The Chrononauts
Chapter 1: Brady Meets Snowflake

Yawning, Detective Brady stared at his laptop screen. He cringed at the reflection of his powder-blue jacket his wife had bought him for his birthday. He shook his head and sighed as he opened up the Stow Acres Police Golf League folder. Yes, he and Grogan were still firmly entrenched in last place. He felt someone looking over his shoulder and jerked around expecting to see Detective Harvard. Nope.

Grogan laughed as he walked over to his desk. “Boy, you’re jumpy today, Brady.” He looked out the window at the sugar maple tree swaying in the thunderstorm. “I see your culprit. There is a white duck on a branch staring in the window.

Brady looked out and chuckled. “It is an owl, Grogan. As a rule, ducks do not perch on tree branches, even in thunderstorms.”

Grogan stared back out. “Okay, you win Brady. It is a fat, dumb-looking owl.”

Brady laughed. “That is weird. The branch it is on isn’t swaying in the wind like all the rest of them.”

Grogan chuckled. “Its fat butt would need a hurricane to move it.”

Brady bent over his laptop and sniffed. “Do you smell something burning?”

Grogan ran over to his desk. White smoke drifted out of the keyboard. “Damn, my computer is burning up!”

The captain came out of his office. He chuckled at Grogan blowing on his keyboard. He looked over at Brady. “Have you checked with all your informants?”

Brady glanced over at Grogan, who shook his head no. He smirked. “We checked most of them. They knew nothing, but we couldn’t replace Dave the Dork anywhere and he is usually visible. That makes me think he might know something, Captain.”

Captain Brown nodded, his salt-and-pepper crew-cut hair standing at attention, and pushed his reading glasses up on his nose. “Go back out there and replace him before someone replaces out we are looking and shoots him.” He looked over at Grogan. “You might want to unplug the damn thing before you leave, Grogan.”

Two doughnuts later, Brady and Grogan left to look for Dave. They headed downtown towards a video store known to deal with kiddy porn. Grogan drove while Brady looked out the window at the rain. “Huh, did you see the white owl? That’s odd for the summertime. It could be the same one.”

Grogan laughed. “I’ll call the Audubon Society, Brady. Here, you steer for me.”

Brady chuckled. “And tell them it is huge.”

They had no luck at the store and decided to check the racetrack. They drove for ten minutes as Brady watched the sidewalk for Dave. He spilled his coffee in his lap. “Did you see that? I think it was the same owl.”

Grogan sighed and drove into the parking lot five minutes later. “I’ll walk around inside, Brady. You can check the parking lot for owls.”

Grogan took a doughnut and his large black coffee and walked inside the track. Brady chuckled and strolled around in the fog-filled lot. He could only see the tops of the cars. He was shocked to see the owl again, in an oak tree looking down at him.

He walked towards it, expecting to see it fly off. It sat in the tree and stared at him. He laughed. “Huh, you are a brave one. I suppose you know where Dave the Dork is?” He was surprised to get a hoot. He broke off a piece of doughnut and held it out. “I don’t know if owls like doughnuts.”

The owl swooped down and took the treat. Brady laughed. “You wouldn’t really know where Dave is?” He was surprised to get one hoot.

He started naming places and was shocked to get a hoot when he mentioned Macy’s. He repeated the list and got a hoot again at the mention of Macy’s. He stared at the owl. “Well, um, thanks.”

The owl hooted once and flew off into the swirling fog. Brady walked all the way around the lot, killing time until Grogan came back out.

He eventually appeared. “I got nothing. Did you replace out anything, Brady?”

Brady was not about to tell Grogan about the owl...but still... “Some old drunk said he saw him down by Macy’s. We might as well check it out since I am not soaked all the way through my jacket yet.”

They were pleased to replace the Dork looking through a newly carved hole by the ladies’ changing room. He was too busy to see the two detectives. Brady tapped him on the shoulder.

He growled. “Get lost. I was here first, asshole.” Brady backed up quietly and bowed to Grogan. He tapped Dave harder. “I told you to get lost. I have police friends who I’ll have kick your ass.”

Grogan chuckled and backed up. He bowed to Brady. He stuck his gun in Dave’s ear. That got his full attention. “Oh, it is you guys. I didn’t see anything. I swear.” They didn’t say a word and just stared at him. He noticed Brady hadn’t holstered his Glock.

