Crime fiction.
Case files. Real estate. Trouble keeps finding Cal. He lives at the intersection of fact & fiction.
Charlie Had a Dinosaur Table of Contents
Chapters 1 and 2
Chapter 3 (releasing May 20)
Chapter 4 (releasing May 27)
Chapter 5 (releasing Jun 3)
Listen on Spotify or Apple or Amazon
Chapter 1
He was on me before I realized what was going on. The lighting in the parking lot of these shaky apartments was dubious. Every pizza driver knew it. Having that ridiculous, illuminated “Generic Pizza Company” sign on the top of my car to earn an extra dollar per delivery wasn’t smart, but I could use the money.
Why else would I be delivering pizzas at 10:00 pm on a Wednesday night?
“Just hand me the bag, get in your car and go. You don’t need to get hurt,” said the man excitedly.
In the dark I could see his face where his hoodie wasn’t covering. Eighteen, maybe twenty years old, about four inches taller than me and, by the way his eyes darted, I got the impression that this may be his first robbery.
His body was twitchy. Unsure.
I really didn’t have time for this. I was tired after working all day and I wanted to be home with my new wife.
My eyes traveled down to a pistol in his left hand. With that shake, he couldn’t shoot straight. He didn’t even have a firm grasp on the weapon as it moved easily in his grip.
As I turned slightly to lay the pizza warming bag on the roof of my car, transferring the cash bag from my right hand to my left at the same time, I said, “I don’t want any trouble.”
He didn’t react to my movement other than to look to his left. I took a chance.
I impulsively swung back to my right, pizza warmer and cash bag in my left hand and my right hand free. The pizza bag hit him on the head while my right hand grabbed at the cold pistol and knocked it to the ground. The cash bag skipped across the parking lot to about ten feet away.
The impact knocked the man back a step; I stepped on the gun and prepared for a fight.
There was none.
He ran off.
He never even glanced at the cash bag.
I bent down, picked up the pistol and saw there wasn’t a single bullet in the revolver.
Movement from my left caught my eye. Another man, taller, older and well dressed with a gun in his right hand pointed to the ground, was walking calmly toward me.
Before I could do much, he said, “You know how to handle yourself.”
Chapter 2
The way the lanky man casually walked toward me told me he wasn’t a threat.
Except for the gun in his right hand.
He was older, probably forty, and he exuded confidence.
“It’s not loaded,” I said as I flipped the gun in my hand showing him it could not be used.
The man stopped by the money bag, reached his right hand behind him, made a tucking motion and returned his hand, empty, to his side. “My name is Tommy. I could use your help.”
I leaned against the rear of my black Ford Escort, pizza light still illuminated. Tommy looked comfortable in this atmosphere. I was still checking the shadows every few seconds. “Relax. He’s not coming back,” Tommy said. “What’s your name? How long have you been delivering pizzas?”
“Depends on how far back you want to go. College for sure. About a month here.” Where was this going, I wondered.
“Any more pizzas in that front passenger seat?” Tommy inquired, moving his left hand up to rub his chin as he stooped to see what he could see in the car.
“Why? You hungry?”
Tommy laughed.
“I need to go. One more delivery to make. It’s already late.” And it was. The customers who ordered the pizza were definitely on the phone right now berating the poor assistant manager. That’s how it goes.
“Want to make a quick $50? Cash,” Tommy said.
In 1986 I was making about $23,500 a year in my day job. An extra $50 would always be useful.
“What is it you want me to do?” I asked.
I walked one building over, up three flights of stairs and walked to the second apartment on the left: 3B.
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Pizza.”
A few seconds passed. The peep hole light went dark. The door swung open, “We didn’t order any pizza.” The man wasn’t mad. Just stating a fact. He was young, but older than me. Maybe twenty-five, six feet two and skinny as could be. He had a cigarette in his right hand with a trail of smoke looking for heaven.
“This is building one-twenty-one-thirteen, apartment 3B?” I confirmed.
“Yes. But we didn’t order any pizza,” the man repeated.
“Who is it?” came a shrill voice from the interior. A woman with tattoo covered white skin, and hair that hadn’t seen a comb in quite some time stepped into view behind the guard at the door.
“Look. I have a pizza for this address. If you didn’t order it, well, would you let me use your phone to call it in? It’ll only take a minute,” I said while making my best begging face. “Besides, if they can’t confirm the address, I may be able to leave you the pie.”
The man hesitated, then asked “What kind of pizza?” The woman stood silent. A third voice, deep and gravelly in that long time smoker sort of way said, “Let him in. Maybe we’ll get free pizza.”
The guard at the door backed up a step, widened the door and waved me through. “Phone is on the kitchen wall to your left.”
On my way to the kitchen, I tipped my KU hat at the woman with my right hand while balancing the pizza bag with my left hand. The room was smoke filled. The third voice was a white man about forty, cigarette in one hand and IC Light in his left. Running in from a back bedroom was a three-year-old child with mussed, deep brown hair, brown eyes and dirty clothes. He had a dinosaur clutched in his left hand. And a dirty face.
Hello Charlie, I thought privately.
Setting the pizza bag on the counter I called the seven-digit number the man in the parking lot had given me to memorize.
After two rings Tommy answered. “Hey, this pizza over at Fox Stream, seems I have a bad address.” Silence. “Yes. Are you sure?” Silence, with my head nodding up and down as I untangled the phone cord. “Well, if you’re sure. Leave the pizza?”
After hanging up, I reached into the pizza bag and made the big, happy announcement as I walked the pizza over to a coffee table in front of the grimy, well-used couch and set the box down.
The room was full of smiles.
I leaned down to the child as I reached out my hand. “My name is Cal. What’s yours?”
Without hesitation, the boy said, “Charlie. Do you want to play with my dinosaur?”
“No,” I said. “But do you like pizza?”
A smile, a nod of affirmation and “Yes” happened all at once.
A few more happy greetings were given, then I showed myself out. In my left hand was the pizza bag now dangling by my side. My right hand was busy wiping off whatever was on that door handle as I went down the steps to ground level, two steps at a time.
As I approached my car, Tommy appeared from the shadows. “Any trouble?”
“Nope,” I replied. “Charlie is there. Even told me so himself.”
Tommy turned forty-five degrees and leaned against my car, legs out and arms crossed. With a smirk he asked, “How did you pull that off?”
“I just knelt down and introduced myself. He even wanted to play dinosaurs.”
“Huh. What do you know.” With that Tommy reached into his left pants pocket and pulled out a money clip. He leafed through it and found a crisp $50 bill. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said, handing the money over.
“I didn’t offer it.”
That’s all I replied.
© 2026 Chris Writes, LLC. All Rights Reserved