CHAPTER TWO
Reid held up his arm like a crossing guard stopping traffic.
“It’s okay, Mr. Thompson,” he called out. “It’s just pizza.”
The older man on his front lawn, with his graying buzz cut and slight paunch, stopped in his tracks. The pizza guy glanced over his shoulder and, for the first time, showed some emotion—his eyes widened in shock when he saw the gun and the hand resting upon it.
“You sure, Reid?” Mr. Thompson eyed up the pizza guy suspiciously.
“I’m sure.”
The delivery guy slowly pulled a receipt from his pocket. “Uh, it’s eighteen,” he said, bewildered.
Reid gave him a twenty and a ten and took the boxes from him. “Keep the change.”
The pizza guy didn’t have to be told twice. He jogged back to his waiting coupe, jumped in, and screeched away. Mr. Thompson watched him
