The sun rose for the start of another day in Austin, Texas. But it was now seven that Thursday morning on May 16, 1935, and this would be the second time the sun rose for this day.
Clark was still sound asleep against that tree. He was in the middle of a dream.
In his dream, Clark wore his suit with Fedora hat. He had his hat cocked with a Thompson sub-machine gun in hand.
He stood on the passenger running board of a Ford Sedan with a grip on the door jams of the front and rear passenger door. The Ford raced down a dirt road leaving a trail of dust.
In that trail of dust was a black Ford cop car with siren blaring.
Clark fired off his Thompson machine gun at the threatening cops.
One of the cops returned fire with his pesky revolver. Clark laughed at the non-threatening weapon while bullets ricocheted off the metal of the car. He returned fire with his Thompson machine gun at the cops.
The radiator of the cop car started hissing out steam. The cop car started slowing down, then disappeared in the trail of dust.
Clark laughed over being victorious over the cops. Then he felt something poking at his chest. He looked around and could see nothing. But the poking at his chest continued and become painful.
“Is he dead?” a young male voice came out of the sky.
“Might be,” said another male voice that came out of the sky.
The strange invisible poking at Clark’s chest continued and baffled him.
Back to reality, Clark woke up to the feeling of something still poking at his chest.
He opened his eyes and got startled at the sight of two young boys dressed in coveralls standing over him.
One of them had a stick in his hand and was poking Clark in his chest.
From the way, they were dressed, and their bowl styled haircuts, Clark knew he was back in 1935. He smiled, thinking how cool it was to be back in that era, but that poking stick was a nuisance. Clark swatted the stick away. “Get away from me,” he yelled at the boys.
“You better git off daddy’s farm, or he’ll come and shoot you with his double-barrel. He doesn’t take kindly to hobo’s,” one of the boys said with a threatening tone.
Clark knew this might not turn into a good situation, so he stood up, nodded that he understood the boy, then walked off.
The boys watched while Clark walked west down Maple Road. But this street wasn’t called Maple Road back in 1935, it was now known as RD 4.
He walked up to the dirt road that led to Wallace’s farm.
He stopped and looked to his right down the driveway. He saw a black 1932 Ford pickup truck driving down the driveway with two people inside. He knew it was his ancestors and stood in awe while the pickup got closer to the end of the driveway.
When the pickup arrived at the end of the driveway, Clark instantly knew that his forty-year-old great grandfather Victor was behind the wheel and his nineteen-year-old grandfather Ernie was in the passenger seat. They both wore coveralls and had that farmer appearance.
“Good morning mister,” said Victor seeing Clark standing by the side of the road.
“Good morning,” replied Clark staring in awe at his ancestors.
“Do you need a ride? We’re heading into town to pick up some supplies,” said Victor.
“Ah, yes sir,” replied Clark knowing he had some time to kill before Dirk Beaumont would be driving down this road.
“You can hop in the back,” said Victor.
“Thank you.”
“I’m Victor Burns, and this is my son Ernie,” he said while Clark walked toward the pickup.
Clark hesitated for a few seconds to recall the name on his driver’s license.
“I’m Jake Johnson,” he replied then walked over to the bed of the pickup by the driver’s side.
“Where in town can we drop you off?”
Clark’s stomach growled. “A good place for breakfast would be nice,” he said, climbing in the bed of the truck.
“My pleasure,” said Victor then he shoved his pickup into gear and pulled out onto RD 4.
Victor drove west down the road, and Clark couldn’t believe he was sitting in the back of his hot rod pickup. It was so surreal.
Clark looked the area over and recognized a few old homes that were still around in his time. There were a lot of countrysides that had been mowed over or trees chopped down over the years. All in the name of progress. Clark liked what he saw, as there wasn’t the hustle and bustle life of Austin he experienced.
Ten minutes had passed, and Victor made a right turn and pulled his pickup into the dirt parking lot of “Jimmy’s Country Cooking” restaurant.
