The Chrononauts
Chapter 2: Waking The Dead

The night was quiet, way too quiet for the fat police guard to stay awake. His head was down, due mostly to the spiked decaf coffee he drank earlier in the night. His lifeless body slid off the chair and crumbled to the cold gray cement floor.

Walter watched with amusement from his cot in the cell. He pretended to be asleep. A short man approached quickly. The cell door opened quietly and a uniformed officer entered the cell. A gun with a silencer shot two bullets into Walter’s chest and then added a head double-tap chaser.

Tricky Dick whispered, “Easiest hit I ever made.” He thought of the ten big ones he was getting. He took a picture and made sure it came out. He quietly locked the door. He stopped to kick the dead guard several times on his way out. “Damn fat slob cop, you should have some pride. No wonder crime is rising.”

A short time later, Walter sat up in his cell. “Damn, dude, that really hurt.” He glanced over at the guard rising to his feet. He looked nervously over at Walter who was watching him closely.

The guard did not know he had been dead ten seconds before. Walter smiled and told him, “You fell asleep and fell off your chair.” I don’t think the squad has to know that; do you, officer?” Corporal Harvey smiled and nodded gratefully.

Papa Doc answered his phone and smiled. “Well, that is taken care of, boys. Call for some ladies and food; we’re going to party.” He threw his five thousand dollar tasteless purple jacket on a chair and grabbed two very enthusiastic underaged girls and headed to a bedroom. It was a hell of a good night.

At eight a.m. the next morning, Harvard strolled into the precinct in a gray suit with a Harvard Crimson tie that basically said, “I am an asshole.” He was surprised everything was normal. The rest of the detectives were checking their e-mails and drinking their morning coffee.

He was shocked to see Corporal Harvey getting ready to go home. He was almost positive he had been the night guard, but whoever it was would have been found dead. When he saw Walter walk out of the captain’s office, Harvard spilled his coffee all over his new Harvard tie.

Grogan laughed at him. “Jeez, Harvard, maybe you should go back to the training-wheel decaf coffee. You seem pretty wired.”

Walter’s steely blue eyes stared intently at Harvard with a penetrating curiosity. Grogan watched. He was wearing his favorite brown suit with the non-Harvard burnt-orange tie which would hide his chocolate doughnut crumbs from the captain.

Brady laughed. “Don’t worry, Grogan. Harvard keeps five or six extra school ties in his desk.” Brady’s wife always picked out his clothes, but he balked at her efforts to get him a “decent” haircut. He wore his usual plain blue suit because it matched his eyes and because his wife told him to.

Harvard had actually managed to graduate from Harvard. His uncle, a state senator and an alumnus, had got him in. In fact, he got Harvard his current detective appointment which came in handy.

Harvard was five-foot eight in his elevator shoes. He was obnoxious, arrogant, and egotistical, and barely tolerated by his fellow detectives. He looked down and swore at the coffee stain. He went out in the hall to get a new shirt. Walter had not taken his eyes off him and Harvard was getting edgy.

He made a phone call. He whined, “How do I know what happened? I got Tricky Dick into his jail cell. Well, no, I don’t think he was playing spin-the-bottle with him. Look, all I know is that a six-foot five-inch psychopath that looks like a vampire is smiling at me like I’m a bottle of AB negative blood.”

Harvard sighed. “You will have to come in for the lineup later. I probably won’t be here. I have to go check out the murder of Senator Abel in the Old Settlers Park. You didn’t do it, did you? Okay! Okay! I believe you.”

At ten o’clock, Walter was brought into the lineup viewing room. It had a light orange patina to it, which was supposed to help the witnesses remain calm. The D.A. was there, which was somewhat unusual.

The captain had sent Walter out with Detective Brady earlier to get rid of the cape and buy a conservative blue suit. Walter had said he wanted the Batman look. The D.A. had nixed it and made him get a haircut and shave his mustache.

Walter sulked for a while but didn’t show it in the lineup room. Walter was in there with the defendant’s lawyer, “Sammy the Snake”, Captain Brown, and the D.A.

