Michael was pretty embarrassed. He had a degree in 14th Century French Literature, but couldn’t find a job to save his life. He was sure he’d be offered at least an associate’s position where he received his Masters.

 

 

The plan was to find a decent thesis advisor, work closely with him or her, apply to the PhD program, and then slide right on in to a teaching position. Only it didn’t work out that way. The idiot he’d chosen for his thesis advisor had been fired for banging one of his students. So Mike had had to choose somebody else, who somehow associated Mike with the sleazy professor.

 
 

As things happened, he got rejected on his PhD application, and was suspicious that this new thesis advisor had given him a bad rap. He and Professor Ashford did spend a few night’s together, drinking beers and just chewing the fat. Mike suspected that they suspected that he knew Ashford was banging half his undergrad class and didn’t say anything.

 

 

Whatever the reason, here he was. Getting ready to go and work in the only job he could get. Well, that’s not really true. If he held out, he would probably be able to find something a little bit better. But he needed money quick. His rent was due in three days, and since his PhD fell through, so did that fat loan he was going to take out.

 
 

He looked at himself in the mirror. Hated himself. Red polo shirt, with a matching red hat. Jeans were fine, as were tennis shoes. Nobody expected much more from a goddamn pizza delivery driver. What made it worse was that his “territory,” if you could call it that, was around the college that just fucked him in the ass.

 
 

But if he didn’t suck it up, maybe get some tips (not likely since everybody he was delivering to was probably paying with their fucking iPhones and for some reason though that excluded them from needing to tip), and at least he’d make enough to pay the rent.

 

 

“It’s pretty simple Mike, just grab the tickets here, make sure they match with the orders here, and take it to the address printed on the ticket. If you get lost, and it takes more than thirty minutes, we’re taking it out of your check. Got it?”

 
 

“Yeah, sounds simple enough.”

 

 

Mike was starting on Friday, which meant his first night would be busy. Maybe he’d get gang raped by a group of horny sorority girls. Probably not. That only happened in pornos. The first two hours were pretty simple. Small orders. Easy to find addressed. And some people even paid in cash.

 

 

After the second hour, he’d already collected forty five bucks in tips. That was way more than he was making per hour. Driving around, he didn’t feel so bad. If this kept up, he may go back and get a teaching credential during the day, and deliver pizzas at night.

 
 

In the third hour, he ran into a problem. Guy ordered a small pizza, and a twelve pack of Michelob. Nobody had told him how to handle alcohol. If it was for some undergrad getting hammered all on his lonesome, it might cause problems.

 
 

“Hey, what do I do about this?” He asked. Another worker, the guy who threw the stuff on top of the pizza and then threw the pizza in the conveyer belt oven, took a look.
“What, are you fucking retarded? Ask for his ID. If he doesn’t have it, charge him for the pizza and bring the beer back. Put a note on the ticket and they’ll balance it out later,” he explained.

 

 

Mike pulled up at the house. Strange. The address on the ticket had an apartment number, but it was for a house. He got out, standing there like an idiot, pizza in one hand, twelver in another. He approached the house, and the light went on. May as well knock.

 
 

“Pizza?” The voice yelled from inside.
“Yeah.”
“Come on in, unlocked,” the voice said. Mike opened the door, forgetting about the apartment snafu. Maybe the guy taking the order messed up. He stood, looking around the front room. Not a pretty sight. Lots of newspapers. A couple of empty bowls of something.

 

 

“Back here,” the voice said. It sounded like it came from the right, from down the hallway. What the hell.
“Total is $32.50,” Mike said, not really wanting to walk down some creepy hallway.
“I’m stuck in bed, man, help me out,” the voice said. Mike thought about what would happen if he left. Would being a pussy be a good enough reason to not deliver the pizza? Probably not.

 
 

He slowly walked down the hall. No pictures. Thought he heard a toilet. Not being flushed, but that sound when the little rubber thing doesn’t seal all the way against the bottom, and makes that faint running water noise. Mike got to the end of the hallway. Left was nothing. Right was the master bedroom. He guessed right.

 

 

“Set the pie right here,” the man said, motioning to his right. A head and upper torso stuck out from underneath the covers. Mike could tell right away he didn’t have any legs. He forced his eyes to stay up.

 
 

“Don’t worry about it man,” he laughed, leaning forward and flinging back the covers. Mike almost vomited. They weren’t small round nubs like he’d expected. They were infected. Green. Puss oozing out. He thought he saw a bone sticking out, and quickly turned away, fighting off the vomit.

 

 

“Yeah, baby! Gets ’em very fucking time, come on, take a look!” he said. Mike just wanted to put down the pizza and get the hell out. He already made more than the price in tips. If this crazy fucker with the bleeding stumps gave him any shit, he’d just say the pizza was on him. No way was he asking for an ID.

 
 

“Which hand man?” He said. Mike put the pizza down, tried not to look, put the beer down next to the pizza. Looked back at the guy in bed, who was no holding his hands behind his back.
“Pick a hand. One has forty bucks, one has four hundred bucks,” he said. “Come on, this is the most excitement I have all day!” He shouted, bouncing up and down on bed. Mike’s eyes inadvertently went down, seeing fresh patches of blood on the sheets. He looked away quickly. The guy in bed cackled again.

 

 

“Pick pick pick!” He said. Mike motioned with his head to his left, which was the guy’s right hand. The guy’s eyes widened as he slowly pulled his hand out from behind his back. Four one hundred dollar bills, fanned out. “Take it!” He said, daring Mike to lean in.

 
 

He reached in to grab the cash. Right when his hands gripped the bills, the mans other came whipping around, and closed around the top of Mike’s hand, now trapped between a normal hand, and one with equally bloody stumps. As he ground his bloody finger stumps into the back of Mike’s hand, he cackled and bounced and sprayed a horrible smelling spittle all over Mike’s face. It was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

 

 

When Mike awoke, he was lying on the guy’s bed. His clothes had been stripped, and his right hand was handcuffed behind him. The guy was sitting next to the bed in a wheelchair. Mike could feel the wet bloodstains beneath the sheets.

 
 

“Looks like you’re here for the duration, buddy,” he said. Mike screamed and screamed. The man sat patiently, waiting for Mike to finish. “Nobody will hear you. I own all of the houses on this block. Nobody lives here. I’m in kind of a self-contained quarantine. That’s the only way I’d go along with it.”

 

 

“Quarantine, what the fuck for?”
“I’ve got advanced leprosy. And now, so you do,” he explained. Only then did Mike realize that most of the guy’s teeth had fallen out. “I’ll leave the cuffs on only for a couple days, until your legs heal,” he said.

 
 

Mike looked down, and began screaming again. Both of his legs had been removed. As well as his right arm. The man rocked back and forth until he had enough momentum, and then bounced out of the wheelchair onto the bed, next to Mike, who passed out again.

 
 

When he awoke a second time, the guy’s face was inches for his.

 

 

“Hello partner,” he said.