Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) (4 page)

      The man reached into his light jacket and pulled out a piece of old and crumbled paper.  It looked like it had been in that pocket for years.  He reached it to Rick across the back of the seat, and that was when Rick noticed the strange black box strapped to his right wrist.  It was bigger than a watch, about four inches long and an inch or two wide and it looked like it had a screen of some kind on it along with a few buttons.  Rick took the paper and tried to read it while simultaneously keeping his eyes on the road.  It was an address written in a hard to read scrabble. 

     “This is across town, near the beach,” He said.

     “Is it?  Fabulous, I could use a little beach time.”  The man quickly responded in a hyper sort of way.   “What beach would that be, exactly?”  He asked.

       Rick thought that question was a little odd.  “Clearwater Beach.”

     “Clearwater?  Where’s that?”  The man asked.

     “Clearwater, Florida?”  Rick informed him, not sure if he was dealing with someone mentally challenged or not. 

       “Ahh, right then.  Clearwater, Florida.  Hey that’s near Tampa isn’t it?”  The man quickly shot back.

       “Yesss,” Rick responded sarcastically.  “Where did you think you were?”  The man didn’t look drunk, Rick thought.  Maybe he’s high on something.  A crack head, he thought.

      “I don’t like Tampa much.  Too near headquarters.  I like to stay away from there.”  The man cryptically responded.

       “Okay.  I take it you’re not from here then?”  Rick decided to fall back on his old tactics, to help relieve the stress as he headed for the beach.  It was either that or stop now and throw this misfit out onto the street and speed off.

       “Oh, no.  I’m not from here.  I’m not really sure where I am from actually.  I grew up in Mississippi, though.”  He said as he eased back into the back seat. 

       Rick was instantly intrigued.  The mention of that state twice in one night wasn’t a usual thing to have happened.  “That’s remarkable.  I just had another guy earlier who was from Mississippi.”  He told him.

       “Why is that remarkable?”  The man looked puzzled.

   “Because that’s where I’m from,” Rick admitted.

     “Really?”  The man seemed intrigued as well.  “That is remarkable.  What part?”

      “A little farming town in the Delta called William’s Landing,” Rick added.  He was pleased the conversation had taken a sensible tone instead of declining further into insanity. 

      “William’s Landing?  That is, even more, remarkable!”  The man looked agitated again. “That’s where I grew up.”

        Rick narrowed his eyes and looked in the mirror again.  The man’s face was animated with excitement.  “Maybe we went to the same school or something?”

      “Maybe.  I went to W.W. Wilkens Elementary.  Then William’s High School.”  The man confessed.

      “So did I,” Rick replied, his curiosity growing beyond stopping now.  “What year did you graduate?”

       The man looked a little dejected.  “I didn’t.  I didn’t have a chance.  I started work early.”

      “I see,” Rick replied.  “What’s your name, dude?  I might know your folks?”  Rick asked.

      The man sat back again.  “My name’s Mel, Mel Thibadeaux.”  He quickly looked down at the black box on his arm.  “Blast, what’s wrong with this thing?  Gotta get Milt to have a look at it again.”

       The brakes on the car squealed from the full pressure of both of Rick’s feet, and smoke began to boil out from underneath the wheel wells as the old trusty Crown Victoria tried to go from 35 miles an hour to a dead stop in the middle of the street.   In the end, it gave up trying and got down to 10 miles an hour before it suddenly veered to the right and came to a somewhat gentle rest against the base of a light post. 

      Reality returned slowly to Rick.  He was aware that something had happened.  He just wasn’t sure what that was.    There was a gray kind of fog, and noises seemed far away.  Had he hit his head?  Maybe on the steering wheel?  He was still sitting in his car.  What was that noise?  That irritating noise?  Oh, yeah, it was Mel, that dead guy who’s been missing for nearly thirty years.

     When he came to he was leaning back in his seat staring up at the fabric on the roof of his car.  The car was stopped, but still running.  His door was open, and someone was standing there, yelling.

      “Hey!  Guy?  You alright?”  The man shouted at him.  It was his passenger, the one who just claimed to be his long lost friend, Mel Thibadeaux.

     Rick looked up at him blinking and uncertain.  His mind was still shaky.  Did I hit something?  “Did I hit something?”  His voice was unsteady.

     “Yeah, you hit the light post.  Good thing you slowed down first.”  The man replied.

     “Did I hit my head?”  Rick asked, rubbing his forehead.  There was no sign of a bump or a painful area.

     “No, you just sort of passed out.  Right after I told you who I was.”  The man stood erect beside the car.  Presumably, it had been him who put the car in park to avoid any more hitting of unmovable objects that might jump in the way.

   “Yeah, I heard you.  But, that was impossible.”  Rick muttered.

    “What’s impossible?’  The man seemed confused.

                 “I thought you said you were Melvin

           Thibadeaux.”  Rick quickly responded. 

     “I did, ‘cause I am,” He answered quickly.

     “That’s what’s impossible.  Mel Thibadeaux disappeared from William’s Landing in 1984.”  Rick asserted.

       “How do you know that?”   The man asked.

       “Because I was there.  I’m Rick Carter.”  He told him harshly.   “I know.”

       The man stood there shocked, a large thin- lipped grin growing on his face.  “Rick!?  Rick Carter?  No way!  The fat kid I hung around with and Rog Parcell back in the day?  You’ve got to be kidding me?”  He became very animated almost like he might jump with excitement.

      “Stop it.”  Rick glared at him.

