Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“I have some pizzas here for a Kayden Deroy,” the teenager says, pointing to his decrepit yellow car at the curb. Sure enough, there’s a pizza logo lit up on top of the car.
“Oh. I didn’t order anything, actually. You must have the wrong address.”
“This one twenty-nine Spruce Wood Hazelchuck Cove?”
There isn’t any mistaking that address. It’s quite a mouthful. I couldn’t believe it myself when I first checked it in the PI’s office. Except it was actually one twenty-seven because it’s Rea’s address. They informed me later that the house next door was for sale.
“Yeah, that’s me, but I didn’t order anything.”
The kid whistles under his breath and says, “Well, I don’t think there’s a mistake. We got an order for twenty-one extra-large ham and pineapple pizzas with extra, extra, extra pineapple.”
Suddenly, it all made sense. Fuck me sideways. It was the ham and pineapple with extra pineapple. I wasn’t a big pizza guy, and I hated ham and pineapple, especially the pineapple. Only a few people would have known that, known my address, and wanted to get revenge on me. And also, only a few people would have known that twenty-one was my favorite number. Yup, I’m narrowing it down as I go, and I come up with only one reasonable solution.
Rea.
Rea did this.
Rea did this to me as a fuck you.
And she knew I would have to pay for all of it.
I nod slowly while the kid starts whistling. He obviously isn’t taking no for an answer, so I swallow thickly while trying to figure out what I’m going to do with twenty-one disgusting pizzas. Bury them in the backyard? Fertilize my lawn? Compost? Go door to door throughout the neighborhood and give them away for free?
“Tell you what. How about I pay for them, and you drop them off at the nearest foodbank? Would that work?”
The kid pulls out his phone, bends his head intently, and after a minute, looks up at me and nods. But it’s a strange nod. Like I’m a weird, slightly off kind of dude, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.
“Oh,” the kid says. “This was a prank.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“But you’ll still pay for them?” he asks, looking at me warily.
“Yes, I will.”
“That’s nice of you. My boss will be happy about that. Things are tough enough. If I brought this order back, he might shit himself.”
“Can’t have that. Shitty pants are no fun.”
The kid grins at me, but I shouldn’t really call him a kid as he’s probably sixteen or seventeen. It still makes me feel ancient, though, just looking at those low riding pants and that backward hat. I was never cool enough to wear my pants that way, apparently. Or my hat.
“How much do I owe you?”
“It’s six hundred and seventy dollars with tax and delivery fee.”
“How much was the delivery?”
“Three fifty.”
I yank my wallet out and hand over eight one hundred dollar bills. The kid counts quickly, then tries to give me one back, but I shake my head. Now, he stares at me like I’m a real strange duck. He cocks his head and appears to be considering the odds that I might be trying to pull some kind of a fast one on him, possibly to lure him inside to bake him into a pie or something, but then he grins.
“Thanks. Have a good night.”
“You’re sure you’ll drop them at the foodbank?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve already got it programmed into my phone here.”
“Alright. Have a good night.”
“Thanks for the tip. I wish people would play pranks that turn out like this more often. It’s good for business all around.”
I nod and watch him get back into his car. The tiny yellow shit box pulls away from the curb, and I can’t help a glance over at Rea’s house. If she’s watching me through the window, laughing her fine little bottom off about this, I can’t see it. I just nod once, ceding the point to her. Yeah, she got me good with this one, and I’ll have to watch myself from now on. I didn’t think Rea was capable of something that delightfully underhanded.
There’s no flicker at the side window and no movement of the blinds. Maybe it was enough to just know I’d have to deal with the mess. Perhaps she didn’t need to watch. But if I know Rea, and I think I still do, she’s probably standing to the side of the window, snickering away after watching the whole thing.
I head back inside, wondering what other schemes she’ll think of. Clearly, that was a declaration of war, and I’m almost afraid to consider what might come next. Afraid and strangely exhilarated. This is Rea pushing back, and I was right. She does care. I’m under her skin like a nasty sliver, and she’s trying to pick me out one little bit at a time.