A week had passed.
It was a beautiful warm Friday in Austin, Texas.
It was September 19, 2014.
In the northern area of Austin was the Chamberlain Cadillac dealership. This place of business had been a familiar sight of Austin since 1919.
The service department of the Chamberlain Cadillac dealership was busy today, as was the norm.
In one of the bays worked thirty-year-old mechanic Clark Burrows. He had been an employee of Chamberlain Cadillac for the past nine years. He was one of their best mechanics and was often requested for routine maintenance by many of Chamberlain's faithful Cadillac customers.
Clark was different in that he always sported a pencil-thin mustache and kept his black hair in a buzz cut in the back and sides and long on top. He would slick the long hair back for a style that looked like someone from the 1930s.
At this moment, Clark was busy changing the hoses and belts on the engine of a silver 2004 Cadillac CTS. He whistled and hummed out the Glenn Miller tune Little Brown Jug while he worked on the engine. The other mechanics and female employees thought that was a bit odd. But Clark didn't care and always whistled or hummed the 1930s and 1940s tunes while he worked.
The car he had his head buried inside the engine compartment belonged to Dr. Wallace Burns, and he was a faithful customer of the dealership. He also insisted that only Clark could work on his car.
After Clark was done working on Wallace's CTS, he backed the car out of the service bay.
Clark parked Wallace's CTS in a parking spot reserved for the serviced cars.
When he turned the car engine off, he noticed a leather attaché on the passenger floorboard. Another smaller leather bounded notebook shifted out from the attaché. Clark got curious the second he saw the leather notebook. It was almost as if it called out his name to read it. He usually wouldn't look at a customer's personal belongings, but he knew that Wallace wouldn't complain to management.
Clark reached over and grabbed the book.
He opened it up and saw it contained years of notes, and strange formulas jotted down in pen with some in pencil.
Clark saw some pages near the end that had sketches of some strange looking machine. The drawings looked like the draft of a blueprint for a 1950s saucer spaceship with a bubble canopy. "He's building a spaceship?" said Clark while he stared at the design.
He flipped through the pages again then he stopped on one page near the beginning where Wallace jotted down "Exceed the speed of light equals time travel with you can witness history."
Clark turned the page and saw the "Traveling back to December 7, 1941, was a success. I saw myself as a four-month-old baby in momma's arms.
I saw daddy, momma, granddaddy, and grandma.
Heard news on the radio about Pearl Harbor.
I discreetly took a video of that historic event.
Maybe I could turn this into an opportunity to find the wrongs contained within the history books?" he read under the "Test!!" heading.
"Time travel?" Clark said while he flipped back to the end of the book and glanced back at the spaceship sketch.
He shrugged that thought off and placed the leather book back on the passenger floorboard.
Clark got out of the CTS, locked the door, and headed back to the service bay.
"Hey, Clark. Is she ready?" called out Wallace who walked over to Clark after being dropped off by a fellow professor.
Clark walked up to Wallace and was itching to ask about his time travel notes. He refrained, as he always considered Wallace a little strange and a huge nerd. "She's purring like a kitten, Uncle Wallace," Clark said while he stopped by him.
"Great, Clark," Wallace replied then he shook Clark's hands.
"I'll turn in the keys then you can take her home," said Clark then he headed to the service bays.
"You'll have to come by for dinner soon. We need to catch up with current events," said Wallace while headed over to the doors of the customer area of the Service Department.
"I will," replied Clark, then he headed back to his toolbox for the paperwork on Wallace's car.
Hours had passed, and Clark had finished doing his magic and made five other Chamberlain customers extremely satisfied. Even though Clark loved working on cars, deep down inside, he yearned for a life full of adventure.
It was quitting time and Clark, and the other mechanics started putting away their tools.
Fellow mechanic Roger Bauer walked over to Clark.
Roger was the same age as Clark, and they had been close friends for the past seven years.
"What time are you going to pick me up?" asked Roger the second he walked up to Clark.
"Around eight thirtyish."
"See you then," said Roger, then he walked away.
Clark closed then locked his toolbox.
He headed out of the service bay and over to his car.
Clark drove a red 1932 Ford pickup truck hot-rod.
It had a 350 Chevy engine with 350 transmission.
The inside had full tan leather seats, a kick-ass stereo, and cold air conditioning.
The pickup was cherry and the testimony of Clark's restoration and mechanical capability.
His Ford pickup turned many heads while he rumbled through the streets of Austin.
His great grandfather, who was Wallace's grandfather, once owned that old truck. Clark took it out of the family barn and restored it five years ago. It was the same pickup that Wallace saw when he time-traveled back to 1941 for his test run with his machine.
Clark drove off to his home, located in the southern area of Austin.
After Clark got home from work, he ate a microwavable fried chicken dinner.