He stopped and leaned his head out his door window. “Jimmy’s here has a great breakfast, and his sausages are the best,” called out Victor.
Clark hopped out of the bed of the pickup and walked over to Victor.
“Thank you for the ride, sir.”
Victor looked at Clark, and something felt odd about this young stranger.
“Have we met before? You appear mighty familiar.”
Ernie looked at Clark. “You’re right daddy, he does look familiar.”
Clark wasn’t ready for this type of question. “Ah, no sir, I’m passing through from Dallas,” he said and sounded sincere.
Victor and Ernie looked at Clark from inside the pickup.
“Funny, you sure look like you could be kin. Oh well, have a safe journey,” said Victor.
“Thank you, and I will,” replied Clark, then he walked off to the front door of the restaurant.
Victor placed his pickup in gear and drove away.
Clark glanced over his shoulder and watched Victor drive his pickup down the road.
He went through the front door and stepped inside the restaurant.
Victor drove his pickup west on RD 4.
“That young man looked like one of them gangsters,” said Victor.
Ernie looked over at his daddy. “I was thinking the same thing.”
It was a quiet drive for Victor and Ernie while they headed to Fred’s Feed Store for some farm supplies.
Clark stood by the front door of Jimmy’s Country Cooking restaurant and was amazed by how little it had changed over the years. He often ate at the place back in his day when it was Hugo’s Mexican restaurant with some of his coworkers.
“Hello, sugar. You looking for a table?” a female’s voice called out from Clark’s right side while he looked the place over in awe.
Clark glanced over to his left and saw Edith, an old waitress. “Yes, ma-am,” he said.
“Follow me,” said Edith then turned around the headed over to some booths by the windows.
She walked Clark to his booth.
He got stares from all the eight customers in the restaurant who were all farmers. They all thought this sharply dressed man with the black Fedora hat and pencil-thin mustache might be a gangster. But they were clueless of his name, as they don’t recall seeing his picture on any wanted posters.
“Would you like some coffee?” asked Edith, the second Clark, sat down in the booth.
“Yes, ma-am,” he answered.
“I’ll be back, sugar,” she said, then walked away.
Clark saw the menu in front of him and started to read the options for breakfast.
A few minutes had passed, and Edith brought Clark a cup of piping hot black coffee.
“You ready to order?” she asked, placing the cup in front of Clark.
“I’ll take a number four,” he said while he still glanced at the menu.
Edith gave him a little smile then walked away.
Clark sipped on his hot coffee and could sense all eyes of the restaurant were on him. He didn’t feel threatened and continued to drink his coffee and silently prayed that he would successfully hook up with Dirk Beaumont later today.
Edith brought Clark his two eggs, sausage, two pieces of buttered toast and orange juice breakfast. He started eating, and his great grandfather was correct, the sausage was the best.
After Clark paid his seventy-five cent bill for breakfast, he started his walk back east on RD 4.
According to Dudley’s book, Dirk Beaumont’s Cadillac should be breaking down sometime around noon. Dudley told the story in his book how a farmer towed Dirk’s Cadillac into his barn so that they could work on the car. Dirk paid the farmer some money for his hospitality. Clark also hoped to find out if that story told by his grandmother Kimberly was true.
Clark was already a half-a-mile down the road from the restaurant and started to get exhausted. The sound of an approaching vehicle caught his attention.
He turned around and saw a 1928 Mack AB one-half ton truck heading west down the road. He stuck out his thumb to hitch a ride.
The Mack truck slowed down and stopped by Clark. “Hop in,” called out Ned the old truck driver in workman clothes.
Clark looked relieved he got a ride on his first try. He felt his luck was working in his favor today, and it felt good.
“Thanks,” said Clark climbing up and sat inside the open cab.
Ned shoved his truck in gear and drove off down the road.
“Name is Ned Brown,” he said while he shoved his right hand at Clark.
“Jake Johnson,” replied Clark shaking Ned’s hand.