The D.A. had been down this road before. He fully expected the witness to suddenly have amnesia... but not for long. Brady and Grogan watched curiously from behind the one-way mirror. Five men were marched in with numbered signs.

The captain asked, “Do you see the shooter, Mr. Wonderful?” There were three black officers, a pizza delivery guy, and Papa Doc.

Walter laughed. “Yes, I see him. He is the big, fat, doughnut-shaped guy wearing the crappy five thousand dollar suit. What kind of an idiot lawyer would let his client wear a five thousand dollar suit to a lineup?” The D.A. grunted and looked at Sammy.

Brady and Grogan laughed so hard they were crying. The D.A. looked back sternly. The captain was losing his fight to look mad. The noise, however, stopped immediately.

The D.A. tried not to smile. “You must say the number out loud, Walter.”

Walter cleared his throat. “Number five.” He tapped five times on the window. Papa Doc looked towards the tapping with anger. “YES. That is the dimwit.”

A surprised Sammy looked over at Walter with a frigid stare. “You are a brave fellow, sir.”

Walter chuckled. “Not as brave as YOU when he hears about your dim-witted move of dressing him in a five thousand dollar suit.”

Sammy blushed and straightened Walter’s tie. He whispered. “Bye, bye Walter.”

Walter laughed. “Get your affairs in order, Sammy. And for God’s sake buy some breath mints for next time.”

Sammy yelled. “There won’t be a next time.”

Walter laughed. “Well, in that case, my condolences to your under-age girlfriends.” Sammy left in a huff.

The nervous D.A. asked, “Are you okay, Walter?”

Walter chuckled. “Yes, I’m just not a touchy-feely kind of guy.” The D.A. wondered just how sane this guy was and if he would be alive to testify. Walter looked into the worried D.A.’s eyes and chuckled again.

Harvard and Matt got to the Old Settlers Park in Lancaster Center. Matt was the brains of the outfit, having graduated summa cum laude from MIT. He always let Harvard run the show. He found out a long time ago that it’s a good idea to make the bad guys think they were both idiots. Harvard always did an admirable job of that.

Matt was loved by everyone at the station. Harvard was hated. Matt had rugged good looks that women found irresistible. They dumped him when he wouldn’t let them boss him around. He had the scientific wit of Sherlock Holmes.

Harvard was afraid of Matt’s intellect, but knew he was easy-going and unlikely to stick him in his locker and throw away the key. Harvard got out of the car and immediately started barking at the officer in charge. “Well, I don’t have all freaking day. What have you got?” The officer was busy trying to keep reporters and nosy pedestrians at bay.

The frustrated cop yelled. “Ask Dave. He got here a half-hour ago, Detective.” Bomb Squad Dave was his Marine nickname for all the roadside bombs he disarmed during the Gulf War.

He was considered out there by the squad and Twilight Zone material by the precinct heads. But he had that super-geeky look that juries loved. He wore tweed jackets, many of which had elbow pads, which he had to replace on eBay. His ponytail blended well with his bellbottom slacks.

Dave shook his head. “This crime scene is a conundrum. We have homemade gunpowder and a state of the art digital timer. This bomb was not remotely detonated. Someone had to know the exact time and spot where the senator would be standing alone. He chuckled. “Or it could also be a coincidence and the guy is just a psychopath.”

An ice cold gust of wind blew Dave’s notes out of his hands. Harvard chuckled and shook his head. Dave was still yelling to him, “There were no collateral injuries, just the senator. This is not a random bombing in any way.” He set Harvard up for a snide remark and was not to be disappointed.

Harvard snorted. “No shit, Dick Tracy.” He watched Dave disappear over the hill. “I am going to have to talk to the captain again about his unprofessional look. My God, faded bell-bottoms, a paisley Hendrix-era shirt and a plum tie... he looks like a damn fruit salad.”

His attention turned to Matt. “And what does Mr. MIT think?”

Matt chuckled. “I agree with Mr. Fruit Salad; it wasn’t random.” Dave had retrieved his notes and was laughing loudly at Harvard.

A flustered Harvard spoke. “Do you have anything else useful, Matt?”