After dinner, he showered and got dressed in his standard attire for picking up the babes. This consisted of a charcoal vested three-piece suit with black tie and a black Fedora hat and black dress shoes. Clark thought he looked cool and that the ladies got wet the second they laid eyes on him. But tonight he decided not to wear the suit coat jacket.
But there was something that Clark never told anybody. He at one time believed that he was actually Clyde Barrow reincarnated as Clark Burrows. What was his rationale for this belief? The first was that his initials are CB just like Clyde Barrow. And the second was that Clyde worked as a mechanic for his father's garage and Clark works as a mechanic. That was an extremely weak rationale, but Clark still believed he was Clyde Barrow in a previous life.
But that belief went away four years ago, and Clark then became obsessed with the life of famed 1930s outlaw Dirk Beaumont. That was why he moved down to Austin, Texas eight years ago. And having an uncle in Austin made it easier for him to get established.
It was now eight-thirty that Friday night.
Clark got inside his 1932 Ford hot rod and started up the engine with a roar. He was ready to party to relieve the stress of another forty-hour workweek.
He backed down his driveway and closed the garage door.
He pulled out of his driveway and saw the For Sale sign in the front yard of his neighbor to his left. He wondered when someone would buy the Thompson home while he drove off down Hampton Avenue.
He drove through the streets and headed to the western area of Austin. He was going to pick up Roger at his apartment complex.
But Clark and Roger looked like the odd couple since Roger always wore blue jeans, western shirt, cowboy boots, and a black cowboy hat while Clark looked like someone that stepped out of the 1930s.
"Hey, buddy. I'm ready for a weekend with hopefully some cowgirl pootang," said Roger the second he sat his butt down in the passenger bucket seat.
"Me too," replied Clark while he backed his hot rod out of the parking spot in Roger's apartment complex parking lot.
"I'm ready for some pussy tonight," Roger yelled out in joy while Clark drove through the lot and headed to Fairmont Street.
"Me too," said Clark while he turned right onto Fairmont and sounded like he lacked some confidence.
Roger could sense that Clark lacked confidence in picking up a girl tonight. A smirk grew on his face. "I can imagine that swapping dates between your right and left hands are getting pretty old by now," he said, doing his usual job of joking with Clark.
"Yeah," Clark replied with a light chuckle, but Roger was not far from the truth.
During the drive through the streets of Austin to the downtown area, Clark and Roger chatted about their week of work fixing Cadillacs and which customers had the worst snooty attitude.
Thirty minutes had passed, and Clark parked his hot rod in a parking lot in downtown Austin.
Roger and Clark strutted down the street. Clark wore his Fedora hat and felt cool.
They walked down a few blocks then entered the Party Hard Night Club.
The Party Hard Night Club was a favorite hangout for many of the hot girls that attended the University of Texas Austin campus. Roger and Clark were a usual sight at this club every Friday night for the mission of getting between the sheets with one of these college hotties.
The Party Hard Night Club always had a band that played on Friday and Saturday nights. The bands typically played western or country rock music. This weekend the Bubba and the Pot Belly Boys band was playing in the club. Their sets played both western and country-rock music and were popular in the Austin area.
Clark and Roger entered the club the second Bubba, and the Pot Belly Boys cranked up their version of Six Days on the Road song.
"Well, I pulled out of Pittsburgh, Rollin' down the Eastern Seaboard," sang out the lead singer into his microphone.
Clark and Roger each ordered a Lone Star beer then stood by the bar. They glanced around the club for the prospects of a night between the sheets. The candidates tonight were looking mighty delicious.
Clark and Roger headed away from the bar to make their smooth moves.
Roger started chatting with this hottie that had long silky blonde hair down to the middle of her back and body with curves in all the right places. He struck up a conversation with this hottie, and things were immediately moving in his favor.
Clark turned his sights on this brunette with shoulder-length hair. She was not much of a hottie, but he figured he would lower his standards tonight to increase his chances.
Clark walked away from the bar. He cocked his Fedora hat down while he strutted over to the brunette girl. She sat alone at her table, as her girlfriend walked off with another guy.
"Hello, I'm Clark, I would love to join you," he said to the brunette girl after he walked over to her table.
The brunette girl looked up at Clark and bit her tongue to prevent her from breaking out in a laugh. "I'm sorry, but I'm waiting on my boyfriend to show up," she said then took a sip of her drink and avoided eye contact with Clark.
"Okay," said Clark, and he walked away, disappointed, and headed back over to the bar.
"Weird," the girl said quietly while she looked relieved that Clark left her alone.
Clark stood back near the bar and saw that Roger still talked with that blonde hottie. They talked and laughed, and Roger was making significant progress.
