The gate at the end of the driveway was locked, no intercom in sight. Balancing the insulated pizza delivery box on his left hand, Gabe checked the address on the receipt against the brass plaque embedded in the stone column. He nodded.
Gabe walked left, looking for any activity beyond the iron gate. Barren trees and a lawn anxious for spring formed a moat around the lifeless house.
He shrugged, and began walking back to his car — then stopped, hearing the voice behind him.
“You’re on time.” Gabe turned, and saw an elderly man, well-dressed, extending a wad of bills.
Every week, Rochelle Wisof-Fields hosts Friday Fictinoneers, where the objective is to write a complete story in 100 words or less in response to a photograph. I encourage you to learn more about Friday Fictioneers and view other responses to this week’s prompt by clicking the little blue frog.