Band of Thieves

Chapter One

     When I was hired four months ago by Dom's to deliver pizzas, I never would have imagined getting fired from there even remotely possible.

     Dom's is located on the outskirts of downtown New York City, and the business during weekdays is comfortably slow. So slow actually, that I normally have enough time to take a nap in-between orders. I do, or did I suppose, have a limited time to reach each customers house after their order, and that's why I'm in trouble. Part of Dom's "customer satisfactory guaranteed" policy I guess.

     "Miss Peters?" A voice snaps, and I shake out of my daze and stare into Frypan's beady eyes.

     "Sorry Frypan, I spaced for a second." I say.

     He shakes his head and shoves a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. He adjusts the clipboard that travels basically everywhere with him, further up on his hip. "What caused you to be late this time?" He asks, sighing as he waits for my response.

     I chew on my fingernail and stare at a grease stain on the kitchen floor as I try to come up with an explanation that won't get me fired.

     "There was...construction on St. Nicholas sir." I say, and gulp as I wait for a response.

     I watch in panicky silence as Frypan's droopy eyelids open and close several times. He then carefully smooths down the front of his shirt before opening his mouth to respond. "I drive down St. Nicholas everyday on my way here Miss Peters, and there wasn't a construction vehicle in sight this morning."

     I open my mouth and then close it, settling for biting on my bottom lip to keep from spitting out another stupid lie.

     "I'm really, really sorry Frypan, I got mildly distracted but I swear it won't happen ever again."

     He scribbles something down on his clipboard and stands up with another elongated sigh. "You're right, it won't happen again," I sigh and relief and stand up, "'cause you're fired." He states, giving me a look of disappointment before stalking away, leaving my jaw hanging open. By the time the shock wears off, Frypan has already closed his office door and is probably hiding behind his desk.

     Ron gives me a sympathetic smile from where he stands by the back door as he shoves a pizza into his delivery bag.

     "Tough luck, Sky." He quips, and then is gone.

     A mixture of embarrassment and dejectedness burns behind my eyes and I have to blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. I know that getting fired was my own fault, that I could've very easily prevented it and kept my job, and that fact just makes me angrier and angrier at myself.

     I groan internally and stand rooted in place for a moment before making my way to the back door where my bike waits for me. I climb aboard my trusty means of transportation, and begin pedaling home.

     Wind tears through my hair as I speed through the dark and quiet streets. Everything is quiet except for the sound my bike makes when I switch gears or pull on the brakes.

     Dad'll be disappointed in me getting fired, that I'm sure of. He was so excited when I got the job last fall, not primarily because he knows how much I've always wanted to go to Florence to explore the arts, but because having a big goal like mine was a great way for me to take my mind off of my mother's death. Now I'll probably never get go. I bite the inside of my cheek. I can't think about this right now.

     I slow down and turn into our driveway. The light in the living room is on, which means that Dad is probably still up watching Jeopardy. I jump off of my trusty means of transportation and lean it against the neighbors picket fence before going inside.