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.