Nuclear Options
"Who's up?" the Pizza Hut manager loudly called out as he frantically tried to keep up.
When no one answered, his hardest-working delivery guy said, "I'll take it."
"What? No way, Dalton. You just got back. You've had three runs in the last hour," his manager said.
"It's Terrance's turn," the younger man quietly told him.
"Terrance? What the hell?" the manager railed as he turned to find his least-motivated driver.
"I'm tired," came the reply from the sleep-looking, heavyset, college sophomore.
"What? You're tired of having a job?" his boss bellowed.
"No. I'm just tired."
"Let me have it," Dalton said again.
"Okay. Fine. It's yours. But you can't be the only one willing to do all of the god..."
Before he could let out another string of profanity, a walk-in customer caught his attention, forcing him to be civil.
"Welcome to Pizza Hut. How may I help you?" the manager said as Dalton grabbed four pizza boxes in their warming blanket and headed to his car.
As he was leaving, a co-worker named Trish who'd made it very clear Dalton could call her or 'stop by' anytime, said, "Do you ever slow down?"
"Not when there's work to do," he told her, remembering to smile.
"Well, if you ever do take a break, you know where I..."
Before she could finish, Dalton was out the door and on his way to deliver all four pizzas to one address. He'd taken over a dozen to a home once, so four was no big deal. The only downside of having only one stop was that if he didn't get a decent tip, it would be another waste of time and gas.
As a 22-year old freshman at the University of Georgia in Athens, Dalton Russell needed every dollar he could get his hands on. As a Navy veteran he had the GI Bill which covered his tuition, books, and fees, but he was living in a shabby apartment with three other veterans, and the cost of food, rent plus utilities, insurance, gas, and other expenses had to be paid for.
So while 'slinging zas' was a lousy job, the Pizza Hut on Baxter Street was about as close to the campus, and his apartment, as one could get. As much as it sucked, it was a job. And for now, at least, a job was a job.
As he fired up his car he thought that with any luck, a middle-aged woman with money would answer the door. From there all he'd have to do is smile, call her 'ma'am' a few times, and he'd walk away with five or ten bucks.
In just the short amount of time he'd worked there, more than once he'd been tipped $20, and once he was handed a $50 bill along with the woman's telephone number. Had she not reeked of stale cigarette smoke and one other little detail—a large diamond ring on her left hand—he'd have called her back. But having been raised with integrity, and after four years in the U.S. Navy, a whole lot of honor to go with it, that was one bridge he'd never cross.
That women found him attractive was something Dalton Russell took for granted, and yet he wasn't too proud to use that to his advantage when it came to making some extra money to pay the bills. He didn't go out of his way to exploit something he'd been given by purely random chance, but it didn't hurt that he'd lucked out in that one area of life's lottery.
It was already dark at 5:30pm, and that was no surprise considering it was the middle of January and downright cold outside. Dalton set his phone's GPS to the delivery address, then put the Hyundai Elantra he'd bought on active duty in gear and headed south toward Woodland Hills, a reasonably nice area of town.
Each time he drove anywhere, Dalton took in as much detail as he could. He was the kind of person who loved life, had many interests, and found almost everything he saw, heard, or read interesting. Houses were just one of those interests, and he had a goal of owning one in the not-too-distant future. But that meant finishing college, getting a decent-paying job, and above all else, finding someone to share that house—and his life—with.
Had he not been so motivated to find that special someone, he probably would have re-enlisted. His rate, or what the Army and Marine Corps called an 'MOS', both military speak for 'job', was offering the maximum bonus allowed by law. There was a complicated set of criteria for determining the maximum amount, but the short version was $90,000. There was, however, an exception to that limit. People in the medical field, aviators, and guys like him who were in a nuclear specialty, could receive more.
He had fours years of active duty, and had he shipped over, he would have received about $80,000 before taxes. If he'd had six, he'd have qualified for the exception to the maximum amount. In reality, he'd have been paid about $35,000 in a lump sum, then received equal portions of the remaining after-tax amounts on the anniversary of his re-enlistment.
As tempting as it had been, mostly because he really like what he was doing as a Navy Electrician's Mate, Nuclear Power, or 'EMN2'—his rate. After a year of soul searching, Dalton had made a very tough decision and left active duty six weeks ago. He'd been assigned to Naval Submarine Base Kings Bay, Georgia, his entire time, and because it had a lower tax rate than his home state of New York, he'd changed his 'home of record' to Georgia as soon as he'd been eligible to do so.
That meant he could attend any university in Georgia at the in-state rate, and after visiting Atlanta and Athens before getting out, the smaller town won his business. He hadn't been able to start school until the winter semester, but he was now taking 15 credits and up to his eyeballs in academia while working as many hours as he could.
As he got a little ways outside the downtown area, he started checking out houses, and the homes he saw weren't all that great. Like any city, Athens ran the gamut from shacks to mansions, and while he didn't see himself ever living in the latter, he had no desire to live in the former, either.
He wasn't snobbish, he just wanted a decent home for his future wife, and with any luck, maybe a child or two. He and his younger brother, Mark, had been well cared for by their solidly middle-class parents, and he wanted to provide that for his future family. Beyond that his goals in life were rather modest.
He followed the GPS voice prompts, and within ten minutes found himself on the street that belonged to the customer to whom he was delivering the four pizzas. When his phone said, "Destination is on the right," he almost missed it. He couldn't see a light on anywhere, inside or out, even though every other house on the block had electricity.
After double checking the order, Dalton knew he had the right place. But with the house in total darkness, he couldn't help but wonder what he might be walking into. A meth lab seemed extremely unlikely, but there was no way of being sure until someone opened the door. In this case, not getting a tip might be the least of his worries.
He got out, went around and grabbed the large Pizza Hut container holding the pies then headed up the sidewalk. As he got to the porch he heard the unmistakable sound of young girls laughing and breathed a sigh of relief.
He pushed the doorbell button before realizing it required power.
"Gee, we sure learned a lot in the Navy, didn't we?" he told himself before knocking.
A couple of seconds later he heard, "Girls! Can you PLEASE quiet down?"
When the door opened, he could tell there was a woman standing there, but it was so dark he could barely see her.
"Four pizzas for...Vann?" he said, remembering to smile.
"Yes. That's me. I'm Vann. Well, I'm Rachel Vann, but..."
The woman apologized then turned her head and yelled again.
"Mia Vann! Can you please get your friends to quiet down a little! The pizza's here and I can't even talk to the delivery guy!"
A second or two later it got deathly quiet, and just seconds after that, several little girls in pajamas came scurrying to the door and huddled around Ms. Vann.
"Well. So you can be quiet!" she said.
Dalton was still smiling, but seeing these small girls made it easy to do so.
"Wait," he said. "I have four large pizzas, and there are only..."
