Free The Grand Finale by Janet Evanoich Page B

of the new condos. And what with the cost of living now, it’s hard to find another apartment I can afford.”
    The door to the pizza shop opened and a rangy, scraggly-bearded kid strolled in. Berry assessed him at late teens. He was wearing a lumpy, wrinkled raincoat and a navy knit hat over brown, shoulder-length hair. It was midmorning and not a lot of people came in for pizza midmorning.
    “Can I help you?” Mrs. Fitz asked.
    “Maybe,” he said.
    His eyes darted around the room, taking in the ovens and the workstation and the threesmall tables with chairs for walk-in customers.
    “We don’t have any pizzas for take-out made up yet,” Mrs. Fitz said. “But we’d be happy to take an order.”
    The kid took a semiautomatic out of his raincoat pocket and pointed it at Mrs. Fitz. “How about you just empty your cash register,” he said.
    Berry and Mrs. Fitz froze.
    “Now!” he said.
    Berry carefully moved to the cash register. “We haven’t got much money,” she said to him. “We just opened up.”
    “Whatever,” the kid said. “Just hand it over.”
    “Honestly,” Mrs. Fitz said to him. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to rob two women? You should be ashamed.”
    “And you should be dead,” the kid said. “How old are you, anyway?”
    Mrs. Fitz narrowed her eyes and gripped the sauce ladle. “I’m not too old to take care of you. You need to learn some manners.”
    Berry had a hundred dollars in twenties and fives in the cash register. She gathered them up and held them out to the kid.
    The kid moved to Berry, reached for the money,and Mrs. Fitz whacked him on his head with the sauce spoon. Pizza sauce splattered everywhere, and the kid’s eyes went blank for a moment. Mrs. Fitz gave him another klonk on the head, and he staggered back and dropped the gun.
    “Are you okay?” Mrs. Fitz said to him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
    The kid shook his head and looked at his hand. “I’m bleeding. You just about killed me.” And he turned and ran out the door and down the street.
    “It was pizza sauce,” Mrs. Fitz said.
    Berry dialed the police and reported the attempted robbery.
    “They’re sending someone over,” she told Mrs. Fitz. “Lock the door until the police get here and leave the gun on the floor. And don’t tell anyone else about this.” Especially don’t tell Jake, she thought.
     
    It was ten o’clock at night and Berry and Jake sat in the dark, looking out the window of his station wagon.
    “I’ll be right back,” Berry said. “This is the last pizza of the night. As soon as I get this sucker delivered we can go home.”
    “Sit tight,” Jake said. “I’ll deliver it.”
    “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
    “The hell you do. I’m delivering this pizza.”
    “It’s my job, my Pizza Place, my pizza.”
    Jake looked at the dingy yellow brick apartment building. “It’s late, and that’s a four-story walk-up in a lousy neighborhood. I’m not going to sit here cooling my heels while you’re in some dark hallway quietly getting mugged.”
    “I’ve delivered pizzas here before.”
    “Good. Now it’s my turn,” he said, grabbing the pizza box. “Lock the doors when I get out.”
    Berry grabbed the other side of the box and tugged. “You’ll deliver this pizza when pigs fly.”
    Jake gasped and looked out the window. “Look at that!”
    Berry strained to see. “What?”
    Jake jumped from behind the wheel with the pizza and slammed the door shut behind him. “Flying pigs,” he called to Berry.
    Berry narrowed her eyes. “Son of a beet!”
    She stomped into the building and climbed the stairs, catching Jake on the third floor.
    “I hate being told what to do,” Berry said toJake. “Nobody can tell me what to do. This is my business. That was my pizza.”
    “After we’re married this will be a community property pizza. You might as well get used to it.”
    “Read my lips. We’re not getting married.”
    “You’ll come around,” Jake