whispered to himself, over and over again. An image of a pizza and a
woman with beautiful blond hair kept entering his mind. Unsure of the
data, he stored it in the back of his mind for later.
Six months after his trip to the mouse, after
various gigs around all of Southern California he would find a job as a pizza
cook in Beverly Hills. When he walked into The Big Pizza that first day, he
felt as if he had been summoned a long time ago, and was finally arriving at
his destination. He had seen this place before but couldn’t quite put his
finger on when. A flash of Julio laughing at him. He shoved the memory away.
Two weeks later, with his first paycheck, which
was actually six-hundred dollars paid to him in cash and handed to him by Jimmy
the day shift manager in a discarded Esquire subscription renewal envelope.
He bought the cheapest flat screen TV from Best Buy he could afford.
It was $99.79, cash, no warranty. It was placed on the
dresser he picked up at the Goodwill Store . It is not plugged in.
It will never be plugged in.
THE BLACKENED KINGDOM
I
pulled up to the house. Verified the address. It was on Beverly
Drive just north of Sunset. A huge black gate around
it. Set back from the street a bit. You’d never know the
evil that lurked within. I’d been delivering now for a bit of time.
I was cool and confident. I had my patter down. “Hi! Pizza’s
here, $16.17. Thank you so much, have a nice
night.” That was what we charged for a large with cheese. But
this order was different. This order was for a Sicilian style pizza.
We didn’t make too many of these. It was a giant thick-crust
monstrosity that virtually no one purchased. Almost two
feet in length and a foot and a half in width. With an inch and
half thick crust. It took forever to prep and then bake. In truth,
it wasn’t all that tasty. It just looked big and cool. The crust
had no real soul to it. It looked good on display. They’d cut one
up for single slices throughout the day, which usually no one bought and then
threw the rest of it out at the end of the night for the zombies. Even they kind of poo-pood it. When it was done
cooking, cooling and being sliced and you finally got it into the bag it felt
like it weighed at least twenty pounds. It was our “Sicilian Special.” It
should have been called “The Brando.” Over-priced,
over-weight, and far less tasty than the Sicilian style pizza of yester-year. So it made sense I had to deliver it to the unofficial mayor of
Devilcountry.
Ozzy Osbourne.
A Large Sicilian, (it came in only one size.)
with Pepperoni, garlic bread, a slice of cake and a
six pack of coke. It was almost eleven o’clock at night. My last delivery. Pudgie’s barely legible sixth grade
penmanship read “Ozzy - $45.26”. No address, we all knew where it was.
It was two days before Halloween. Jacket wearing weather. Houses were in full Halloween
attire. Essentially they all gave the appearance of what the Osbourne
estate projected year-round. Goblins and crucifixes everywhere. Creepy statues. I walk up to the tall black iron gate adorned with a satanic goblin built out of cement.
It’s mouth wide open, fangs, drool . Yuck.
There’s a call box. Usually I just hit the button and wait for a Hispanic
to answer. That’s the usual protocol in dealing with houses like this.
But this time for whatever reason I simply turn the knob. It opens
the left oversized iron-gate door. The mounted Goblin is above me staring
down. Still screaming. A creak in the gate as it opens. I’m
on the grounds. My right arm begins to strain under the weight of the
food. I see a lone porch light about thirty feet away. I head for
it. I was scared. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d heard
stories. Biting off
woman with beautiful blond hair kept entering his mind. Unsure of the
data, he stored it in the back of his mind for later.
Six months after his trip to the mouse, after
various gigs around all of Southern California he would find a job as a pizza
cook in Beverly Hills. When he walked into The Big Pizza that first day, he
felt as if he had been summoned a long time ago, and was finally arriving at
his destination. He had seen this place before but couldn’t quite put his
finger on when. A flash of Julio laughing at him. He shoved the memory away.
Two weeks later, with his first paycheck, which
was actually six-hundred dollars paid to him in cash and handed to him by Jimmy
the day shift manager in a discarded Esquire subscription renewal envelope.
He bought the cheapest flat screen TV from Best Buy he could afford.
It was $99.79, cash, no warranty. It was placed on the
dresser he picked up at the Goodwill Store . It is not plugged in.
It will never be plugged in.
THE BLACKENED KINGDOM
I
pulled up to the house. Verified the address. It was on Beverly
Drive just north of Sunset. A huge black gate around
it. Set back from the street a bit. You’d never know the
evil that lurked within. I’d been delivering now for a bit of time.
I was cool and confident. I had my patter down. “Hi! Pizza’s
here, $16.17. Thank you so much, have a nice
night.” That was what we charged for a large with cheese. But
this order was different. This order was for a Sicilian style pizza.
We didn’t make too many of these. It was a giant thick-crust
monstrosity that virtually no one purchased. Almost two
feet in length and a foot and a half in width. With an inch and
half thick crust. It took forever to prep and then bake. In truth,
it wasn’t all that tasty. It just looked big and cool. The crust
had no real soul to it. It looked good on display. They’d cut one
up for single slices throughout the day, which usually no one bought and then
threw the rest of it out at the end of the night for the zombies. Even they kind of poo-pood it. When it was done
cooking, cooling and being sliced and you finally got it into the bag it felt
like it weighed at least twenty pounds. It was our “Sicilian Special.” It
should have been called “The Brando.” Over-priced,
over-weight, and far less tasty than the Sicilian style pizza of yester-year. So it made sense I had to deliver it to the unofficial mayor of
Devilcountry.
Ozzy Osbourne.
A Large Sicilian, (it came in only one size.)
with Pepperoni, garlic bread, a slice of cake and a
six pack of coke. It was almost eleven o’clock at night. My last delivery. Pudgie’s barely legible sixth grade
penmanship read “Ozzy - $45.26”. No address, we all knew where it was.
It was two days before Halloween. Jacket wearing weather. Houses were in full Halloween
attire. Essentially they all gave the appearance of what the Osbourne
estate projected year-round. Goblins and crucifixes everywhere. Creepy statues. I walk up to the tall black iron gate adorned with a satanic goblin built out of cement.
It’s mouth wide open, fangs, drool . Yuck.
There’s a call box. Usually I just hit the button and wait for a Hispanic
to answer. That’s the usual protocol in dealing with houses like this.
But this time for whatever reason I simply turn the knob. It opens
the left oversized iron-gate door. The mounted Goblin is above me staring
down. Still screaming. A creak in the gate as it opens. I’m
on the grounds. My right arm begins to strain under the weight of the
food. I see a lone porch light about thirty feet away. I head for
it. I was scared. I didn’t know what to expect. I’d heard
stories. Biting off
Similar Books
