Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) by Samuel Belcher Page B

employees everywhere as Rick Carter’s checking account actually had money in it, real money, not the transient kind that so often slid threw his account like a chipotle chicken bean burrito from the Mexican food truck.  He drove silently down the empty streets anxious to have another crack at this new job.  The next fare was only moments away.  Before he could make it through two lights, he was already being hailed by the same aged and soft voice as before.  He listened closely to the instructions and typed the address into his phone’s GPS.  Seconds later he was on his way to another rendezvous with beautiful capitalism.  If this kept up all night his bank manager, the obnoxious guy that drove the old BMW, was going to be a happy man when he went over the books in the morning. 
          He maintained the same rules of engagement as before and never varied from the established pattern.  The next one turned out to be a guy dressed in a suit that looked like it came from a 1920s swingers club.  He was a quick drop off several blocks away.  Rick followed that up with another check on the bank records and another satisfied grin.   Then the call came again.  They came fast and easy.  As soon as he dropped one off, another call came.  Each acted the same as the one before, strangely dressed and perfectly silent.  He didn’t know if he was making runs for a Shriner’s convention or a Cosplay party.   One fare was a young man in a soldier’s uniform, gray, like a Confederate infantryman.  It was well made, very authentic looking and made of wool.  It was even dirty and torn like it was in real combat. The boy looked young, and he had blood streaming down his face, or fake blood as Rick hoped.   But, there was a strange vacant expression in his eyes.  Rick found he wanted to say something to this fare as if he were drawn to a sudden sense of sadness and lose that he couldn’t explain, but he adhered to the conditions of the agreement. Several times during many of the fares he had to fight the urge to speak.  It was perfectly natural, after all.  He was a talker by habit and by nature and driving a cab had nurtured that aspect of his character.  Not speaking to fares was like a salmon swimming the opposite direction.   But he fought it and instead he just took their notes, drove them to where they wanted to go and let them out.  Nothing more was said or done.  Each time he delivered his fare, he checked his account.  And each time there was another thousand dollars deposited there.  Suddenly he wasn’t a poor struggling cab driver anymore.  A couple more nights of this, a week maybe, would see him entering a new tax bracket. 
         The next two calls turned out to be a guy dressed in buckskin and a barefooted young boy who was unaccompanied.  At each destination, he waited as each person disappeared into the night.  But, he didn’t see where they went even though he waited nearby in case he was needed.  A twinge of regret went through him when he let the young boy out.  He didn’t like leaving a kid alone on a dark street. But, nothing seemed to happen, and the boy was eager to be on his way.   Rick hummed to himself as he inspected the growing number of digits on his bank account.  He consoled himself with a mental list of all the things he was going to buy tomorrow with his new found wealth.  A new recliner and flat screen television were high on that list.
         He parked the Crown Victoria in an empty mall parking lot, a favorite place of his during the slow hours.   Dawn was just another hour away.  His radio had gone back to its normal backlight, and he was feeling rather proud of his night.  It was time to do some unwinding, to take a few breaths before calling it a night.  As his thoughts drifted, he began to focus a lot on the past few nights.  The excitement of the money nearly drove the image of Mel out of his memory, nearly but not entirely.  He sat back in