Disclaimer: As the title implies, fast food will be involved (health food nuts, you have been warned!). Many restaurant franchises are personified as characters in this story; some are good guys and some are bad. If you happened to be employed by any of these chains, please know that your character’s role is not a reflection upon the quality of your employer. In short, this is just a silly little story that I have been writing for the amusement of friends-try not to take it too seriously…and please don’t sue me…
~Chapter Seven: An Assembly of Villains~
No one was quite sure what his real name was, it had been so long since it was last used. To his friends and enemies alike, he was more commonly known by his nickname, Little Caesar. Anyone who saw him had no trouble in determining how he earned this nomenclature. Short of stature and having a penchant for wearing togas and laurels, he bore an uncanny, though diminutive, resemblance to the Roman emperor. And like Caesar himself, Little Caesar was fired by an unquenchable ambition for greatness. Having worked through the ranks of the pizza industry, he had established his own moderately successful restaurant some years ago. For many restaurateurs, this would have been satisfactory. However, Little Caesar didn’t want to be just another pizza guy in Dryvthru; he wanted to be the only pizza guy. To achieve this, he needed to eliminate his competition. However, this was something he could not do alone. Hence, the midnight meeting that was now taking place inside his restaurant. Among his conspirators was the villainous sea food pirate Long John Silver and big city mobster and sandwich maker Jersey Mike. Both men were looking to expand their influence over their own respective food markets and were immediately agreeable to a meeting with Little Caesar.
“Pizza! Pizza!” bellowed Little Caesar as he paced in front of a table where Silver and Mike sat. “When people crave pizza, I want them to turn to me, and to no one else!” His cohorts growled in ascent. “There will be no one else once we have finished our work!”
“Arr, that be true enough, mate,” spoke Long John Silver. “Them lubbers’ll never know what’s hit them!”
“Yeah,” agreed Jersey Mike. “It’ll be like bada-boom, fuggetaboutit.”
“So what be the plan?” asked Silver. Little Caesar stopped pacing and took a seat at the table.
“It’s quite simple. Many of my competitors rely on various ingredients that are imported across the sea from other lands. You and your crew, Long John, will see to it that as many of the trading ships bringing these ingredients come to port empty. As for you, Jersey Mike, I want you and your boys to pay frequent visits to the restaurants and…persuade customers to go elsewhere for pizza.”
“Preferably to Little Caesars, am I right?” Jersey Mike grinned maliciously.
“Naturally,” Little Caesar replied with a small smile of his own. “And with the ingredients shortage and the loss of customers, each restaurant will be bound to go bankrupt. But before they go completely belly-up, I will step in at the last minute and generously offer money to bail them out, with the provision that I become majority owner of the restaurant. And so one by one, each competitor will gradually morph into a Little Caesar’s branch restaurant.
“Yar!” said Silver, pounding the table. “A hostile corporate takeover. Brilliant!”
“And if this plan proves successful, soon the seafood and sandwich industries will also fall under new management.” Little Caesar gestured to his partners, and three villains laughed.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” boomed Jersey Mike.
“Gentlemen,” Little Caesar stood once again, his arms outstretched dramatically. “The die is cast.”
~Chapter Eight: Portillo to the Rescue~
With much thanks from the McDonalds (and much cleaning up of the kitchen by an indignant Wendy), the band of travelers set out after breakfast. They had decided to continue following the road as it wound its way through the countryside and down to the seaside and Port Plees-Comagin. As the day wore on, the farm fields gradually gave way to open pasture land. Various herds of livestock roamed about the rolling, grassy plains with an occasional tree to punctuate the landscape.
“How far is the port from here?” Wendy asked, not for the first time.
“About a mile closer then when you last asked,” Portillo said, a little peevishly. It was growing to be a really warm and humid day and tempers were short.
“I wasn’t asking you!” Wendy snapped back.
“Then who were you asking? Sonic?” Sonic looked up at the sound of his name, his tail wagging and his tongue lolling.
“That’s enough, you two,” Baskin spoke up. “Squabbling is not making this trip any easier.”