“Where you headed?”
“Oh, about three miles down the road.”
“I’m not going that far, but I’ll get you closer.”
“Thanks,” replied Clark, as he was just happy he didn’t have to walk the entire distance.
“So Mister Johnson, where you from?”
“Dallas.”
“What brings you to Austin?”
“Hoping to find a job as a mechanic.”
“Try Willy’s Garage back in town. He’s looking for a truck mechanic.”
“I work on Cadillacs.”
Ned glanced over at Clark. “Oh, one of them fancy mechanics,” he said, followed by a light chuckle.
“Yeah, one of them fancy mechanics.”
“Well, that explains your fancy duds.”
“Yeah, my fancy duds,” replied Clark and started to feel a tad out of place wearing his suit. But he didn’t care, as he had a mission to complete.
“But you’re heading in the wrong direction.”
Clark glanced over at Ned and didn’t expect that question. “I’m meeting some friends at a farm down the road.”
“Oh,” replied Ned believing Clark’s story.
It was quiet during the rest of the drive down RD 4.
Ned slowed down his Mack truck by another road to the right.
“I’m turning off here to the right,” he said while the truck came to a complete stop.
“Thanks for the lift,” said Clark extending out his hand to Ned.
“Hope you find a job,” replied Ned shaking Clark’s hand.
“Me too,” said Clark climbing out of the cab of the Mac truck.
Clark waved at Ned shoving his truck into gear then made a right turn down Harrison Road.
Clark looked around the silent countryside. He took a deep breath then started his westerly trek down RD 4 to the spot he figured Dirk’s Cadillac would break down.
Clark walked twenty feet down the road when he heard the sound of an approaching car. But this sound was different. It had the sound of power, but something was wrong. The engine started to misfire.
Clark turned around and saw a black 1933 Cadillac Madame X Sedan Cabriolet that had a thin layer of dirt on its body jerking its way down the road.
His heart raced, as he knew that that Cadillac belonged to Dirk Beaumont and he could see five people inside the car with a blonde haired woman behind the wheel. It was showtime, and he started to get nervous and scared while his legs began to shake.
He watched that same Cadillac he drove in 2014 misfiring and vibrating its way to a stop on the side of the road.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he could hear Dirk curse out from the front passenger seat.
Dirk’s passenger door flew open, and he jumped out of the car pissed.
Clark stared in awe at the live sighting of Dirk Beaumont.
The rear doors of the Cadillac opened and gang members Peter Harrison, Carl Sommers, and Jerome Falk bot out of the backseat.
The driver’s door opened, and Margret “Margie” Levitt stepped out of the car.
Dirk grabbed Carl by his left arm and rushed him over to the engine compartment of the car. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You were supposed to keep this car running? Who the fuck taught you how to become a mechanic?” yelled Dirk while he shoved Carl’s head on the hood of the car. He released Carl’s head from the warm hood.
Carl cringed, knowing he was in deep yogurt with the boss while he opened up the passenger side of the engine compartment.
He poked his head inside the engine compartment for the cause of their trouble.
Marge lit a cigarette then saw Clark staring at them. She poked at Dirk and pointed in Clark’s direction to let him know that they had a visitor.
Dirk saw Clark and got suspicious. He walked over toward the stranger.
Clark got nervous while Dirk strutted over toward him with serious eyes.
When Dirk got closer, Clark noticed he was handsome in a Clark Gable sort of way but without the ears. In fact, Dirk looked way taller in person than all those black and white pictures he had seen in books and on Internet sites. Clark saw Dirk’s pencil-thin mustache and was glad he grew one like his hero.
Peter and Jerome had watchful eyes on Clark in case he became a threat.
“What do you want?” asked Dirk walking up to Clark and glared into his eyes to let him know that Dirk was onerous.
“Ah, nothing. I mean, I’m just looking for a job,” Clark said and started to get a nervous stomach and twitching leg muscles while Dirk looked him square in his eyes.