Dave stammered, “I tell you, I did not see anything.” His bloodshot brown eyes darted back and forth but then down to the left, a sign of a lie. He stood five-foot ten inches, with a shiny balding head and way too much cologne to hide the fact he hadn’t had a bath in over a month.

He kept his hands in his pockets and remained hunched over. A bent Camel cigarette loosely dangled from his thin white lips. He had on a rancid blue jacket with a Patriots football logo hanging on by a couple of tired gray stitches. He had black dress shoes that were scuffed and had untied laces.

Dave always seemed to have a lot of money, and considering he only worked part-time for the local gangster, Papa Doc, that was odd. He didn’t waste his money on soap or threads, but did spend a lot on preteen girls... preferably under twelve years old and blonde with a big rack.

They were his drug of choice and relatively cheap. Some beer or pot usually got him to the Promised Land... that and five hundred clams. He was angry that most of them made him bathe first.

Brady was chattering in his ear. “You can do better than that, Dave. Talk to us!” He tried to stare down at him menacingly from his six-foot four-inch frame.

Dave chuckled. “Hey Brady... you should always play the good cop. The only thing I fear from you is getting a hickey.” It was hard for Brady to look intimidating with his “toy boy” good looks. He had a Marine haircut to offset the boyish image, much to the chagrin of his wife. His partner, Grogan, tried not to smile as Brady glared over Dave’s shoulder at him.

Grogan chuckled. “We are going to bring you in for a nice talk with the captain.” Dave started to tremble. He made quick peeks at Brady looking for help but was to be sadly disappointed.

Dave remained stoic. “Fine. Grogan, I did not see anything that I am willing to tell you about that could get me killed.” His crooked yellow teeth and the complementary bad breath made Brady gag. The detectives said nothing and just stared him down. The ploy worked.

Dave sighed. “Great. This is strictly off the record and no names. One guy was fat, black, about six-two and 300 pounds. The other was a little scrawny loudmouth twit. I swear that is all I remember, guys.”

Detective Grogan grabbed him by his shirt and stuck a stun gun between his legs and pushed him towards their car. Dave started to panic. He did what he did best: deflect their interest towards someone else.

Dave stopped walking. “Wait!! Okay. Why don’t you ask the old geezer that was there, too? He looked crazy enough to talk to cops.” His beady eyes darted back and forth between the detectives.

Grogan looked down at Dave from his six-foot-five frame with his pale gray eyes. Now he was intimidating. He gently pulled the bent cigarette from Dave’s lips and lifted him up in the air. He chuckled nervously. “Hey, Grogan, I am afraid of heights.”

Grogan gave him a sinister smile. The steely eyes stayed riveted on Dave. “What old guy would that be, Dave?”

Dave laughed. “A tall dude like you, Grogan, but a lot better-looking; trust me on that. He was dressed in old-style clothes from the turn of the century, I think. He looked like Jack the Ripper on happy pills.”

Grogan looked skeptical. “You wouldn’t lie to your friends, would you, Dave?” Grogan dropped him roughly against the wooden wall.

Brady, who still had his gun out, smiled at him. “Describe the man in detail as if your life depended on it.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah! Okay! Okay! He had on one of those old black bowler hats and gray hair going in all directions. Oh yeah. He had a silver cane and a cape, too. It was as if the old fart stepped out of a time machine. He smelled nice but an old nice.”

Grogan glared at him. “You had better be telling us the truth.”

Dave relaxed. He could see they believed him. He sighed. “Could I make up a story like that up? There is something about this guy that gives me the creeps. You sort of like the guy... but you’d keep a wooden stake in your pocket, you know, just in case.”

Dave thought hard. “He has humor and intelligence in his eyes, but they probe you. He works part-time at the old bakery shop on Sixth Street. Sometimes he gives me hot cinnamon rolls when I see him sitting out back. Hey, that’s a clue, right?”

The detectives went back to the squad room and filled in Captain Brown, who sat at Brady’s desk making love to a Bavarian crème doughnut. The rest of the men listened, especially Detective Harvard.

The captain rose from Brady’s chair. “You and Grogan go look him up.” He guiltily brushed the powdered sugar off the desk. “Bring him in for a nice friendly chat—and Grogan, stay away from my last two honey rolls in the fridge.”