“As we told you before, Wendy,” added Robin. “We should make it to the port by nightfall.” However, by the time the travelers had finished their mid-day meal, dark clouds had begun to roll in from the west, and thoughts now turned to finding shelter from the coming storm. Not having passed a home, barn, or even a shed in the last several miles, the group decided to forge ahead and hope for the best; as it turned out, they didn’t have far to travel. After reaching the top of a rise, the travelers spotted an open gate to the right of the road with a large sign hanging over it.
“‘The A&W Ranch,’” read Baskin as they all approached the gate. The wind had started to pick up, causing the sign to swing and creak with an eerie, lonesome sound.
“I hope someone is home,” said Wendy, looking up at the ever-darkening sky. Beyond the open gate, the land sloped down into a shallow valley revealing a panoramic view of the sprawling ranch. A herd of cattle grazed in a paddock near a large barn.
“As we have no other options,” said Robin, “I propose that we go down and find out.” Just then, the rhythmic sound of horse’s hooves could be heard faintly over the gusting wind. The travelers looked about, trying to find the source of the noise. From up the road they had just traveled, appeared a horse and rider. He was lean, muscular, and shaggy-looking with brown hair, powdered with trail dust, and a large nose. The man riding him looked quite similar, with the exception of the large ten gallon hat perched atop his head.
“Howdy!” said the man as he reined in, then quickly grabbed at his hat as the wind attempted to pluck it off his head. “How ‘bout this weather, huh? There’s quite a storm headin’ this way.” As if to emphasize his last statement, a low growl of thunder echoed across the open landscape.
“Excuse me sir,” said Baskin, trying to speak over the wind. “Could you tell us who lives at this ranch?”
“You’re lookin’ at him,” said the man. “The name is Arby. I own the A&W.”
“Would you be able to provide us with some shelter until the storm passes?”
“Why sure,” grinned Arby, as he dismounted his horse. “Never let it be said that Arby turned away a passel of damsels in distress.”
“Wait, what?” Portillo spoke up indignantly.
“All right, a passel of damsels and a little boy,” Arby corrected airily. Portillo frowned, unsure if he was offended more by being considered a damsel in distress or a little boy. Arby turned his attention to Wendy. “So young lady, how would you like a ride back to the ranch?” With a squeal of delight, Wendy, with the help of Arby, scrambled onto the horse’s back. The group then passed through the gate and down the dirt trail leading to the main house and barn.
“What is your horse’s name?” asked Wendy as she bobbed along rhythmically to her mount’s movements.
“This here is Horsey Sauce,” said Arby, patting the horse’s neck fondly.
“Horsey Sauce? What…” Wendy began.
“Wendy…”Baskin said, pointing a warning finger at the red-head, “don’t start.”
“It’s a nice name,” Wendy amended quickly.
The storm that finally broke after the travelers reached the ranch house was the worst in living memory. The gale-force winds drove the rain sideways, beating on the windows so hard that Wendy was sure that they would shatter. The steady roar of the wind and rain was punctuated by loud claps of thunder that seemed to grow louder and more menacing as time went on. The forks of lightning that occasionally split the sky seemed to concentrate its fury upon the ranch.
In the dim candlelight that lit the large room, Wendy huddled next to Baskin and Robin. She had never been bothered by storms before. However, weathering storms within the confines of the White Castle was a far different experience from this. Another blast of thunder shook the house. Wendy covered her ears and whimpered. Sonic howled in fear as Portillo tried to comfort his friend. Arby, needing to bring his cattle from the paddock into the barn had remained outside with Horsey Sauce, trying to round up the increasingly agitated beasts.
“The poor man,” said Robin after the latest explosion of thunder. “I wonder how much longer he’ll be?” Suddenly there was a loud crash outside, followed by a steady rumbling.
“My goodness, was that thunder?” exclaimed Baskin, getting to her feet. “It sounded like it came right from the yard.”
“That was no thunder,” said Portillo, peering out of one of the windows. “It’s the cattle, they’re loose!” Baskin, Robin, and Wendy rushed to the windows just in time to see the last of the panicky, bellowing herd as it stampeded past the ranch house and out into the open pasture. Portillo ran to the door and flung it open, instantly getting soaked by the wind-driven rain.
“What are you doing?” Baskin yelled.
“Arby needs help,” replied Portillo.
“And what do you think you’re going to do?”
