the house smelled like vanilla candles and expensive perfume.
Linda took the pizza boxes.
"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something."
"Sure."
"Do you ever get tired of delivering pizza?"
Jake thought about it.
"Only when people order anchovies."
She laughed.
"Oh, you're funny."
"I try."
She handed him the payment.
Then she added a rather generous tip.
Jake glanced down.
Twenty-five dollars.
"Wow. Thank you, Mrs. Daniels."
"Please. Call me Linda."
He smiled politely.
"Thank you, Linda."
She leaned against the kitchen counter.
"So, Jake. What are you doing after work?"
He looked at the clock.
"Probably eating something and going to bed."
"Alone?"
Jake nearly swallowed his tongue.
"Well... usually."
Linda smiled.
"That's a shame."
For a moment, Jake wasn't entirely sure what to say.
Then his delivery phone buzzed.
He glanced at it.
Tony.
WHERE ARE YOU? THE PHONE IS RINGING OFF THE HOOK.
Jake sighed.
"Sorry, Linda. Duty calls."
She laughed.
"Another time, then?"
Jake smiled.
"Have a wonderful evening."
He made his escape with his dignity mostly intact.
And another twenty-five dollars in his pocket.
Not bad for a Friday.
When Jake returned to Sauce Your Pies, Tony was waiting.
Arms crossed.
Eyebrows raised.
"Well?"
Jake walked past him.
"Don't."
"How was Linda?"
"Fine."
"Did she like the sausage?"
Jake turned around.
"Tony!"
The entire kitchen erupted in laughter.
Tony slapped the counter.
"That's what I'm talking about! Customer satisfaction!"
Jake shook his head and headed toward the drink cooler.
He had barely opened the refrigerator when the phone rang again.
Tony answered.
"Sauce Your Pies. What can I get you?"
He listened.
His smile slowly disappeared.
Then his eyebrows climbed.
"Really?"
Jake looked over.
Tony covered the receiver.
"Marino."
"What?"
"You're going to like this one."
Jake frowned.
"Why?"
Tony slowly turned the phone toward him.
A woman's voice came through.
"Hello, Tony. I was wondering if Jake could deliver my order tonight."
Tony smiled.
"Certainly. What's the name?"
A pause.
"Brenda Collins."
Jake froze.
The entire restaurant went quiet.
Even the pizza oven seemed to stop crackling.
Tony slowly lowered the phone.
"Oh, this is going to be good."
Jake stared at him.
"Brenda Collins?"
Tony nodded.
"Your neighbor."
Jake closed his eyes.
"Please tell me she didn't order anything."
Tony looked down at the receipt.
Then he looked up.
"One large cheese pizza."
Jake exhaled.
"Okay. Normal."
Tony continued reading.
"Extra sausage."
Jake's face fell.
"Of course."
Tony turned the receipt around.
At the bottom, written in bold handwriting, were six words.
AND TELL JAKE TO COME ALONE.
Tony looked at Jake.
Jake looked at Tony.
And somewhere in the back of the restaurant, someone whispered:
"Well, well, well..."
Jake grabbed his keys.
"I'm transferring to the warehouse."
Tony burst out laughing.
"Not tonight, Romeo. You've got a delivery."
To be continued...
