The Clock Strucks Danger

Perils Of A Pizza Delivery Boy

A case of mainstream psychotics.

The following story is written in third person. Did you order pizza for tonight ?

Dominique parked his red company scooter and got down. He could smell the aroma of hot cheese and chicken wafting from the piping pizza. He picked up the package and double checked the address, which was pinned on the box, just to be sure.

298\3 B, Saws building
Gallon Lane

With a satisfied smile on his face because he had managed to cut through the traffic and reached the spot in less than thirty minutes, he walked into the building. The lobby was empty save for a bored old receptionist.

"Yes ?"  the receptionist asked him in a dry raspy voice. Dominique checked her name tag and his eyes lingered there for a few seconds after that. She, obviously, noticed.

"Yes ma'am ?" he smiled charmingly.

"Cut the crap. Why are you here ?" she asked him.

He jiggled the pizza packet at her face.

"Which floor ?" she barked.

"Third !"

She nodded her head and pointed him towards the elevators, which were at the corner. Then, she meticulously wrote his entry time in the big register.

Dominique snorted. He had seen many nutty old receptionists in this job. He got into the elevator and jabbed at the third floor button. As the elevator started going up, he checked himself out int the mirror. He looked suave as always, even in a red pizzeria uniform and a stupid snapback. The doors slided open with a ping sound, signalling that he was there. He walked out.

There were six doors at this floor. Three along the left side, the others along the opposite. 298\3 was the last one from left. There was a pot of withering plant beside the door and a hand made nameplate was stuck on the adjacent wall.

As he neared towards the door, he could hear female screams coming from within. Suddenly, he grew worried. He had encountered many abusive men in this job. They would order pizza and hit their wife until the pizza came. He could hear the women crying from inside. Sometimes, he could even see them, teary eyed and sobbing in the background. As a responsible citizen, he sometimes managed to gather the neighbours and inform them about that particular family but not always. Sometimes, the husband seemed buff and strong and Dominique thought it was best to leave the situation alone. But there was no lying that it used to bother him a lot.

Like this time.

He could hear the unmistakable sounds of abuse as he approached the house. Screams, sobbing, an occasional please leave me alone and howls of torture. He felt his cell phone at the back pocket. If needed, he would call the police.

As he passed the second door, there was a sudden change. Everything became quiet. Shouts and screams died down. Dominique figured that the husband might have turned his attention from his poor wife to a can of cold beer. He reached the door and knocked.

"Who is it ?" a voice called out. It seemed to be a woman's.

"Pizza." he said.

"Oh drat !" cursed the voice and the door openend, just an inch, revealing a short, slender young woman. She looked good but her expression was that of an annoyed one. Her blue robe was torn at a few places, which did not seem very weird to Dominique. He had had old fat men in boxers open the door to him. He was used to it.