Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

of them moved or said anything.   Then the wild and crazy looking man quickly made his way to the back door of the cab, opened it and fell inward, pulling the door shut behind him.  “Drive!”  He shouted.  “Quickly, just drive!”
          Rick fought off the impulse to tell the man to leave.  “I’m waiting for someone.” He managed to say.
          “What?  Just go, man!  I have to go!”  The urgency of his voice compelled Rick into action.  He glanced quickly around for the old man, but he was gone.  Rick pulled himself together, put the car in drive and pulled quickly away from the curb.  He made another U-turn and headed back toward the open light and relative safety of Belcher Street, hoping to gain some time to gather his thoughts.  
           “You mind telling me what this is all about?”  Rick sounded aggravated and not a little bit alarmed.
          The man righted himself in the seat and looked back the way they had just come as if he were expecting to be pursued.  Rick could see him better now in the rearview mirror.  He was a thin man, about his same age give-or-take a year.  He had a receding hairline, and he wore baggy ill-fitting clothes that included what might have been, a long time ago, a blue dress shirt covered only partly by an opened long dirty gray trench-coat.  The look of alarm was starting to fade from his lined and tanned face.  He sported about three days of salt and pepper stubble on his chin that matched the same speckling he had in his hair.  “I’m sorry,” He said.  “Not my usual entrance.”
           “Who was chasing you?’  Rick asked.
          “Oh, let’s not get into that shall we?”  The man responded, rubbing his chin and looking out the window.
          “Okay, then you got someplace you want me to drop you off?”  Rick asked.  Boy, this night just keeps getting better, he thought.  Maybe someplace nearby and quick so I can call it a night and go home?
          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