Nic opened the door. “What?”
“That’s what I want to know. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nic, you’re fourteen---
“Fifteen.”
“Okay, fifteen, it’s time to grow up. You can be mad at me all you want, but I’m still your father.”
“Oh, I thought you were Tesla’s nephew.”
Turbo’s face turned red. He left the room before he said something he’d regret. Deep down, he knew Nic was right. He had been Tesla’s nephew more than he’d been Nic’s father, lately more than ever. Dejected, he went back downstairs and sat down at the head of the table.
Maria had already placed a plate of hot apple pie at Nic's seat. “Angie, pass your father’s pie down here.”
“No, Angel, don’t. I don’t deserve to sit here.” He returned to his previous seat. Turbo had thought about that apple pie many times over the past few weeks. Somehow, tonight he had lost his appetite.
“Angie, get your father some coffee. I’ll be right back.” Maria went upstairs.
Before Turbo finished his coffee, Maria had returned with Nic.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Nic hugged his father.
“It’s okay, Nic. Eat your dinner.”
Turbo returned to his flat with clean clothes and half an apple pie. The microwave oven got the night off. The emotional evening compelled Turbo’s mind to race even more than usual. He had learned a few things about himself that night. Things he didn’t know and things he didn’t want to know. Lessons taught by the unlikeliest teacher, his fifteen-year-old son. With all the commotion, he still hadn’t learned how to operate the washer and dryer. He had one week to either save his marriage or learn how.
CHAPTER 10
Phillip showered, splashed cologne all over his body, and brushed his teeth, twice. All before his grandmother left for work.
“Have a good trip, Sweetie. Don’t get into any trouble.”
He kissed his grandmother on the cheek, unaware it would be the last time he’d see her alive.
***
The trip to Washington D.C. took three hours. Phillip had planned to charm the pants off his boss, but all Carrie wanted to talk about was ex-C.I.A. agents and nuclear bombs.
“Deuterium is an isotope of hydrogen, right?”
“Yeah, so what.”
“Maybe it’s a hydrogen bomb.”
“Could be?” Phillip was tired of all the conjecture. He’d already done enough on his own. Still, he didn’t want to dampen her enthusiasm. After all, she took the day off to drive him to D.C. “I just hope Rudy can help us.”
They reached the District of Columbia just after noon. Carrie drove to a small apartment complex and parked in the spot reserved for unit C-5. She retrieved the extra key from under the doormat and rushed inside. Unsure if he should follow, Phillip entered the apartment and stood in the foyer. A minute or two later, he heard the toilet flush. Carrie soon returned, her jeans zipped, but left unbuttoned. “Don't just stand there? Come in.”
“Where’s the bathroom?
“Oh, sorry.” She pointed to the guest bathroom.
“Thanks.”
She talked to him through the door. “As soon as you freshen up we’ll get some lunch. Buddy said the club doesn’t open till five.”
“He knows a lot about that club.” Phillip washed his hands.
“Yeah, don’t even go there.”
After lunch, they toured the Smithsonian. Phillip expected to be bored. He wasn’t. He also thought he would have met Buddy by then, but he had eluded them thus far.
Phillip enjoyed the exhibits. In particular, the American History Museum and the National Museum of African American History. He also enjoyed the National Portrait Gallery. Although, during it all, his thoughts were on a nearby Gentlemen’s Club.
The Palace was located just down Connecticut Avenue, about a mile from the Smithsonian. They could take their pick of parking spaces.
“Are you sure they’re open?” Phillip asked.
“I think so.”
Phillip pulled on the oversized wooden door with a lion’s head carved in its center. The darkened entranceway led to a counter illuminated by black light. Phillip expected to pay to enter, however the cover charge didn’t start until later. They walked from black light into starlight. The club’s ceiling sparkled with tiny fiber optic lights.
Much to their surprise, the club stirred with patrons. You would have never known it judging from the sparse parking lot. Phillip figured either people came straight from their offices nearby, within walking distance, or they chose not to use the visible parking facility of such an establishment.