Dave, the lab rat, chuckled. “You guys must be drinking on duty again to believe that guy exists.” Dave stood six-one with black dork glasses. He put a piece of white adhesive tape across the nose piece to proudly complete the effect. He had the traditional four leaking pens in color-spectrum order in the pocket protector in his shirt and his collar was buttoned to the top. All in all, they were classic genius signatures.

Brady chuckled at him. “We keep our drinking to the regulation two six-packs of light beer per shift.”

The desk sergeant chirped, “I got twenty-five bucks that says he doesn’t exist.” Brady nodded to him, taking that bet.

The captain looked naïvely into the doughnut box for a leftover. No joy. He looked up. “By the way, Brady, who told you he was down at Macy’s?”

Brady blushed. “Oh, it was just some derelict, Captain.” The captain stared at Brady and wondered why he lied. He shrugged and slowly returned to his office.

The detectives drove down to Sixth Street and staked it out from the side so they could see activity in the front or the back. The sun had set and they killed time by listening to the Red Sox get clobbered by the Yankees. Finally, Brady noticed movement in the back.

A man in a white uniform set a bag gently on top of a green sixties-era dumpster and returned back inside. Brady walked over and checked it out. The bag was full of yeasty hot cinnamon rolls and a cup of hazelnut coffee. Brady walked back to the unmarked car. There was a lonely sixty-watt yellow bulb that lit up the back.

A group of brown moths kept swirling around the yellow bulb in some kind of suicidal dance. Another short man came out for a quick smoke and went back inside. Six Yankee runs later, a tall man casually walked out the back door. He picked up the bag of rolls with his silver cane and sat down on a lonely old tree stump and stared curiously at their unmarked police car.

Brady looked at him. “Boy, he is a cool one.”

The man sipped his coffee, ate a roll, and continued to peer at the car. He finally got up and sauntered over to the detectives. “Would you two ladies like a couple cinnamon buns? They are still hot. He smiled at Brady. “You must be the girl, right? The lady gets first choice.” He offered the bag with a straight face.

Grogan smiled at a very red-faced Brady and whispered, “Pick me out a hot one, sweet cheeks.”

The man nodded at them. “I knew it! You two are from that gay bar. The Pink Asparagus, right?” He looked at Detective Brady. “You’re that stripper everyone is talking about... Say! Does that suit tear away?”

A red-faced Brady spoke stiffly. “We are police officers, sir.” Grogan smirked at Brady.

The man laughed loudly. “Sure you are, sweet cheeks. Say could I get an autograph for my friend Dave? He loves your act.” The man shined a small flashlight on Brady’s crotch. “So, you’re wearing a police thong right?” Grogan was laughing so hard he was crying. Brady didn’t appreciate the humor in it.

The tall man stood there smiling and staring at Brady with amusement. Brady whispered to Grogan. “I wish we would have brought that wooden stake.”

The old man chuckled. “Okay detectives, I am the witness you are looking for. Dave warned me you would be coming. I couldn’t help myself. I knew you weren’t gay since you have no sense of style. But you are a pretty boy, detective...”

Grogan chuckled. “I am Detective Grogan and the pretty boy with his hand on his gun is Detective Brady. We would like to bring you downtown for an interview, if you don’t mind, sir?”

The man cackled. “Call me Walter...can we stop at the Red Lobster on the way? I’m buying.”

Grogan laughed at “pretty boy’s” hopeful look. “I’m sorry, Walter, but the captain would skin us alive.”

Walter glanced at a disappointed Brady and laughed. “That’s fine. By the way, the Red Sox will win the game with a walk-off homerun in the eleventh. I will get food there, correct?”

He got to the police car. He rubbed his toe in the dirt. “I suppose shotgun is out of the question?” Brady looked at the sky and opened the back door. Walter whispered, “That’s a bummer.” He sat sulking in the back seat.

Brady watched Walter in the mirror and chuckled. “I can turn on the siren on for you.”

Walter bounced in his seat. “Cool.”

They arrived at the station and parked in Level One of the garage. Grogan got out first and looked around. He laughed. “Okay, there is a white owl in here looking for a rat supper.”

Walter smiled. “Oh, that’s my owl friend, Snowflake, looking for a handout.” The bird flew down and landed on his shoulder. “So what do you think, Snowflake; should I help them catch the killers?” The owl’s head bobbed up and down and she hooted once with excitement.

