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

                 
PETE’S BARBECUE

                             Volume I

                                  Open for Business

RICK CARTER’S FIRST BIG

ADVENTURE

                                                By

                             SW Belcher

REALITY ISN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

RICK CARTER’S FIRST BIG ADVENTURE

(Being the first one he didn’t screw up)

Or,

How I got a Free Trip to Guam and Almost Died

By SW Belcher

Dedicated to Della Louise Wyrick Belcher.  She is the best and greatest wife ever.  She’s also the reason I haven’t been locked up in an insane asylum over the past twenty years.  So, blame her.

Table of Contents

Foreword by SW Belcher

Second Foreword by RC

Chapter One

Rick Carter: The Most Important Man in the World.

Chapter Two

Rick’s Spectacular Event

Chapter Three

An Insanity Syndrome

Chapter Four

Hafa Adai and Pete’s Barbecue

Chapter Five

Rick’s First Rodeo

Chapter Six

Is that a Giant Spider in Your Pocket?

Chapter Seven

Old Debts

Chapter Eight

Chaos Ensues

Chapter Nine

Dennis Gets Ready

Chapter Ten

I Think We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Gun

Chapter Eleven

Over the Hill and Through the Dale

Chapter Twelve

Meanwhile, Back On Guam

Chapter Thirteen

What has Eight Legs and Goes Splat?

Chapter Fourteen

The Unified Reality Theory, or the Common Man’s 

Approach to Split Personalities

Chapter Fifteen

Anybody Order a Cab?

Chapter Sixteen

One Plus One Equals Zero

Chapter Seventeen

Pieces and Parts or Putting Humpty Dumpty Back

Together Again

Epilogue

Foreshadowing

FOREWORD

     One chilly autumn night during a dark and terrible storm, a parcel was left at my doorstep by someone dressed in dark clothes and a long rain coat.  He wore an old fedora and walked away into the night with not a word.  What he left on my doorstep was a stack of loose papers that were yellowed with age and bound in some old twine.  I was up alone that night, my family tucked away warmly in their beds, and so I took this stack of old papers and I proceeded to read through them.  What I found amazed me and I discovered I could not stop reading them until I had finished the whole lot.  What I read, what I learned in the depths of those pages, changed my understanding of all of reality for all time.  And it gave me a bad headache from staying up and reading all night.

     The tale that follows in this book is a direct result of what I learned that night.  It has been painstakingly pieced together from the long narrative told in those pages.  I locked myself in my basement with a small black and white TV, a mini fridge with a butt-load of Pepsi in it and a computer for four months until I had completed it.  I believe every word of it to be true.  And thus I have written this narrative based on that information. I think you will find it most remarkable.  But, I warn you: be careful who you tell about its contents.  Be vigilant about who is watching you (unless you have a stalker which is another thing altogether but, which you should still be very alarmed about.)   The tale of Pete’s Barbecue is not to be taken lightly or by the light hearted.  It is full of information most government agencies do not want you to know.  Which government agencies, you might ask?  Most of the really secret ones is the answer.

       Some names and places have been changed in order to protect the innocent but really not that many.  To be honest I didn’t change any of the names.  Forget I said that.  But, what I have done is edited together the long steam of conscious story told in that manuscript and tried to fill in the pieces and parts that were missing.  I have spent countless hours piecing together the hidden meanings in the passages and interpreted them here as best as I could.  I still have no idea who wrote it or why they left it on my doorstep, unless they were lost, or just looking for some money, which means they crapped out on both accounts because I’m not really that great a writer and certainly don’t have any money.   But, I hope I have done justice to this remarkable account.  The memory of reading it will haunt me for some time to come. 

S.W. BELCHER Lexington, Ky

ADDENDUM

    After the publication of this manuscript a letter arrived at my home with a message to everyone who dares to read this amazing tale.  I have included it here for you to re

 
Second Foreword

              Okay...I have been asked to write a foreword to this book.  Sounds easy, right?  Wrong.  There are other, larger, concerns here.  Like the fact that, on the advice of my lawyer, I absolutely cannot say that the events portrayed in this book actually happened...or that, thanks to generations of technobabble-spouting sci-fi authors, we cannot be certain that discussing the events portrayed in this book might not just change said events...

              Well, either way, this was written from a selection of notes that may or may not have been made by me and others in the middle of world-altering events...(are events world-altering if nobody remembers the way things were before?) and, well, you know, take it all with a grain of salt, ok? Just remember, when confronted by a room-sized spider that wants to cocoon you and suck all the fluids from your body...kill it. Stomp it, smash it, hit it with a baseball bat, use a gallon of bug spray…whatever you gotta do...and if all else fails…run it over with a Crown Vic...