The main stage shone bright with colored spotlights. Phillip noticed a tiny butterfly tattoo on the current performer's left buttock. “I see why Buddy likes this place.”
“Very funny. Try to find lover-boy.”
“What does he look like?”
“I don't know. Like a C.I.A. agent, I guess.”
“And what does a C.I.A. agent---
Phillip realized he’d asked a dumb question. “Don’t answer that. I’ll ask the bartender.”
He ordered two Cokes and asked the bartender if he knew someone named “Rudy.”
“Sure, everybody knows Rudy, he’s a regular. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“Thanks, I’ll be over there with that blonde; could you let me know when he arrives?” Phillip gave the bartender a ten-dollar-bill for the cokes. “Keep the change.”
“Change? What change? It’s twelve dollars for the Cokes.” The bartender held out his hand.
“Oh, sorry.” Phillip handed the bartender another ten. Embarrassed, he turned away without the drinks.
“Sir, your Cokes.”
“Thanks.” He picked up the drinks and turned to leave.
“Sir.”
Phillip hesitated. “What now?”
“That’s Rudy over there, in the baseball cap.”
Rudy wore baggy jeans, an “Abercrombie and Fitch” tee shirt, and a white “Atlanta Braves” baseball cap. He paraded through the club talking on his iPhone and slapped hands with a few of the other players there. He paused right in front of Carrie and then told the person on the phone he would “hit them back later,” Phillip arrived with the Cokes at the same time.
Rudy didn’t notice Phillip; he stared at Carrie. “Hey beautiful, when do you dance?”
“Fuck off, asshole.” Carrie turned to Phillip and took her drink. “Did you find out about Rudy?”
“Sure did.”
“Well, where is he?”
Phillip hesitated. “You just told him to fuck off.”
Rudy zigzagged through the tables and chairs and headed for the stage, all the while on his iPhone again. Carrie rushed to catch up with him before he reached the stage.
“Rudy, hey Rudy.”
Flattered that Carrie had chased after him, he tapped the iPhone off again. Then all at once, the excitement on his face turned to caution and concern. “Hold on there, Heather Locklear, how'd you know my name?”
“I’m Carrie. Buddy’s girlfriend, he told me I could find you here.”
“Buddy?”
“Yeah, Buddy. He works at the Smithsonian.”
“Oh, Carrie from Brooklyn. Yeah, Buddy told me all about you. Barnes and Noble, right?”
Carrie cleared a path for Rudy to join them at their table. “Rudy, meet Phillip.”
“Hey Phil-bro, what’s up?” They shook hands.
With the introductions behind them, Phillip asked if they could go somewhere private to talk.
Rudy escorted them to a Champagne room. “If this is about the Kennedy assassination, I don’t know anything.”
“What?”
“Everybody thinks that just because I was in the C.I.A. I know who killed J.F.K.”
“Oh.” Carrie sighed. “You should ask Phillip about his theory someday.”
Phillip smirked. “Forget about J.F.K. I want t
o know about Tesla.”
“The band?”
“No, the scientist.” Phillip told Rudy about the man his grandfather befriended at The New Yorker, and about the notes in the potato chip canisters. He even showed him the concept for the Hydrogen Bomb.
Rudy scanned the pages and laughed. “That’s not a bomb.”
“It’s not,” Phillip and Carrie spoke together.
“No. It’s water of some sort, but I don’t know what.”
“Electrostatic Deuterium Oxide was devised by Tesla,” Phillip said.
“Let me check something.” Rudy took the iPhone from its holster.
“Are you texting someone?” Carrie asked.
“No. I’m accessing the C.I.A. mainframe.”
“On your iPhone?” Phillip asked.
“Yeah. There’s an app for that.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Phillip no longer doubted his C.I.A. credentials.
“No, a guy I know developed a game application that sells at the app store, but I can access features that the public can’t.”
“Awesome.” Carrie strained to see the screen. “So, what are you looking for?”
“I queried ‘Tesla,’ but all I got was some guy named William Trbojevic, according to the file he’s a descendant of Tesla, a grandnephew. He’s a real whacko, too.”