The detectives looked at each other.

Walter laughed. “I agree with you, Snowflake; it has been kind of dull lately. Let’s go take my statement and catch our killers, detectives.”

They wondered if Walter was a nut case. He chuckled as they walked up the stairs. Everyone stopped working and stared at Walter. He laughed. “Is anybody here AB negative? I haven’t had supper yet.”

That cracked everyone up. Smithy, the desk sergeant, held out twenty-five dollars for Brady.

Brady sighed. “We should tell you, Walter; the last four people that were witnesses for us were all killed before they could testify.”

Walter chuckled. “Well everybody dies sometime... Death is a dear old friend. The only thing you can do is make sure you go out in style.”

They brought him into the interview room. He looked at the orange walls and shook his head. “You better tranquilize and feed me if I have to look at these walls for very long.”

Grogan nodded. “Yes, but first your statement, in case someone attempts to run in and shoot you.”

Walter laughed hard. “Fair enough, Detective Grogan.” People were still staring at him through the door. He smiled. “What’s the matter? You people have never seen a real live vampire before? By the way, Brady, what was with the twenty-five bucks?”

Brady laughed. “Smithy bet me you wouldn’t be stupid enough to be found and brought in.”

Walter chuckled. “I’ll get your twenty-five bucks back for you, sergeant.”

Smithy waved. “Thanks. I hope they don’t shoot you right away.” Brady chuckled and closed the door. An interested Detective Harvard watched the interview through the one-way window. The room was definitely bland.

Walter shook his head. “I hope you got this paint for free.”

Brady smiled sympathetically. “Cheer up. I’ll go get you a coffee.”

Grogan started the interview. “Can you tell me your name, please?”

“My name is Walter Wonderful.” Brady was back quickly and handed him a coffee. Walter put a spoonful of sugar in the cup. It sat on top of the coffee. A curious Walter poked it with a spoon. “Ah... I always thought coffee was a liquid?” He tipped the cup and nothing spilled.

Grogan chuckled. “Your name is really Walter Wonderful?” Walter nodded with an amused expression.

He looked down at his coffee. “Now... about the... coffee...”

Brady smiled. “Hey. In Massachusetts, that coffee is considered a delicacy. Now, let’s get your statement before somebody shoots you. Then I’ll buy you something wicked yummy for supper.”

Walter swallowed some coffee. “You might buy me a bottle of sleeping pills to offset the fifty-megaton coffee.” The captain and Harvard watched through the glass.

The captain laughed. “That was pretty funny.”

Walter did not disappoint the detectives. “I was napping against a barrel down by the river. It was my night off and I love listening to the water flowing. I also like to watch the full moon dancing on the water. Luckily, I do not snore or sleep walk. I was awakened by a loud, abrasive, African-American gentleman who definitely could stand to lose a few pounds. He was saying, “Here’s the coke, Big Red; where is my scratch?

A large red-haired man tossed him a satchel. Another man tested the coke. He got the desired dark blue color.”

He droned, “A geeky-looking guy started counting the money but stopped and rubbed it in his fingers. He whispered to the black dude that the cash was funny money.”

He chuckled. “The black man had no sense of humor and pulled out an antique pepper pot pistol. He shot Big Red right between the eyes. A second older well-dressed man got out of a black limousine. He walked up behind Red’s two security men and shot both of them in the head. He got back in the limo with weird special plates of some kind and drove off.”

Walter continued, “The black man drove with his remaining friends to Fisherman’s Wharf and they dumped their dead friends into the water. There was a lot of fog which made it difficult to see. The black gentleman put his little gun into a false panel in the trunk. I couldn’t read the plate which was a real downer...”

Brady nodded. “Wow, you were a busy boy, Walter. I haven’t eaten either. We get a discount at the Red Dragon. I’ll pick you up something.”

Walter bounced up and down. “Crab rangoon with extra duck sauce, please?” Brady nodded and headed out.

Captain Brown spoke to Walter. “We will keep you here overnight, in case you were followed to the station. Tomorrow, we will bring you back to the bakery. Put a guard on him, Sergeant Smith. We wouldn’t want any more mysterious suicides.” Walter’s eyebrows lifted and he smirked.