Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) (5 page)

     Rick waved him away.  “Seriously Mike, back it off will you?”

     The night manager wasn’t deterred.  “Rick, I have to tell you this has me worried.  This sort of thing has never happened before.  What have you been into?”

      Rick shot him an angry glance.  “What are you sayin’, Mike?  I haven’t been into anything.  I’ve been working.  How much extra time do you think I have anyways?” He started toward the service door while Mike followed nervously behind him.   Mike was always the nervous type, fidgety, and fast talking.  He was a chain smoker, and it showed in his face and yellowed teeth.

      “I don’t know what this is all about Rick.  They just showed up, demanded to talk to you.  They didn’t tell me nuthin’.  What am I supposed to tell the GM in the morning?”  He was already fishing for a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket.

      “Do I look like I care right now, dude?   I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”  Rick said as he pushed open the service door and stepped into the dimly lit corridor.  He took a few more steps past the service manager’s office and stopped.  “Where are they?” 

     “The back store room, the one we emptied out last week.  There’s two of ‘em, Rick.”  He warned him again as if the first time wasn’t sufficiently dramatic enough.

     Rick didn’t reply.  He stomped off toward the little store room in a huff, still angry that his night had been further complicated by someone he did not want to deal with.  Mike didn’t follow him this time, choosing rather to stay away from the obvious blindside that was about to happen. But Rick didn’t care.  He didn’t care if they were NSA, Secret Service, or CIA for that matter or a pizza delivery guy.  He just wanted to get somewhere quiet and start to try to make some sense out of everything that had happened.

     He found where the corridor split off to the left, down a darker hallway barely illuminated by failing fluorescent lights.  The tiny store room was the last door on the left down this hallway, and there was a light coming from beneath the closed door. The fact that there was a perfectly good lounge in the front of the building where they could comfortably sit didn’t escape Rick nor did it help to soothe his mood.  He walked down to the closed door, grabbed the handle and threw it open.  He wasn’t concerned about pleasant first impressions.  In fact, he was hoping it would be as unpleasant as possible.

      They were waiting for him, the two of them just like Mike said.  The store room, which was just slightly bigger than a utility closet, was nearly empty.  It had been cleared out last week in anticipation of turning it into another office space.  All that was left behind now, besides the dust and the accumulated droppings of several generations of field mice, was a small wooden telephone table, an old metal desk chair and a faded 1986 calendar opened to July tacked to the wall.  The two new occupants did little to improve a building space probably better suited for being condemned. The tall, thin man was leaning against the far wall, beside the tiny slit of a window.  He was dressed in a well-tailored grey suit, coat buttoned, smoking a cigarette.  He looked old but not old.  It was difficult to tell under the single light bulb hanging from the middle of the water-stained drop ceiling.  But, Rick could see he had red hair and a smoothly shaven face that was hard as stone.  The other one was a large man, sitting on the metal chair, his gray suit jacket was off and lying across the table.  He was balding, with just a couple of small patches of hair on either side.  His face was round but creased with deep wrinkles formed from years of laughing and smiling. 

      Rick stepped into the open doorway.  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t like being summoned, especially when I got more important things then you going on.”  He opened hard.  Both men looked at him sharply, their attentions fully on him.  He felt instantly uncomfortable as if he was being scanned by a machine against his will.                                     

     The man leaning against the wall did not budge or even flinch at the abrupt entrance.  He held his cigarette loosely in his hand just inches from his mouth the lazy smoke wafting up past his firm jaw and steady cold eyes.    He replied in the same cold and controlled manner.  “Richard Carter.” He lowered the cigarette.

     “Nah, I’m Richard Nixon.  Of course, I’m Rick Carter.  Is there something I can do for you?” He asked firmly, pressing his temper into their faces.

     The thinner one continued undeterred.  His voice remained calm and cold. “My name is Mr. Tabert.  This is my associate, Mr. Ball.”  The seated man waved his hand in a lazy kind of ‘hello’ way.