“Why’s that?” Phillip asked.
“He has a vendetta against Con-Ed.”
“The power company?”
“Yeah, listen to this. He believes Con-Ed owes Tesla for the alternating current system he created, and as Tesla’s closest living relative, they owe him as well. He also wants them to change the name of the company. He pays his power bill every month with a check payable to “Con-Tesla.”
“I can’t believe that’s all the C.I.A has on Tesla; I found more than that on Google.” Phillip stared at the girl table dancing across from them.
“There’s more.”
“What do you mean, there’s more?” Carrie asked.
“Because there’s so little, that tells me there’s much more classified information.” Rudy waved at Phillip to divert his attention back to their conversation. “There are ten levels of classification. Hell, there’s probably more unclassified stuff about you on the mainframe than there is about Tesla. That’s why I know there’s more.”
“Can you check my grandfather, Frederick Washington? He knew Tesla.”
"Sure." Rudy typed in the info. “Frederick Washington, born September 23, 1919 died February 2, 1943, Bellman at The New Yorker Hotel, killed in a car accident---oh, shit!” Rudy turned off the iPhone.
“What’s wrong?” Carrie asked.
“The file pinged.”
“Pinged?”
“Yes, someone programmed your grandfather’s file to send a signal back to the agency whenever someone accessed it.”
“What does that mean?” Phillip was on the edge of his seat.
“There’s something fishy here. Was your grandfather an agent?”
“No, he was a bellman.” Phillip thought back to the conversation with his grandmother a few nights ago. The O.S.S. questioned his grandfather for two days. What did they want? They already had Tesla’s notebooks. They must have wanted something else. Something worth killing for.
“Those files are only accessible by government agents, well, government agents and me, they wouldn’t have programmed the ping unless it involved someone on the inside.”
“Are they gonna trace it back to your iPhone?” Carrie asked.
“Maybe, but that’s okay. This iPhone is registered to Tom Cruise.”
“Can you give me that Jehovovick's address?” Phillip asked.
“What address?”
“Tesla’s nephew.”
“I’ll try.” Rudy turned on the iPhone and typed away. “No, they blocked me, do either of you have an iPhone?”
“No, I have a Blackberry.” Carrie pulled her phone from her purse.
“What about you, Phil-bro?”
“Sorry, I have a Droid.”
“Well, if you can find me an iPhone, I'll get you the address.”
Phillip left the champagne room and went to find anyone talking on an iPhone. He walked up to the bar. “Bartender, hey, bartender.”
“Two more Cokes?”
“No, thanks. I need an iPhone.”
“What do I look like, AT&T?”
“No, but do you know anyone who has one?”
“Yeah, I have one, why?”
“Rudy needs to borrow it, just for a minute.”
“Rudy has one. I’m busy here, get lost.” The bartender turned to wait on other customers.
Phillip returned to the champagne room. “The bartender has an iPhone, but he’s busy.”
Carrie jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
Five minutes later, she returned with the iPhone and a frozen Margarita. “Buddy said if you run up his bill you’re paying for it.”
“Buddy’s here?” Phillip looked around.
“No, the bartender’s named Buddy, too.”
Phillip threw up his hands. “Please get me that address.”
Rudy downloaded two games from iTunes. “You owe Buddy the bartender ten bucks.”
“Heck, that won't even buy two Cokes in this club.”
Rudy laughed. “Grab a cocktail napkin and write this down. William T-r-b-o-j-e-v-i-c, 616 Montauk Avenue, Brooklyn, New York. Goes by the nickname “Turbo,” owns a small electronics repair shop. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Phillip wanted more.
“I’ll have one of my buddies---
Phillip grunted with disgust. “More Buddies?”
Rudy apologized. “I’ll have one of my friends at the agency check into Tesla. Maybe he can get me in the back door.”
Phillip asked Rudy for his number.
“I never give out my number. It changes too often. It’s gonna change again tomorrow, I think I’ll be Brad Pitt this time.”