Matt smiled. “Yes, the bomber had a GPS and one hell of a good watch.”

The stressed officer blocking the reporters came over and whispered to Matt. “We have two witnesses who saw a strange man yesterday in the park.” He led the two detectives to a couple sitting on an inner secluded park bench.

He smiled. “This is Bill and Maggie Tyler. They have been married sixty years and were in the park yesterday, right before dusk.”

Harvard butted in, as usual. “I’ll take it from here, officer. You can go back to traffic control.” The officer glanced over at Matt and looked at his gun. Matt chuckled at the cop.

Harvard spoke gruffly to the elderly couple. “So, tell me everything, no matter how trivial it might seem.” Matt gave Harvard his “you’re being a dickhead” look.

The old man started speaking in a weak voice. “We were sitting here last night. It was warm and the setting sun was really red.”

A sarcastic Harvard jumped on him. “I don’t need a damn weather report, old man.”

His wife laid into Harvard. “You weren’t breastfed when you were little, were you? You better watch your smart mouth, you little twerp. We pay taxes. Interview over. We will only talk to your boss over there, provided you take a hike!” Matt tried not to smile... but not very hard.

Seething, Harvard spoke through his teeth. “He’s not my boss, madam.”

A chuckling Maggie laughed. “Oh, I get it. A crooked politician got you your job.”

Harvard had enough. “They are all yours, Matt… sir.”

Matt smiled at them and watched Harvard walk away. “His uncle got him his job. He is a state senator.” The Tylers both smirked and nodded.

She began. “A tall, older man came out of the evening fog over there by the trees. He kept looking around and down at something in his hand. He walked over the hill. Then, a big white owl landed on our bench. That was very unusual.”

She smiled. “Bill put down a cookie and the owl grabbed it and flew up into a tree. She bit the cookie and brought it back to the bench. Then, she hooted and flew over the hill.

Harvard was back. “Didn’t you think that was unusual?”

The aggravated woman fired back. “Well, at first we did, you moron! But then, Bill tasted the cookies and told me I forgot the sugar again.”

A defensive Harvard asked, “Well, then what happened?” She laughed. “Well, duh. We threw the bag of cookies away, of course! The owl flew back over the hill and into the fog bank. The man walked back over the hill a few minutes later. He was tall with lots of gray hair. He looked like he was coming from a Halloween party.”

Maggie chuckled. “He had a cape and silver cane, too. Funny thing, I offered him the last cookie but he said, ‘No thanks, I like them with sugar.’” She paused and looked at Harvard. “Don’t you see? The owl must have warned him.”

Matt looked at Harvard’s red face and smirked.

Back at the station, the captain was trying to get Walter to stay overnight. “These guys are going to try to kill you.”

He laughed. “Sorry, Captain, I miss my cinnamon rolls. They are literally to die for.” Walter laid his silver cane over his shoulder and walked out.

The captain sighed. “Let’s put a car on Walter. Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch the guy who shoots him... too bad.” He glanced hopefully in the doughnut box. It was empty. He sighed again and returned to his office.

Harvard and Matt got back to the office. Harvard asked, “Where is Walter?”

Grogan snorted. “Oh. He went to get cinnamon rolls and then get murdered down where he works on Sixth. Oh yeah, Brady, Walter said your wife called. The paperboy lacks your stamina and she wants you home on time.” Brady chuckled.

The two officers in the car watched Walter sit on the back step of the bakery eating hot buns. He had given each of the officers one.

Officer Roberts shook his head. “How can he just sit there under a bright light without a care in the world? We ought to make him a ‘please shoot me’ sign.” Neither one of them saw the flash bang coming or the Taser. They crumbled in their seats. Walter sat and watched with mild curiosity.

Tricky Dick walked methodically towards Walter as he screwed on a silencer. He chuckled, “You must have a twin.”

Walter laughed. “Nope, I have no twin. You just suck at your job... and no wonder. That is the grubbiest gun I have ever seen. You should have pride in your job.”

Dick laughed. “That was very funny, dickhead. Papa said to make you suffer, asshole.” He pulled the trigger and the gun blew up in Dick’s hand, killing him.