      Rick charged ahead.  “Tabert and Ball?  Sounds like two out of work porn actors.”

    Mr. Ball spoke as if Rick had said nothing.  His voice was soft, filled with empathy and colored with a distinct southern twang, possibly from North Carolina. “Mr. Carter we understand you are particularly skilled at your job,” He added.

    Rick sighed as he took the statement from the right field where it was delivered from on purpose.  He took a deep breath.  “You know, I didn’t wake up this morning wanting to be a jackass, but…”

      “Relax Mr. Carter, we’re not here to ambush you.”  Mr. Ball said, still as calm and unmoved as before.

    Rick looked at him sharply.  “Then what’s with the locker room treatment boys?  I’ve got bigger things going on at the moment…”

    The thinner man stood upright.  He pulled a folder from beneath his right arm and opened it and proceeded to read from its contents.  “Richard Garner Carter, born 9 April 1968 to unknown parents in Georgia and given up for adoption to a Mr. and Mrs. Henry Carter of Panama City Florida on 2 May 1968.  Current marital status: single.  Current residence: 1451 Stillheart Way, Tampa, Florida, Terrace View, apartment 231.  Education level:  High School graduate, one year of college.  No military service, no felony convictions or misdemeanors. Current occupation: cab driver.  No known living relatives, Caucasian, six foot two inches tall, brown hair, brown eyes and weight: 330 lbs.”

      Rick tried to suppress the look of surprise and anger creeping into his face.  Clearly this was someone with access to a great deal of information, or, at least, the local DMV database.  He began to worry that he might be in trouble with some people he didn’t want to be in trouble with.  “340 lbs.” He corrected him.  “Thanks for telling me how pitiful my life sounds.  You didn’t answer my question.  What do you guys want?”

     The thin man shut the folder abruptly and looked very sternly at Rick.  “We represent the controlling interest in this company.  Call us managers, if you will.   And we have had our eye on you for a very long time.”

    It seemed odd to Rick that managers, if that’s what they were, would show up like this at 2 AM in the morning with all of his biographical data and want to meet in an abandoned store room.  Mr. Tabert moved away from the wall.  His suit was pressed, and his black tie sported a silver tie tack that Rick could not quite make out in the light. “What is this?”

   “I assure you, Mr. Carter, we are who we say we are.  I know the manner and circumstances of this meeting might seem a little odd to you but, this is how we like to meet our new recruits.  Sort of get things started with as little fanfare as possible, you might say.” Tabert was looking at him strangely, almost not blinking.  Once again Mr. Ball took the next line in the conversation. 

     “Your presence, here at Tampa Taxi, has had our attention for some time. Recent events have compelled us to move forward with this, um, introduction of sorts. You see, there is a job offer we would like to make you.”  He said.

      “But,” Mr. Tabert waved his hand with the cigarette perched between two fingers in the air.  “There are some things we would like to air out first.”

     “You guys are full of crap,” Rick responded.  His mood had not improved, and he was not willing to suffer foolishness.

      Mr. Ball began to smile slightly.  “We understand things have been a little stressful for you lately.  Please just indulge us a little while, and I think you’ll find this whole inconvenience very accommodating.”  There was a very soothing tone to his voice.  He was almost the polar opposite to his partner’s stiff business-like persona. 

      Mr. Tabert continued.  “There are a few personal matters we would like to address before we continue, Mr. Carter.  We understand that you have had a problem in the past with gambling.”

      Rick was not amused.  “Is that what this is all about? Look, I’m not in the habit of discussing my personal life with…well, anyone.   Nor am I in the habit of justifying myself.  So, what are you two getting at?”

      Mr. Ball smiled again.  “No justifications, Rick.  Just concerns.  Where would you say you are with that?”

       “My friends call me Rick.  I don’t see any friends here.”  Rick hammered back.

      Mr. Ball waved his hand again lazily as if shooing away a fly.  “Please answer the question for us,” He said.