              Look, I gotta go. I got a fare waiting to go to the 12th century…just kidding. Not about the fare…that part’s true.  But, on the advice of my lawyer, I hafta say- I absolutely do not ever pick up refugees from other times. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Stay real.--R. C.  Tampa, Florida

CHAPTER ONE

Rick Carter,

The Most Important Man in the World

27 March 2012

     Driving a taxi in any large city in the United States is considered one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.  It’s an occupation with a comparable lifespan to the toughest Alaskan fisherman or grizzly bear wrestler in the bush.  Rick Carter was a taxi driver in the large and somewhat daunting city of Tampa, Florida, a sprawling complex of streets, suburbs, apartments and trailer parks not known for its crime free neighborhoods or it’s blissfully naïve and carefree citizens.  These were hard streets with all the dirt and seediness of any New York borough or Chicago south side, the only difference being the palm trees, the heat, the sand and the annual love-bug infestations.  The danger of the occupation was never lost on Rick.  He kept a vigilant and watchful eye on everyone.  He was blessed with a finely-honed instinct for self-preservation and this, on more than one occasion, saved him from ending up a statistic on the morning news.  But, despite the risks, money had to be made, and bills had to be paid and even though he possessed no lack of self-preservation or street smarts, he put himself behind the wheel of his white Crown Victoria each night and faced what the darker reaches of humanity had to offer.   Truth be told he was a little on the adventurous side despite his self-preservation, just not fully ready to completely throw caution to the wind.  He was like that, not being one to let a little danger get in his way.  Sometimes he would even court it, just to spice some of the duller nights up a bit.   He was far too stubborn to let the pesky facts keep him from working, however, or from having fun while he did it.  After all, that was where the money was, at least for him.  The clubs, the strip bars, the airport runs, and the sports events were busiest at night.  And Tampa had an endless stream of seedy places and dark alleys and hostels that catered to an abundant night crowd.  The money had to be made.  Sometimes he did well, other times not so well.

      This night had not been going well, however.   He was behind in fares.  It seemed no one wanted or needed a taxi.  And he was doing the one thing he hated most about the job: waiting.  He twisted in his seat trying to get his 340-pound body comfortable.  Nothing he did alleviated the growing nagging in the back of his mind that doom was approaching.  It was the same sense of doom and despair he conjured up about this same time each night when business was slow.  It could be easy to get behind in this job.  His wallet was starving, and he felt it shriveling in his back pocket by the minute.  There were expenses to be covered, to meet gas and the lease on his cab, before he even began to see real profit for himself.  So far even the expenses weren’t booked.  So, in his semi-panic mode of desperation he was ready to take any fare offered, even the ones that seemed uncertain.  When he finally got a call he pounced on it like a starving tiger on a gazelle buffet.

      The fare, when he arrived and picked him up, didn’t seem to be one of those promising ones.  It had all the hallmarks of the kind that starts out awkward and ends with trouble.  The young man he picked up was alone on a dark deserted street with a fearful look in his eyes. He gave an address that was across town, across the bay to Clearwater, which normally would have been a good haul and a good fare.  With even a little tip it would help cover most of his gas and some of the lease.  But, the sense of impending doom was all over this fare.  Rick had a terrible and accurate sense of other people’s intentions, especially when those intentions were going to impact him in a negative way.  He began to watch the young guy in the back seat through his rear-view mirror.

     The boy had been quiet and unresponsive the whole way, resisting every attempt by Rick to fashion a conversation or to ply small talk.  He looked young, really young, maybe in his mid-teens. He was disheveled and out of sorts almost confused or scared, but nicely and fashionably dressed.   Rick tried not to dwell on the negative as he kept an eye on the kid with his rearview mirror.  He tried to fight the sense that was yelling at him from the dark recesses of his mind and concentrate on the driving and the destination that took five minutes longer then he estimated it would.  But, that was nothing unusual.  Tampa traffic, even late at night, was as unpredictable as the customers.  Any estimation offered on delivery times was just that: an estimation and no more.  He pulled into the small parking lot of a 24-hour store across from a motel that that the kid had given him as an address and parked his Crown Victoria.

      “That’ll be $50.76,” Rick said with his usual cheerful and rehearsed voice.   He watched the kid in the rearview mirror.   The boy’s expression was dark and contemplative.  Oh, no.  Rick thought, really?  His face began to turn crimson red with anger as he anticipated what was about to happen.