Walter took a bite out of a cinnamon roll. “You should have cleaned your gun, dickhead.”

In the police car, the two officers were getting their bearings back. Roberts groaned, “Did you hear that gunshot? The captain is going to kill us.”

They struggled out of the car. Roberts screamed, “Put your hands up, asshole.” Walter put his hands up sarcastically. They looked at the crumbled body on the ground; the blood looked like black paint in the moonlight. Roberts kicked him over. “Hey, that’s Tricky Dick. He is a freelancer but usually works for the Papa Doc mob.”

Walter complained. “I told him to clean his gun first. And while I’m at it, the next one of you assholes that calls me an asshole is going to get all his blood sucked out.” Walter bit into another cinnamon roll.

The body was sent to the morgue. Walter walked off into the night with his cane over his shoulder, whistling Rachmaninoff’s concerto number two.

Officer Roberts looked back in the car mirror. “Hey, where did he go?”

Officer Davis laughed. “He is right behind you, walking away.”

A jittery Roberts whispered, “I swear I couldn’t see him in the mirror.”

The next day, Walter, in his blue navy suit and spiffy new haircut, was in front of the grand jury telling his story. “Well, the defendant was there with a suitcase of coke... ”

Sammy stood up. “I object, Your Honor. It is an alleged suitcase of coke.”

The bored judge yawned. “Sustained.”

Mr. Wonderful chuckled. “Okay, the suitcase was filled with two-kilo bags of a talcum-like substance for which the big white gentleman with the red hair was to pay an alleged fifty thousand dollars...”

Sammy stood up quickly and raised his hands. “Your Honor...”

The angry judge said, “If you’re trying to be funny, it is falling on deaf ears, Mr. Wonderful.”

Walter smiled. “So the D.A. told me, Your Honor.” The D.A., dressed in a dark blue power suit, looked at the judge sheepishly.

“That will cost you one hundred dollars, Mr. Wonderful, unless, of course, you have another witty remark for the court.” Walter thought for a few seconds. “None come to mind at the moment, Your Honor.”

The judge pounded his gavel. “That will cost you two hundred dollars. You want to go for the trifecta?”

Walter frowned. “No, thank you, Your Honor. I don’t think I have enough cash on me.” Walter continued his testimony. “The late Tricky Dick started counting the, ah...money?” He glanced over at Sammy. “He realized it was phony. He whispered to the defendant that the bills were bogus.”

Walter continued, “The defendant then pulled out a beautiful, antique, one hundred and twenty bore pepper-pot pistol and shot Big Red right between the eyes. It was a very impressive shot, Your Honor, considering the barrel wasn’t milled.” The defendant looked back at the people, then smiled and nodded slightly. Sammy nudged him and he stopped smiling.

Walter continued, “Red fell down dead. Another much older well-dressed man came up behind both his body guards and shot them in the head. The second shooter left immediately, while the defendant’s men drove the corpses to Fisherman’s Wharf and chucked them in.”

Sammy started his cross examination. “And how far away were you when you supposedly heard this conversation?”

“I was fifty-two yards away.”

“And how old are you, Walter?”

“I am seventy-five Earth years.” The court chuckled.

“And you really expect the jury to believe an old man can hear and see all that?”

Walter put his hand behind his ear. “What? I’m sorry, Your Honor. You are making a grave mistake counselor; I have excellent hearing.”

Sammy laughed. “Well, you do not expect the court to take your word on that, do you?”

Walter looked surprised. “Apparently you do not.”

Sammy smiled. “Well, let’s test it, if you don’t mind.”

Walter chuckled. “I don’t mind if you want to bury yourself; it’s your shovel.” The bored judge nodded and the test began.

Sammy started walking backwards towards the doorway. “Can you hear me now, Mr. Wonderful?”

“Yes, of course I can. Everyone in court can probably hear you.” None of the detectives could hear a word. Walter yelled, “Go out in the hall to the very end and whisper quietly, you idiot.” Sammy looked at the judge, who chuckled and shrugged.