“A job, you say?”
“Yes, sir, I’m a car mechanic. I work on Cadillacs.”
“Did you say that you work on Cadillac’s?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dirk looked Clark over, and he had his suspicions with this stranger but decided to probe. “What’s your name?”
Clark reached inside his suit jacket, and that hand movement caused Peter and Jerome to reached for their Colt 45s inside their suit coats.
Clark saw them inch toward him with Colt 45s in hand. “I’m reaching for my driver’s license. I don’t have a gun,” he said, and his leg muscles started to twitch faster.
Dirk motioned for Peter and Jerome to ease up. They did and then Dirk motioned for them to check out Clark.
Peter had his Colt 45 ready for any threat.
Jerome patted Clark down then found his driver’s license inside his suit jacket pocket.
“He’s clean,” said Jerome then he looked at the driver’s license. “Says he’s Jacob Johnson from Fort Worth,” he said showing it to Dirk.
While Dirk checked out the driver’s license, Marge walked over after she lit a cigarette.
Clark glanced at Marge and thought he was so sexy in her dress and high heels and her platinum blonde hairstyle. He then saw her piercing blue eyes and instantly became smitten. Those old black and white photos of her didn’t do her justice. He could not keep an eye off those sexy curves he wished he could run his hands over.
Marge checked Clark out then she walked over to Dirk. She leaned in close to his left ear. “He looks harmless. Let him take a look at the car,” she whispered into his ear.
Dirk looked at Marge.
She nodded that she was serious then took a drag on her cigarette.
Dirk handed Clark back his driver’s license. “Can you take a look at my car?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Clark, and he started to feel a little more at ease. He believed his plan just might work.
Dirk, Clark, Jerome, and Peter walked back over to the Cadillac where Carl stood scratching his head confused with the cause of the car problem.
While they walked back over to the car, Marge kept her eyes on Clark and thought he was cute and started to take an immediate interest in the stranger.
Clark poked his head inside the engine compartment, and it looked exactly the same as when he turned it up in present-day in Dudley’s garage. He looked around and saw that two of the spark plug wires had worn spots and the wires were visible. “You have some bad spark plug wires,” he said while he continued to scan the engine over. Then he saw a broken tip on one of the spark plugs. “You also need a new spark plug,” he said then pulled his head out of the engine compartment.
“Fuck,” said Dirk as he hated delays like that because he felt they increased his chances on the cops snooping around. He glared at Carl and felt like putting a bullet in his head.
But he refrained, as he needed him for some more heists. “Can you fix it?” he asked Clark.
“Yeah, but you need some new wires and spark plugs. There’s a Cadillac dealer in town with the parts.”
“Fuck!” cursed out Dirk while he looked around the area and felt vulnerable.
“We need to get this off the road.”
The sound of an approaching vehicle was heard. Dirk and his gang looked in the direction of that sound fearful that the Austin cops or Texas Rangers were coming down the road. They had their hands on their Colt 45s ready to fight for their right to remain free.
They looked relieved when they saw it was a pickup truck with two farmers inside.
Clark looked and recognized the two farmers as his grandfather and great grandfather. He smiled. It did happen.
But not where I was told.
He said to himself.
Victor stopped his pickup by Dirk’s Cadillac. “Got car trouble?” he called out from his pickup.
“Ah, yes sir, do you have a barn we can put my car inside so we can fix it?
Too dangerous to leave it out here. Some crook might steal it,” said Dirk in the most pleasant voice he could muster up.
Victor and Ernie’s eyes widened a little, as they knew that this guy was the famous outlaw Dirk Beaumont. But for some reason, they didn’t feel threatened. The newspapers have stated that Dirk and his gang hated cops and never hurt the common folk, especially farmers.
“Yes, I do,” replied Victor.
“Good, I can pay you for the use of your barn,” said Dirk.
Victor normally wouldn’t associate with criminals, but times were tough, and any extra money he made would be helpful. “Only over night.”