Second Street Station

by Lawrence H. Levy

  She showed Mary to Charles Goodrich’s room and was telling her which key on the ring of keys Mary had gotten from W. W. Goodrich would open the door when she noticed the door had been jimmied.

  “My Lord, we’ve had a break-in. I better notify the police,” exclaimed Cynthia Frump, then it occurred to her. “What am I sayin’? The police are already here.”

  Mary knew that meant her. “Not exactly, but I’ll take care of it.”

  Cynthia Frump seemed satisfied, and she returned to her duties in the kitchen, but not before getting Mary’s autograph for her scrapbook.

  Mary entered Goodrich’s room to discover it had been completely ransacked. All the cabinets and drawers were opened and their contents spilled onto the floor. Chairs were turned over, the sofa cushions tossed.

  If the journal had been there, it no longer was. Yet it was important that she search the place. Something might have been left behind. And no sooner had that thought crossed her mind than Mary spied a small chain protruding from under the couch. When she picked it up, it was attached to a pocket watch. On the back of the watch was an inscription that read, FOR MY DARLING NIKOLA…KATHERINE.

  So Nikola Tesla had hired a criminal to find the journal, proclaiming it was just to locate it. Yet, the watch indicated that Tesla himself broke into this room to search for it. He hadn’t mentioned that. If W. W. Goodrich was correct in his assertion that it was “hogwash” for anyone to think his brother would betray Edison, what would a desperate Tesla do if Charles Goodrich had agreed to cooperate, then changed his mind? Up until recently she had thought Edison was a calm, logical man of science, and she had been proven wrong. It was possible that Tesla, too, was capable of more than she thought.

  23

  It was early evening by the time Mary arrived at Tesla’s warehouse. She didn’t know if he’d still be there, but it was worth a try. The warehouse was markedly different from Mary’s last visit, when there was a flurry of activity. Dark and very quiet, it seemed virtually deserted, and she now saw it for what it was: a vast, hollow building with tall stone pillars and a massive cement floor.

  “Mr. Tesla?” Mary called out, her voice echoing off the walls. “Hello, Mr. Tesla?”

  There was no response. She stepped further into the darkness, feeling like an intruder. She had the distinct impression that something intensely private was going on. It was just a feeling. Call it intuition, but her speculation was brought to an abrupt halt.

  A gunshot rang out, its flash piercing the blackness. Mary instantly dropped to the ground, her body hugging its hard, cold surface. She watched carefully as the bullet ricocheted off the cement floor and stone pillars, flashing again with each hit and making a pinging sound as it bounced her way. At the last minute, she rolled over to avoid it, the bullet striking dangerously close to her before moving on. Another shot was fired, causing more pings and flashes. Mary again trained her eye on the zigzag path of the bullet and moved just in time to elude it. A third bullet eventually ripped the lower part of her dress, but she herself was unharmed. Mary had to get out of there, and just as she was devising an escape plan, a shadowy figure staggered out of the darkness. It was Tesla. He had a pistol in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. And he was drunk, very drunk.

  “I just prove scientifically by trial and error,” he said, slurring his words, his accent thicker than usual, “when bullet hits cement, it bounces. Good thing no error, huh?”

  Mary rose warily and dusted herself off, all the time keeping her eyes on Tesla and his pistol. “Yes, very good thing, Mr. Tesla.”

  “Please, Nikola. And I’ll call you…”

  He paused, searching for her name, victim no doubt of an alcohol-induced memory lapse.

  “Mary,” she calmly reminded him. She wasn’t feeling calm at all, but she didn’t want to reveal that to him.

  “Mary, how could I forget? My mother’s name.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  He erupted in laughter, stumbled a few steps, and tripped. Mary caught him, saving him from falling.

  “I made joke,” Tesla proclaimed. “People say I’m too serious. Ridiculous.” He waved his pistol hand, dismissing his detractors, and took a big swig of vodka.

  “Yes, ridiculous. Now, may I have that?” In his state, Mary figured that simply asking for the pistol could get the job done. It was worth a try anyway.