       “Stop what?”  The man turned his head slightly, the way a dog does at a strange noise.

       “Stop pretending to be Mel.  Mel’s gone.”  Rick put his hand on the steering wheel.

      “But, I am Mel.  Ask me something that only Mel would know?”  The man beamed his broad smile.

        Rick thought for a moment.  Should I even entertain this?  “Okay, what was our motto?”

       “That’s easy:  “There’s no problem too big that an adequate amount of explosives can’t solve”.  What else?”  The man seemed self-assured.

     Rick was momentarily set back by his answer. That was right. It was their favorite thing to bark at each other, more often than not when the motto was being practically applied.  “Okay, what’s my parent’s names?”

     “Ahh, that’s a trick question.  You were adopted but you’re dad’s name was Henry.  Your mother’s name was Audrey.”  The man answered with pride.

     Rick looked at him suspiciously.  He looked at the features, the hyper-animated features, and the eyes.  He saw traits he recognized, changed with age.  “This can’t be happening.”  He slowly shook his head.

      “Rick Carter!  I had no idea you even worked for the Company!  When did you start driving as a wheel man?”  Mel asked.

     “What are you talking about?”  Rick’s patience was thin.

     “A wheel man?  You know, a transporter?  For the Company?”  His voice trailed off as he noticed no reaction from Rick’s face.

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  Rick coldly responded.

     “You don’t work for the Company?”  Mel narrowed his eyes in confusion again.

      “I work for Tampa Taxi, dude.”  He slowly said

     “You’re not a transporter?’  He seemed uncertain.

     “I drive a cab.  What are you talking about?”  Rick answered annoyed.

      “Never mind.  I thought you were one of the Company guys.”  Mel shook his head.  “But, if you don’t work with us how’d you know where to pick me up just now?”

       Rick ignored him and looked at the hood of his car, wondering how bad the damage was.  “We need to get out of the street,” He said.  “How bad is it?”  Rick was all too familiar with the unpredictable natural of the Clearwater Police Department.  They were notorious for not showing up when you needed them and were in the wrong place when you didn’t need them.  He wasn’t anxious to meet one of Clearwater’s finest at this moment.

      Mel leaned over and looked at the front of Rick’s cab.  He examined it thoroughly.  “Not that bad.  Just a little scratch.”  He stood up with a smile, his body framed in the wind shield and lit eerily by the car’s head lights.  Suddenly a green glow appeared on his right wrist.  He looked sharply down at the black box he had strapped to his wrist and read something from the green backlit screen.  When he looked back up, he had a look of disappointment on his face.  “Now, it comes back on.”

      “What’s the matter?”  Rick asked.

      “I have to go,” Mel said with hesitation.

      “Well get back in then.  I’ll take you to the beach.”  Rick implored.

      “No, I have to go.”  He said, and he started to move away down the empty dark sidewalk.  He stopped to look back.  “But, don’t worry.  Now that I know what reality you’re in I’ll be back.”  He smiled again.  “We’ll catch up on old times.  I’ll come back in a couple of days.”  He said, and he ran off down the sidewalk, disappearing in the night.

      Rick watched him go in complete surprise.  What the..?   Be back?  He doesn’t even know where I live, he thought.  Then he realized that Mel had never paid him for the ride.  That little son of a…

      The sound of his radio squawking caught his attention.  It was dispatch urgently trying to get him.  “580?  580?  Please come in.”  The voice was frantically calling out his cab number.

     Rick fumbled with the microphone and keyed.  “580. What’s wrong Mike?”  He could tell it was the voice of the night manager, a man not known for his calm, cool demeanor.

      “Rick we need you to come back in, urgently.”  Mike’s voice was full of stress and alarm.

       Rick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He looked disgusted at his dashboard as he held the mic poised to respond. “What’s wrong, Mike?”  He finally keyed back.

       “Um, there’s someone here to see you.  Like now.”  Mike quickly shot back.  His voice was filled with the same painful stress and angst that marked his usual disposition, but this time, it was emphasized a few octaves higher.

       “Now?  This late?  What is it, some government spooks or something?’  Rick was desperately fighting the urge to drop the mic and follow Mel.

       “Yeah, I think so.  Two government guys.  They say they want to talk to you.  I don’t know about what.”  Mike threw in an extra tremor of impatience to drive his point home.

       You’ve got to be freakin’ kiddin’ me, Rick thought.  There’s no way this night could get any more messed up.  “Has it got to be now?”  He asked.  Obviously life, that infinitely capable entity of chaos and disruption, had finally turned its head in his direction and noticed that he didn’t have enough weird things going on.

     “Yeah, now.”  The night manager nearly commanded.

     Rick shook his head.  “Tell ’em to hold on.”  Rick threw down the mic and reached over to close his driver’s door.  I need to quite this crap and get a real job, he thought.  But, he thought that all the time, every night in fact, for the last 15 years

CHAPTER TWO

Rick’s Spectacular Event

          Rick’s mood had only soured more when he finally pulled into Tampa Taxi twenty minutes later.  The short drive to home base just allowed him the time to multiply his frustration.  Life was laughing a hearty and robust laugh right now at his expense.  He sensed it was only going to get worse. On top of all of this, he was not in the right frame of mind to deal with the neurotic basket case that was Mike Lowery, night manager and general pain in the posterior.  But, life ensured that Mike was the first one waiting for him, around back near the garage, when Rick pulled in.  He met Rick at his door as he got out, his face pale and lips drawn tight with tension.