Pizza delivery driver Muhammad Anjum and his wife Valerie talk about the risks versus the rewards of his job. (Karl Merton Ferron/Baltimore Sun)

He pulls to the curb in his dented sedan, grabs a bag containing the extra-large pepperoni and strides to the front of a dilapidated-looking rowhouse.

Pizza deliveryman Shakeel Anjum knows too well that criminals have attacked people in his line of work several times recently, and he's working at a brisk pace.

He rings the bell and gets no response. He calls inside on his cellphone and gets no answer.

That's a bad sign to Anjum, who has been robbed and assaulted on the job. He returns to his car, starts it up and drives away.

"The longer I'm standing out there, the greater the risk," he says. "Safety over mission, that's what I say."

Anjum, 36, a driver for Ultimate Pizza in Brooklyn, is one of the thousands of men and women paid to deliver food in the Baltimore area each night.

The work comes with inherent dangers — unarmed individuals known to be carrying cash make easy targets for criminals, police say — but people like Anjum are especially vigilant in the light of a span of three crimes against drivers made the news.

On Oct. 10, three assailants robbed a delivery man in Columbia. Three days later, a 20-year-old man shot a driver on Terra Firma Drive in Cherry Hill. Then, four men mugged yet another delivery man in West Baltimore, driving off in his car.

"It's hard for us to track this kind of crime, so I'm not sure if we can describe this as a trend, but we do, of course, urge drivers to proceed with caution," says Sgt. Anthony Smith, a spokesman for the Baltimore Police Department. "Common sense is the best approach."

That advice might seem an understatement to Anjum, a Pakistani national with an engineering degree who started driving three years ago after a business venture failed.

He enjoys the variety of his job, he says, and the interesting, sometimes eccentric characters he encounters on his route every night. But he's learned that things can turn from interesting to life-threatening in an instant.

On a snowy night in January last year, someone phoned an order in to the shop on East Patapsco Avenue, one of the two Ultimate Pizza stores in the area.

Valerie Anjum, Shakeel's wife, happened to be working the phones that night. It was so busy, she says, that she failed to notice on the Caller I.D. that the order was coming from a pay phone.

That's a tipoff that the caller might not want to be traceable — always a red flag, the pair say.

"I can't believe I was so distracted," Valerie Anjum says.

When Shakeel Anjum showed up at the house, two men tried to yank him inside. Just as one began pepper-spraying him in the eyes, he realized there was no furniture inside; it was a vacant house.

He fought back, and when the skirmish spilled outside, Anjum gashed his hand on a fence, then crashed onto the front walk, breaking his right arm. He has since had three surgeries, one to install plates and screws and two others to adjust them.

"Here I am trying to make an honest living, and these [jerks] do this to me," he says, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a 12-inch surgical scar.

Eleven months later, he was robbed again, this time at gunpoint as he carried a pizza through a darkened area. That assailant, too, got away — with the $100 Anjum was carrying.