  “Ah,” Tesla said, chastising himself. “Where are my manners?” He held out the bottle, offering her a drink. “Vodka. Can’t get it in United States. Had it sent specially from my homeland.”

  “Actually, I meant your pistol.”

  Tesla staggered backward as if absorbing a punch.

  “No, never pistol.” He petulantly waved it in the air. “Everybody cowboy in America. Nikola wants to be cowboy, too!”

  He began shooting again, randomly pointing the pistol at the ground, then in the air, paying no attention to where he was aiming or to the possible consequences. One shot after another wildly ricocheted around the warehouse. Mary carefully followed the pings and flashes, dodging the bullets when necessary. When she spotted one bouncing back at Tesla, she dove and knocked him out of the way just in time. They both wound up on the floor. Tesla found this all terribly amusing.

  “Whoops,” he chirped out in a high voice, then broke into a hearty belly laugh.

  Mary once again rose and dusted herself off. Dodging bullets was wearing thin. She had to get Tesla’s pistol out of his hand.

  “Mr. Tesla, I have a proposition for you. I propose we trade.”

  “What could you possibly have that I would want? Can you give me Thomas Edison’s integrity? Oh no, you can’t. He has none.”

  Tesla also found this incredibly funny. Ignoring him, Mary opened her pocketbook, slowly took out the watch she had found at the boardinghouse, and dangled it in front of him. Tesla’s mood changed instantly. He silently stumbled toward her and gladly relinquished the pistol for the watch.

  “I thought I’d lost it forever!” he said, cradling it as if it were a precious jewel.

  Relieved, Mary put the pistol in her pocketbook, then resumed business.

  “Who’s Katherine?”

  “She’s a no-no. But she’s also an oh-oh.” Judging from his inflection and facial expression, he was most decidedly smitten.

  “I found it in one of Mr. Goodrich’s boardinghouses,” Mary informed him.

  “Yes, I was searching for the journal. No luck.”

  “Mr. Tesla…”

  “Charlie promised it to me. A promise is a promise. It doesn’t die ’cause he did.” Before Mary could respond, he continued, “Come, I show you something.”

  He guided Mary to a workbench and turned on a light, illuminating a cylindrical object with wires leading to it and with what looked like a metal tower on top. Above the tower were two metal rods about three feet apart that were pointing at each other.

  “This is work in progress, but it will change world!” He was extremely animated and filled with excitement as he pointed to it and announced, “The Tesla coil!”

  He proudly flicked a switch, sending electricity to the rod, and within seconds, lightning bolts were jumping across open space between the two metal rods.

  “See how energy jumps from one side to other, no wires guiding it, just air?” he explained.

  Mary was truly mesmerized. “That’s amazing. How do you do that?”

  Tesla shrugged matter-of-factly. “I’m brilliant. That’s how.” Then his enthusiasm returned. “This energy transport will revolutionize communication! Talk in New York, be heard in Boston. Without wires, none!”

  Then suddenly his excitement dissipated, and he became morose.

  “Charlie told me Thomas and J. P. Morgan were going to steal my coil technology and finance someone else to develop it.”

  “There are laws to protect you. You could—”

  “Laws!” an incredulous Tesla blurted out. “You think laws apply to people like
Thomas and Morgan?” He stepped away from her, trying unsuccessfully to gain control of his emotions. “After Thomas’s trick with his calves, everyone backed out of my demonstration.”

  “I am so sorry.” Mary meant it. She was beginning to feel his pain.

  “It’s not true, you know. My current is safer than his.” Then he turned to her, unable to mask the pain he was experiencing. “Why can’t it be about work? Not who wins, but who produces best product!”

  Mary looked at his innocent expression. It was that of a child who had just discovered the world was not fair. She couldn’t help feeling sympathy.

  “What happened between you two, Nikola?” she asked gently.

  “Thomas promised me fifty thousand dollars if I could improve efficiency of his DC generator by twenty-five percent. I improved it by fifty percent.”

  “I assume he welshed on the deal.”