He went all the way to the end of the hall and barely whispered to the bailiff. “This is stupid. This guy’s a nut case.” He walked back into the courtroom.

Walter stood up. “I object, Your Honor. He called me a nut case.”

Sammy’s jaw drop said it all. The judge smirked at Sammy, “You, ah, want to test his eyesight, too, counselor?”

Back at the station, a laughing Grogan shook his head, “Papa Doc sent Tricky Dick to kill Walter last night, but his gun jammed and blew up in his face. He has to be the luckiest man alive. Don’t you agree, sweet cheeks?”

Brady chuckled. “I wonder.”

The grand jury took only one hour to come back with the fact there was enough evidence to go to trial. The defendant was allowed to post bail, which surprised the D.A.

The captain called Brady at court. “Bring Walter back to the precinct for a follow up.”

Brady started whining, “I can’t. Grogan went with him for a free lunch at the Red Lobster.”

The captain chuckled. “What the hell are we running here, a bed and breakfast?”

Brady sighed. “Actually, sir, the mayor figures the election is in the bag if we can convict Papa Doc. He assigned Grogan to escort him to lunch. In fact, all of Walter’s meals are free and his guests eat free as long as he is alive. Knowing how cheap the fat little mayor is, he must figure that won’t be too long.”

Captain Brown chuckled. “Call Grogan and escort the happy couple back here unless they get a motel. Bring them to the interview room. If Walter balks, tell him we are serving dessert.”

Brady brought the pair back to the precinct. Walter burped loudly on the way in. “Sorry Brady, lobster always makes me burp.” He looked at his sour face with a guilty grin. “If I am still alive tomorrow night, I’ll take you out to eat.” He saw the picture of Brady’s wife on his desk and lifted his eyebrows slightly. “And you can bring your beautiful daughter with you.”

Brady chuckled. “She gets home from school early tomorrow.”

Grogan walked by Brady, holding his stomach. “You got any Tums, Tommy?”

Brady laughed. “Eat my shorts.” He led Walter into the interview room with Matt. The captain and Harvard were waiting for him.

Harvard asked, “So, how was your day, Walter?”

He laughed. “A little on the dull side, I’m afraid... no one tried to kill me.”

Matt nodded. “Well cheer up, Walter, the night isn’t over yet.”

Harvard thought to himself, You got that right, and chuckled.

Harvard started the interview. “Do you happen to know Senator Abel?”

Walter thought for a moment. “Not personally, I’m afraid. Isn’t he the one the FBI is looking at for money laundering and extortion? I believe he went to Harvard University too, didn’t he? A good thing someone knocked him off; the University has too many black eyes already.”

Harvard grimaced. “Is that your opinion, Walter?”

“Yes, that is my opinion. I think all crooks deserve to die. And a disproportionate amount of them seem to have gone to Harvard. And that is not an opinion; that is a statistic.” Everyone could see he was baiting Harvard.

Walter noticed Harvard was getting pissed. “People shouldn’t spend all that money just to go there. They should just go out and purchase an ‘I am an asshole’ bumper sticker. That is my opinion.” He chuckled. “So, Harvard, I gather you think I killed him?”

An irritated Harvard shrugged. “It crossed my mind.”

Walter smiled. “If I did, you would never figure it out... second-generation Harvard. That deserves an ‘I am a total moron’ bumper sticker. I notice you have a chess trophy on your desk; where did you get that—a garage sale?”

Harvard huffed. “I’ll have you know I won the Ivy League Championship.”

Walter nodded. “Oh, that explains it. It was a restricted field.” Everyone was laughing loudly at their repartée. Harvard was livid.

Harvard lost it. “I would kick your ass, except the captain said I had to be nice to you.”

Walter looked at Harvard with curiosity. “How can my slaughtering you at chess not be nice for me?”

Harvard sputtered. “You’re lucky I don’t have time; I have to catch a killer.”

Walter laughed. “Why don’t you let the real detectives try to catch the killer? They probably earned their degrees.”

Harvard lost it. “Okay, smart ass. You asked for it. I have a board in my car.”

Walter looked surprised. “You have to use a board? How quaint. But let’s finish the interview first. I have trouble concentrating when I’m laughing.”