Clark glanced around the bar then saw an adorable shapely girl with short red hair sitting at a table all by herself. He figured he had an excellent shot with his one, so he strutted over to her table.
"Hey there, I'm Clark," he said the second he arrived at the red-haired girl's table.
She looked up at Clark and rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I'm not here tonight to meet guys," she said then looked away.
Clark walked away, disappointed, and headed back over to the bar.
He stood by the bar drinking his beer.
Roger walked up with that blonde hottie. "Hey buddy, I, ah, don't need a ride home," he said then gave Clark a wink and smile.
"Okay," replied Clark and was jealous that Roger already had picked up someone.
Roger and that girl walked away and headed to the front doors of the club.
Clark looked around the club then he saw that brunette that first rejected him chatting with her girlfriend.
Over at that brunette's table, she leaned over to her girlfriend. "That creep over at the bar within the vest and black hat tried to pick me up," she told her friend while she discreetly pointed at Clark.
"What's with that stupid mustache?" her friend asked.
"Don't know and don't want to find out," the brunette replied.
Over at the bar, Clark could sense that that brunette girl was talking about him with her friend. He could also sense that it probably was not pleasant comments.
Clark glanced back at the short red-haired girl's table. She now had a guy sitting with her, and they talked and laughed.
Clark felt tonight was another bust. He placed his half-empty beer bottle on the bar then headed off to the front doors of the club.
Once Clark got outside of the club, he moped down the sidewalk and headed off to his hot rod.
It was a lonely drive back home for Clark. All he could think about was how lucky Roger was and how he was probably naked at this moment with that blonde hottie rubbing sweaty skin against sweaty skin. He started to get depressed thinking about spending another weekend all alone.
Once Clark got home, he got undressed down to his white tee shirt and boxers.
He went into one of his bedrooms that he turned into a den.
He walked over and turned on his TV and DVD player.
He walked over to his other wall where he had shelves of books, CDs, and DVDs.
One of the shelves had a few old black and white family photos.
One photo was of his grandfather Billy standing next to a Moonshine still in the Arkansas woods. Next to Billy was Clark's thirty-year-old great grandfather Buford. The picture was taken in May of 1935.
Another photo was of eight-year-old Clark taken in Arkansas with his grandfather Billy and grandmother Wendy both in their early sixties. It was on the front porch of their small farmhouse.
Another photo was of Clark's grandparents Ernie and Kimberly Burns on their front porch when they were in their mid-sixties. A young seven year Clark sat between his grandparents on that porch.
Another picture was of Clark's parents Sidney and Doris Burrows taken when Clark was five years old. They were at Disney in Orlando on a summer vacation.
Next to the shelves was a 1931 wooden console Crosley radio. It still worked but only picked up AM stations.
All of Clark's books were about gangsters and outlaws from the 1920s and 1930s. His CDs were mainly big band, and swing music and Glenn Miller was Clark's favorite band.
He looked at his DVDs for something to watch.
He picked out a DVD.
It was titled Dirk Beaumont the Fedora Outlaw. It was a biopic about famed 1930s bank robber Dirk Beaumont and his gang. Clark loved this movie, and the DVD was starting to wear out from his constant viewing.
Clark glanced over his collection of books about the 1920s and 1930s gangsters and outlaws. He reached over and picked out the paperback book titled The Life and Times of Dirk Beaumont by Dudley Cooper.
He took the DVD over to his DVD player and started playing the movie.
Clark headed over to his Lazy Boy chair and kicked back. He opened his book on Dirk Beaumont while the opening scene of the Dirk Beaumont movie started.
One hour and fifty-one minutes had passed, and Clark put down his Dirk Beaumont book.
He watched while the actor that portrayed Dirk Beaumont was killed during a hotel room shoot out with agents from the Bureau of Investigation and local Little Rock police officers in 1940.
After the closing credits rolled, Clark wondered what would he do this weekend. He usually worked on Saturday's but had tomorrow off.
He stared at the closing credits then he stared at his book. He got an idea, and the more he thought about it, the more he smiled. This was something he always wanted to do and decided to do it this weekend.
Clark got up and walked over to the TV and DVD player. He turned them off, then walked out of his den.
It was now one-thirty in the wee hours of Saturday morning.
Clark was inside his kitchen after taking a shower to wake up. He was dressed in a fresh pair of black pants, and a black shirt. He left off the black tie.
He just finished pouring freshly made coffee into a Thermos.
He grabbed his Fedora hat and his backpack and headed into his garage.
A little while later after his house was secured, Clark roared his hot rod into the night on Interstate 35. He headed north toward Dallas.
The Glenn Miller song In The Mood played on the CD player while Clark raced down the highway at eighty miles per hour.
He whistled along with the big band song then took an occasional drink of coffee from his Thermos.