  “He laughed. Said I didn’t understand his American sense of humor.”

  Suddenly, Mary felt a strong kinship with this man who simply wanted to be judged on the merits of his work. “On second thought, I could use a drink.”

  She grabbed the bottle from Tesla, took a big swig, and then handed it back to him. They both sat down on the floor, their backs propped up against a pillar while lightning bolts from Tesla’s coil flew back and forth above them. A few drinks later, he divulged that the Katherine on his watch was the wife of his best friend, and though he desperately loved her, his sense of honor forbade him from taking any action. As they continued to share the bottle and their personal frustrations, Mary decided this was not the type of man who committed murder. He was more likely to be a victim.

  24

  The monthly Wednesday morale booster, as Chief Campbell had put it, consisted of off-duty policemen from Second Street Station gathering for drinks. Clancy’s Bar was mostly a policemen’s hangout anyway, so it didn’t take much effort to organize the gathering. The bar was always three deep, but the Second Street officers were in the back, where there were several tables and room to roam from group to group.

  Chief Campbell was holding court in the center, surrounded by a handful of policemen, Sean among them. It looked as if he was spewing nuggets of wisdom to his flock, but he was just being congenial as men moved in and out to get in a word with him. Some of them tried to use these meetings as a chance to impress the chief, some to get to know him better, and others used them as a bulletproof excuse for going home to their wives completely smashed. Chief Campbell knew all his men: the ambitious ones, the loyal, the deserving, and the malcontents. He wasn’t swayed by their behavior on Wednesdays.

  “I’m feeling the effects of this good brew,” he announced, holding up his beer mug. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” Chief Campbell headed for the bathroom, nodding along the way to his men, including Billy, who was standing next to Officer Russell and another policeman. Officer Russell had already imbibed far beyond his share. He nudged Billy.

  “Look who’s here. Our lady savior.”

  Mary had just entered Clancy’s. She had already shared a good part of a vodka bottle with Tesla and was well on her way to being soused. But after the bad press she had received regarding the incident in the alley, she didn’t want to appear the least bit tipsy, so she had splashed some cold water on her face. It did little to help, but what the water didn’t do was aided considerably by the juvenile behavior of the policemen as she walked into their lions’ den.

  Boys will be boys, and when they make pacts, they’re especially emboldened if they are all together and drink is involved. Mary got a good taste of this behavior at Clancy’s that night. As she made her way to the rear, men stepped in front of her, blocking her way. It was annoying, but it made her determined and helped her focus, erasing some of the effects of the vodka. Trying her best to appear unaffected, she went around each and every one of them. In the back room, she got more of the same. She joined a group of three police officers, who quickly dispersed, leaving her alone. She scanned the crowd, and eventually she and Sean locked eyes. It was easy to read his mind. He had told her he couldn’t help her, and he couldn’t. Frustrated, he shook his head and walked away from her over to the bar.

  Officer Russell turned to Billy and the others with them.

  “Time to send our lady detective crying into the night.”

  “Leave her be,” Billy said. “She’ll be gone soon enough.” Like the others, Billy was upset at Mary’s appointment, feeling it was a slight to all the men at Second Street Station. But it wasn’t personal to him. Mary was just a symbol, a symbol whom he happened to like. He wished her no harm and certainly no cruelty.

  Officer Russell had different priorities, and getting revenge on the bitch who’d made him look bad in front of the chief was number one. “Am I the only one whose testicles are still intact?”

  After his rallying cry, he gulped down the last of his drink, hoping someone would meet his challenge and join him. No one did, but his boast had made retreat impossible. He straightened up and swaggered out toward Mary. The swagger soon became more of a stagger, but he made it to her. He stood there for a brief moment, staring, grinning from ear to ear. He thought he was being intimidating, but he just looked dazed and stupid. Finally, he mumbled out some words.

  “Detective, you know what a johnson is?”

  “Sorry?” Mary couldn’t make out what he had said. No one could.

  Overcompensating, Officer Russell spoke much louder and slower, carefully enunciating each word. Now everyone in the bar could hear him, including Chief Campbell, who had just returned from his journey to the bathroom.

