Hold The Anchovies

HOLD THE ANCHOVIES
A PIZZA Mystery in eight slices

First slice—What’s that smell?

My name is Vinny DeMarco and I may be the oldest pizza delivery man in Reno, I certainly feel like it. I'm a retired homicide cop, a refugee, a survivor from the crusty guts of New York City. I fled west the second my pension came through and my sweet wife, Allison, finally lost her fight with cancer. I wanted to get as far away from corpses and crack houses and crazies as I could. The pizza delivery job gives me something to do, it got me out of this tiny furnished room and forced me to mingle.
"You got to get out and mingle," my friend Bluto Carrara used to say. "Here, take these pies over to the Horseshoe. In the back. There's a poker tourney, and hurry back, we got a busy night." Bluto and I used to be partners back in the day. He is my age but he got his pension five years before me after getting his left hand nearly shot off in a Brooklyn domestic dispute turned ugly. Bluto's the reason I'm in Reno. For the last five years he's been after me to join him in this desert city. "It's cheap its warm, Vinny, your pension will cover your expenses. You'll have me and Flo to look after you and, best of all, you won't have to watch your back. There's no crime."
Well he was right about one thing, it was warm.