Carrie wrote down her phone number on a cocktail napkin and handed it to Rudy. “Please call us if you find anything.”
As they left the champagne room, Rudy promised he’d be in touch. “Oh, by the way, if a guy named Alex Gaye contacts you, we never met. Do you understand me? We never met!”
CHAPTER 11
Maria had invited Turbo over for dinner. They needed to talk. He arrived just in time to say goodbye to his kids. “Hey, where’s everybody going?”
“Nic’s going to Jackson’s house and I’m spending the night with Missy.” Angie pushed her brother out the door. “Missy’s mom's here. Bye, Daddy, love you.”
Turbo waved to his kids as they drove away. “Wow, we’re all alone.” A devious smile came over him.
“Don’t get any ideas. We need to talk.” Maria didn’t smile back.
“I’m sure we’ll talk a little.”
Maria grabbed his hand and pulled him through the doorway. “Go wash up before dinner.”
Turbo stood there for a minute, the aromas from the kitchen wafting upon him. He washed up quick, even though he’d already showered after work. He couldn’t be too clean.
Unlike his last visit, Turbo ate with vigor. Lasagna. Cosmo’s recipe. After dinner, they talked for hours over coffee and cherry cobbler. They discussed the children, the move to Florida, and even his plans to move the shop. Turbo’s earlier idea about romance had fleeted.
More concerned with his marriage, Turbo just came out with it. “There has to be some way to change your mind?”
“It’s simple,” Maria said. “You have to let go.”
“Let go?”
“Yes, let go.”
“Of what?”
“You know what.”
Turbo didn’t say a word. Of course, he knew what she was talking about, but for the first time in weeks, he was enjoying a conversation with his wife.
“I mean it, Turbo. The get rich quick schemes. The revenge for your uncle. Everything. Nikola Tesla must rest in peace.”
He noticed the determination on her face.
"Well, what's it gonna be? Tell me now, before I fuck your brains out.” Maria started up the stairs.
***
Phillip wanted to return to Brooklyn right away. If they hurried, they could be back before midnight. Shocked when Carrie agreed with him, he asked, “what about Buddy?”
“Screw Buddy. We have to find this Turbo guy tonight.”
Phillip slept most of the way back to Brooklyn. Carrie woke him when they reached Flatbush Avenue. He glanced at his watch. “Wow, eleven-thirty, did we fly?”
“Rub the sleep from your eyes and help me find Montauk Avenue.”
“You need a GPS system.”
“I don’t need any GPS system.” Carrie took a quick right turn.
“Why not?” Phillip asked.
“Because, we’re here, 616 Montauk Avenue.”
The darkened house offered only faint light behind heavy curtains in one upstairs window. “It’s late, maybe we should come back tomorrow.” Carrie suggested.
“No, he'll think we’re crazy at first, but once he examines the concept we'll be fine.”
Carrie didn’t argue.
They rang the bell. No answer. They rang the bell again. A minute later, what sounded like a stampede of horses was heading their way.
Out of breath, Turbo answered the door in his boxer shorts and wife-beater. “Who the hell are you and why are you knocking on my door at this hour?”
“Are you William Trb---are you Turbo?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Phillip Washington, Sir. My grandfather knew your uncle.”
“My uncle? Which uncle?”
“Nikola Tesla”
Maria wore sweatpants and a flannel shirt. She had made it down the stairs just in time to hear what Phillip said. She glowered at Turbo with disgust. “You couldn’t even wait till morning.” She ran back upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.
Turbo called out to her. “Maria. Honey. I don’t know these people; I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
She threw Turbo’s clothes over the banister and slammed the bedroom door again.
“Maybe we should come back another time.” Carrie tugged on Phillip’s sleeve.
“No, it’s okay, there’s never a good time to talk about Uncle Nikola. Please, sit down.” Turbo retrieved his pants and pulled up a chair from the dining room. “Sorry about my wife, we’re going through a rough time right now. Anyway, I’m William Trbojevic, but please, call me Turbo.”
Alternating Current: A Tesla Novel Page 5