“I’m not sure. C’mon Sonic!” With that, the boy and the dog forced their way outside. Portillo immediately spotted Arby as the rancher rode pell-mell up towards the house.
“That last big thunder spooked them!” Arby shouted, skidding Horsey Sauce to a stop. “They rushed the fence and smashed it to pieces!”
“Can we help?” Portillo asked.
“Can you ride, boy?”
“I know which end of a horse is which.”
“I got another horse in the barn. Saddle ‘em up and head for the cattle.” Arby touched spurs to Horsey Sauce and the two galloped off. Portillo ran for the barn with Sonic in toe. Portillo soon burst out of the barn on an old gray mare, with Sonic clinging to the saddle horn. Riding against the wind, the rain stabbed at Portillo’s face and hands and hampered his vision, but he determinedly rode on. He saw Arby up ahead riding to the front of the stampede trying to get the cattle to change direction before they got to the road. He was slowly making progress and it appeared the herd’s collective panic was on the wane. That’s when a bolt of lightning struck a large oak tree, sending sparks and charred wood through the air. Although this occurred a mile from where he was, Portillo could feel the hair on his head rising. Apparently he wasn’t the only one. Sonic gave a startled yelp; the mare gave her head a violent shake, and the cattle went wild and started running in different directions.
“What do we do?” Portillo yelled to Arby.
“We gotta go after ‘em, get them all back together. And we need to hurry. They could injure themselves panickin’ like this.” Arby turned and galloped toward the road to head off the cattle heading that direction. Portillo turned in the other direction in order to chase down the cattle running toward the ranch house. But before he could spur on the mare, Sonic leapt from the saddle, landing on the soggy ground with a soft “splut.”
“What are you doing?” Portillo shouted, but the little dog was off. For such a short-legged creature, Sonic possessed remarkable speed. Portillo turned to pursue him until he realized what his little friend was doing. Sonic had caught up to one of the steers and was nipping at one of its front legs. Irritated by this, the steer attempted to get clear of the dog. Gradually, the beast’s direction turned away from the ranch and back into the open field. In its annoyance, the steer was also beginning to lose its fear. As it started to slow down to a trot, Sonic dashed off in search of more cattle. Amazed, Portillo rode in Sonic’s wake, prodding first one calmed steer, then another, into a semblance of a herd. Other cattle, chased down by Arby, started drifting in as well. By the time the storm had finally blown itself out, every steer was accounted for and the exhausted group of men and animals made their way to the barn.
As they returned to the ranch house, Portillo, Sonic, and Arby were met with cheers from Wendy, Baskin, and Robin.
“Son,” said Arby, putting a damp arm around Portillo. “You and that dog of yours saved my hide out there. I never coulda done this alone. You have my deepest gratitude.” Portillo, his floppy hat soaked and drooping nearly over his eyes, grinned. Sonic, mud-spattered and panting, gave a happy yip. Arby bent down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “What this little fella did was amazing.” The rancher straightened up and sighed. “I sure could use a dog like this, and,” he glanced at Portillo, “a hired hand who knows his way around cattle. How ‘bout it, Portillo?”
“Me?” Portillo was stunned. “I…uh, well…that’s a nice offer, Mr. Arby. But I…”
“What is it, son?”
“It’s just that I sort of had my heart set on the learnin’ the restaurant business.” Arby laughed.
“Well shoot son, that ain’t no problem! I wasn’t always a rancher. I had my own restaurant chain for years before I passed the business onto my sons. I’ll teach ya everything ya need to know.” Portillo’s face brightened.
“In that case, you got yourself a ranch hand!” He stuck out his hand and Arby shook it heartily.
“I think congratulations are in order!” Baskin stepped forward, beaming and gave Portillo a hug. Robin followed suit; only Wendy hung back.
“You’re….you’re not coming with us?” The red-head looked thoroughly dejected. “What about the adventures you wanted to have?” Portillo walked over to Wendy and knelt in front of her.
“Wendy, I’ve been on one big adventure since I met you. And I’m sure that there are more adventures in store for me while you’re still running loose in the kingdom.” The girl sniffed, and smiled weakly. Sonic trotted up and Wendy crouched down to pet him. Affectionately, the dog started licking her arms; Wendy giggled.
“I’m going to miss you guys.” With that, she wrapped her arms around Portillo in a tight hug.