Ten minutes later, Harvard ran down to his car to get his board. Matt whispered. “Are you any good?”

Walter blushed. “Well I am the champion of the Pleiades System for twenty Earth years in a row.”

Matt looked at the ceiling and shook his head. “Great!” He said in a disappointed voice.

Walter chuckled and looked up. “I assure you, Detective, there are a lot of excellent players out there.” Harvard came back and set up the board. Walter laughed. “You play two-dimensional chess here?”

Harvard laughed. “This isn’t the Starship Enterprise.” So are you willing to put your money where your mouth is, superstar?”

“Certainly I am. What can you afford to lose, Harvard?”

Harvard said, “You name it.”

Walter looked at Brady with raised eyebrows.

Brady whispered. “He has family money.”

Walter chuckled. “Of course he does. Okay, I will bet whatever I have in my wallet.” That got a derisive laugh from Harvard. Walter chuckled at him and placed a wad of bills on the table.

Matt laughed. “Damn, Walter. These are all thousand dollar bills. They don’t even make them anymore, and they look brand new.” Matt gushed, “They must be worth at least triple face value.”

Walter counted them. “Well there are twenty, so let’s just call it twenty thousand dollars.” Matt looked at him like he was crazy.

Walter smirked. “Well it’s not like Harvard is going to win any of them.” Twelve moves in, Walter chuckled and held out his hand.

Harvard smiled. “You are giving up?”

Walter laughed. “No, you idiot. You lost. Can’t you see it?”

Harvard screeched at him. “You’re crazy, old man.”

Walter stared at him. He took two Post it note pages and wrote on them. He placed them face down on the table. Walter smiled. “This one, your king will die on if you are a decent player. This other one, it will fall on if you’re a putz. I am willing to bet all twenty thousand that you will lose your king on this square, double or nothing.” Walter placed his twenty grand on the second piece of paper. Matt looked at him like he was crazy.

Harvard screamed. “You’re on asshole!” Matt looked at Brady with his eyebrows raised and shrugged.

Eleven moves later, it was over. Harvard looked at the first paper and then slowly lifted the money and looked at the second. Walter held his hand out, but Harvard stalked off without a word. He went in the bathroom and cursed loudly.

Brady laughed. “Well, he could have yelled ‘duck’.”

Matt flipped the paper over and laughed. “I don’t think so. Queen’s rook three.”

Walter nodded. “I told you. Good players in the Pleiades System.”

Matt cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss the park.”

A returning Harvard yelled, “We have two witnesses that put you there.”

Walter asked, “Oh, by the way, do you guys have a cash machine in the building?”

An irate Harvard chuckled, “Don’t worry. You’ll get paid.”

Walter smiled and said, “Let’s get back to your two witnesses. Actually, all you have is someone who looks like me. I was in the bakery with three witnesses.” He sipped his Coke and yawned.

Matt sighed. “Why don’t you empty your pockets for us, Walter?”

Walter laughed. “Okay. I have to make room for Harvard’s forty thousand dollars.” He placed his hand-stitched wallet and pocket contents on the table.

Harvard pushed everything around with a pencil. “Twenty thousand dollars, some old coins, and a dead mouse in a paper bag. Why do you have a dead mouse? Are you some kind of devil worshipper?”

Walter snorted. “Pardon me. I didn’t know it was against the law to carry a dead mouse for my pet owl, Snowflake, who is probably getting pretty hungry as we speak.. What? Do you have a Blue Law covering that?” He leaned back and yawned again.

Harvard thought of something. “Hey, the guy in the park had an owl.”

Walter sighed. “I have an alibi. You can check it out on your way to the bank.” Matt tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. He was still looking through the coins and the wallet.

Matt looked surprised. “Some of these coins are really old. Why do you have a fake President Lincoln autograph?”

Walter chuckled. “What makes you think it is not real?”

Harvard shook his head. “It is signed in ballpoint pen, you moron.”

Walter shook his head, laughing. “I am through here. I have to feed my owl friend and get some sleep. Go check my alibi, gentlemen.”