      Rick shook his head. “I used to hit the casinos, some, I’ll admit.  Probably too much.  But, I stopped going.  I put myself on the do-not-admit list.  I still go to the tracks occasionally just to relax, and I buy a lottery ticket each week.  There’s nothing illegal about that.  And I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

      “Please,” Mr. Ball spoke again, “just indulge us.”

    Rick wasn’t persuaded, and he wasn’t intimidated by their switch off tactics.  He was as familiar with the good cop/bad cop routine as anyone.   “Look you guys, I’ve been working with this company for 15 years.  I never heard or seen you guys before, and my boss doesn’t seem to know who you are either.  Are you with the government?”

  Mr. Tabert replied quickly and coldly. “No, not government, as such.  We represent other interests.  We just prefer the term
Managers
.”  He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a single laminated card for Rick to see. Rick squinted at it and tried quickly to read it before Tabert returned it to his pocket. 

    “Seriously?  Is that out of a cereal box?”   Rick asked suspiciously.

     Mr. Ball looked at his partner confidently.  “I don’t think the gambling is an issue.”

    Mr. Tabert nodded in agreement and started again. “We are trying to tell you that we have a job for you, Mr. Carter, if you’re interested.  Who we are is really irrelevant at this point.  Who you are is irrelevant at this point.  This is simply a
remarkably unique job that requires the skills of a person with almost flawless abilities and an unparalleled knowledge of the entire Tampa area, and most importantly; works night shift.”

   “But, I already have a job.  This is what I do.” Rick responded just as coldly.

    Mr. Ball spoke again, “This wouldn’t take you away from your normal job as a taxi driver.  In fact, it would compliment it.  And, there’s no need for any new training or change of location.  When would you say is your least busy time of the night?”

   Rick reflected a moment and then found himself responding even though he felt he should not. “Usually from 2 or 3 to about 6.  Why?”

    Mr. Ball continued, “That would be perfect.  We need you, Mr. Carter, to be available to pick up some, what we like to call, “special” fares from time to time.  They would only be during this time and would not hamper or hinder your life in any other way.  We need you to be available during this time on our call and our call alone.  You would be given an address and told to meet a single individual at that address.  That person will then hand you a note telling you where to take them.  The fare will be paid directly into your account. And, Mr. Carter,” Mr. Ball moved slightly forward in his seat and looked very seriously directly into Rick’s eyes as if to emphasis the point, “the company will make this very worth your while.  Each fare will be worth a thousand dollars apiece.”

     Rick was stunned.  If anything spoke loudly to Rick these days, it was the unmistakable and angelic like sound of dollars followed by several zeroes.  “What?  Are you serious?”

    Mr. Tabert spoke again, his serious tone never wavered. “We are deadly serious, Mr. Carter.  Though it may sound slightly odd on the outside, what we are offering you is a very important and detrimental job that must get done.  But, remember this; should you accept, never forget this:  you are not allowed to breathe a word of your activities to anyone, including your shop boss here.   Not a word, to family, friend or girlfriend.   Just be available to take the fares, do the job, ask no questions and collect the fares.”

    Mr. Ball sat back again, the casual Carolina inflections returning to his voice. ”What do you think Mr. Carter?  Interested?”

     Offers this good usually came with the word felony attached to a lengthy jail time.  “Is this something illegal?”

    “Nothing illegal about it, Mr. Carter,” Mr. Tabert responded, “Just fares like any other fares.  We’re not asking you to transport anything but human cargo.  But you must be available to us only during that time.  You must not speak to anyone else about it, and you must get the fares to their destinations as specified.  Sound interesting?”

    Rick thought for a moment as silence descended on the room, both men watching and waiting for his reply.  The whole thing sounded way too out there, but then there was that thousand bucks per offer.  He felt a gnawing voice of skepticism growing in his gut and a multitude of fears creep into the back of his mind…..but, then there was that thousand bucks.  He had responded before he realized he was about to. “Yes, I’m interested, if you’re not trying to pull my leg.”