  “Johnson. Do you know what it is?”

  “No, pray tell, what?” Mary answered, humoring him.

  The bar was suddenly silent. They all knew this routine. But would Officer Russell actually go through with it? They soon got their answer. With drunken bravado, he dropped his pants. He was totally nude from the waist down. To emphasize his point, Officer Russell, who would never be accused of subtlety, did a pelvic thrust so that his penis flapped in the air.

  “That’s a johnson!” he proudly boasted.

  All eyes were on Mary. She calmly looked down at his crotch.

  “Oh, I see. Like a prick but infinitely smaller.”

  For a split second there was complete silence, and then they all burst out laughing. A horde of officers rushed by Officer Russell toward Mary. Billy was first.

  “Ah, Mary, how can I stay mad at ya?” And he hugged her.

  While the other officers gathered around Mary, Sean made his way through the sea of people at the bar to Officer Russell who had just pulled up his pants. Sean shoved him.

  “That’s my sister, you bastard!”

  “Ah, piss off, Handley.” Officer Russell shoved him back.

  In no time fists were flying. Sean caught him with a roundhouse right that sent him stumbling back several feet. To his credit, Officer Russell was a scrapper. He came right back at Sean. It wasn’t long before the other police officers descended upon the two men and pulled them apart. Within moments, Chief Campbell had gotten between them. Blood trickled down from Sean’s mouth, but he was still struggling to get free from the officers restraining him and that didn’t stop him from goading Officer Russell.

  “Not so easy when you’re fightin’ a man!” he shouted.

  Chief Campbell had had enough. “Shut up, Handley! Go clean yourself!”

  Chief Campbell’s word was law. The men holding Sean let him go. They knew he wouldn’t dare disobey the chief right in front of him.

  Mary was all at once surprised and pleased at what had just transpired. She and Sean had had a contentious relationship their whole lives, and yet here he was defending her honor while risking a reprimand at work and maybe his job. Was it possible that, in spite of all their differences, deep down, he really loved his little sister? This thought made her extremely happy. She took out her handkerchief and tried to wipe the blood away from Sean’s mouth, but he shrugged her off, stare
d daggers at Officer Russell, and then headed to the bathroom. It was typical Sean. Mary couldn’t help smiling.

  Chief Campbell put his arm around Officer Russell and took him aside as the rest of the gathering regained some semblance of normalcy. Chief Campbell was not one to mince words.

  “You’re fired, Russell,” he said.

  “What! You can’t fire me for that!”

  “I’m not. You see, you have the distinction of not only being an ass but also a lousy cop.”

  Even Officer Russell knew there was no changing Chief Campbell’s mind. Frustrated, he stormed out of Clancy’s, pushing aside anyone in his way.

  Chief Campbell turned toward his men. He saw Mary in the middle of them chatting with the others, at last a real part of the group. He caught her eye. She was happy. So was he. He just hoped they’d both feel that way when all of this was over.

  Mary was not three sheets to the wind but she had surpassed two. Between the vodka she had drunk earlier and the beers she had with the men at Clancy’s, she had consumed enough alcohol that later, at home, her mind kept wandering from the medical journals she had put aside to read. Edison’s behavior fascinated her, and she wanted to learn more about the wonder drug cocaine, but not this night. She stared blankly at the stack of journals on the table in her apartment, looking for an excuse to procrastinate. It came in the form of a loud knock on her door, followed by a louder male voice with a heavy Brooklyn accent.

  “Open up. It’s Sal Dominick of the Brooklyn Trolley Car Company.”

  “What do you want?”

  “What do ya think, lady? You turned our car into kindling wood, and I got two horses with a case of diarrhea that won’t quit.”

  Mary had discussed the trolley incident with Chief Campbell, and he had said he would take care of it. Either he hadn’t yet or nobody had told this Sal Dominick, who apparently possessed the gentility of a Brahma bull. How dare he bang on a person’s door at a time when working people were getting ready for bed! Mary rose.