45 minutes or less

         So if you go down Lastpost Street, be sure and bring a gun. It's filled with hooligans (to put it very nicely) who would just as soon sell you drugs as knife you and take all your money. And maybe rape you. It just depends on what kind of mood they are in.
         As a pizza joint, we were a bit limited in avoiding it. If a delivery order came in for that particular street, everyone drew straws on who had to take it. The promise was a speedy delivery in 45 minutes or less, but when it came to Lastpost Street, the deliveries were usually much faster. Namely because everyone was scared shitless of dying or some other calamity when they went down it. So they hurried on through like their life depended on it.
         Kalen Tomsrush, the luckiest son of a bitch alive, went down that street once and never came back. But not because he died. You see he was our newest employee. Younger, bright eyed, enjoyed our pizza (I've never met someone who didn't) and a naïve candidate to make the drive down Lastpost. So the night that we got a call from Old Mama Mathers, requesting a large cheese pizza. On 213 Lastpost Street. Lastpost street is a long, one way street. 213 was right at the end.
         Let me back up. You might not be familiar with Old Mama Mathers. She was the big boss kingpin of Lastpost Street. And many other parts of the city. Not necessarily everyone on Lastpost worked for her, but no one sure as hell worked against her. You just didn't do it.
         Old Mama Mathers story starts back years before she was old, and had just become a mama. She was one of those girls who got knocked up in high school, or so the story goes. Right towards the end of senior year too. Great way to be remembered when going back for those high school reunions.
         So the baby daddy, some guy she'd dated for a few months, well he'd gotten an athletic scholarship to some school in some other part of the state. Nobody remembers him. She made sure of it later. Because he'd used that scholarship to take off to college and get out of raising a kid.
         Not being too disappointed by the whole event at the time, Mama Mathers had taken up work and began life as a single mother to a son whom she loved very much. She raised him and loved him, and he loved her back, and worked hard to make his mama proud. Indeed, he always brought home decent grades, he did his chores, didn't backtalk and came home on time. She loved that boy with all her heart.
         There is a saying about the American public school system which goes something along the lines of, “They'll bend over backwards for the top and bottom ten percent of students, and everyone in the middle gets overlooked.” This was especially true as her boy went through high school. While his grades were good enough to easily get him accepted to the schools he was interested in, he just wasn't one of those bright shiny students. And when it came time to get scholarships, he fell a bit short.
         Now Mama Mathers knew her boy could take out loans, or even she could, to pay for his school. But the thought of having the weight of debt dragging him down through his life was just not something she could be satisfied with. And so she picked up extra shifts at work to try and help pay for him. Extra work meant being extra tired, and one night she made a mistake. It wasn't a bad mistake, and for anyone else, it would have been easily overlooked. Her boss had always had a hard spot in his heart for Mama Mathers, though, and took the opportunity to fire her. This was in December of her son's sophomore year of college. How could she keep him going without the money to do so?
         Of course, she was a bright woman, and cunning as a fox, and so she did the only thing that she felt she could – she turned to a life of crime. It was just selling marijuana at first. But she was good, and quickly made a decent sum. And once she had a taste, well, she saw no reason to stop so long as she played her cards right.
         So it was that Old Mama Mathers became one of the richest individuals in the city. And one of the most feared. Her old boss disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again – officially. Unofficially everyone knew what happened – she kidnapped him herself, took him to her building, 213 Lastpost Street, cut his dick off and tossed him out a window while he bawled like a baby. Not everyone got personally kidnapped by her. Only the people who had personally wronged Old Mama Mathers.
         So when we got a call asking for the large cheese pizza to be delivered to her, pretty much everyone who was familiar with that address needed clean drawers. One of the only people who didn't know was Kalen. Don't think that we picked him simply because of his ignorance (even though it was a factor). He drove a decent distance everyday to come to work and was less knowledgeable about the north side of our fair city than most of our employees. While he may have been aware of Old Mama Mathers, he was unaware of her address, or the details of her sinister reputation, or ever the reputation of her street. It would give him the confidence needed to walk in without getting killed. More importantly, he'd proven to be a hard worker who was efficient, punctual, and polite to customers without being a kiss-ass. Combine that with his decent navigation skills and record setting first few deliveries and he was perfect for the job. So we told him, “Hey, it's your lucky night. Take this to 213 Lastpost Street, it's for a very special customer. And be quick about it!”
         Kalen took off with the excitement of someone who had just won the lottery. He grabbed up the pizza, promised to be back shortly, and drove off straight towards 213. Now when most people head to Lastpost, they take a parallel street and try to turn on as close to their destination as possible. Not Kalen Tomsrush. He turned on as soon as came to it, about as far from Old Mama's place as he could have.
         There's a decent amount of graffiti and vandalism that takes place on Lastpost, especially to street numbers and the like. And it quickly became clear that the fastest way to find it would be to simply ask for help. The number of people just standing around on the side of the street was decent at that time of night, and Kalen just pulled up to the first group he found and asked, “Hey, can you tell me where 213 Lastpost is?”
         Asking that sort of question on that sort of street was kind of like asking what country Washington D.C. is in. Pretty much anyone who can answer is going to think that you are a dumb-ass. This particular group didn't just see a dumb-ass. They saw an opportunity. Because any pizza guy is probably going to be carrying lots of cash.
         “Yeah man, just go two places down and it's on the right. You'll be good.” This particular place hadn't been vandalized to the point of being unfindable, but he'd already been pointed in that direct and so Kalen just walked in without noticing that it was the wrong place. On this night though, his punctuality served him well, because before he made it too far down the hall, he overheard someone talking on the phone. Kalen caught just enough of the conversation to realize that he'd been tricked and they'd called ahead to set him up.
         Most people would have turned tail and at least made it to the right destination at that point. Not Kalen. He may have been a swell guy, but he didn't take to being manipulated like that all too well. So he set down the pizza, grabbed a nearby umbrella and knocked on the door and said loudly, “Pizza's here!!”
         As the door swung open he jabbed the guy in the guy with the umbrella, opened it and pushed him down. Before he could get back up, Kalen delivered a blow to the knee and a blow to the collarbone that dropped him again. Then he shut the door, set down the umbrella, took the pizza and walked out. The looks on everyone's face as he walked out, unscathed with pizza in hand... it was apparently priceless. He got in his car and kept driving down the street till he found the place.
         213 Lastpost Street. The whole building belonged to Old Mama Mathers. And he parked in front, got the pizza and walked right in, with twelve minutes to spare. He knocked on the door and this time said, “Pizza for you ma'am!”
         When she answered the door, she looked at him with utmost seriousness and asked, “Did you really knock Chain Dog on his ass?” Without hesitation he replied, “Yes ma'am.” She looked him up and down very seriously. “You, with your scrawny little white ass?” Again he replied, “Yes ma'am.”
Then Old Mama Mathers broke into a smile, a big, gorgeous smile. “Well it's about time someone taught that punk some manners. He's never messed with me directly, but I'm glad you didn't let him harm you. No telling what he might've done.”
         She reached out and took the pizza out of his hands, opened it up and exclaimed, “Oo-ooh! That looks good. And it smells better than it looks.” And she took out a slice and ate it up right there, with him still standing in the door waiting. “Still the best pizza in this city. And still warm too. Hold on.” She walked back inside with the pizza, Kalen continuing to wait patiently in the open door. She came back, pizza box still in one hand with a slice in the other. Laying on top of the partially consumed pizza was a stack of hundreds in a rubber band. “Here, it's thirty thousand dollars. Have a good night.” And Old Mama Mathers stuffed the stack in his hands and shut there door, leaving him standing there gaping and speechless.