He spotted the suitcase next to the table. Hoping that it might contain George’s secrets, he’d wanted to grab it and run when he saw her come out of the Waldorf, but the sidewalk had been crowded with doormen and hotel guests, and he’d been across the street.
Instead, he’d hailed a cab and followed her. The cabbie hadn’t wanted to do it, so Geezer had to pay him an extra twenty. Like the driver should care where the hell his cab was going — he should just drive.
They’d ended up at Grand Central Terminal, and Geezer had followed Tatiana inside. The terminal was crawling with cops and even armed soldiers, so he didn’t dare make a move then either. But he couldn’t let it get away, not if it contained his legacy. He glared at the suitcase. It was parked next to the table, as if it were an ordinary suitcase full of makeup and dirty underwear.
The sidewalks outside were busy. He’d find a place where he could snatch it. Later, he’d get all the recognition he deserved. He shouldn’t have told Spooky about the Oscillator, but he’d wanted to brag. He wanted geniuses like Ash and Quantum to recognize him. He had been a fool.
But no more of a fool than George. One drunken night George had told him he had Tesla’s Oscillator, but he wouldn’t produce it. He’d gotten defensive when pressed, said he knew where to find it, but he didn’t have it anymore. Said he had a map, but he kept it hidden. He said he wouldn’t reveal it to anyone but his son, and even then not until after his death, which they’d both known was coming soon. He was an old man, and his heart was shot. Geezer sat with him for hours to get him drunk enough to forget they had talked.
A teenager with earbuds bumped into Geezer, and he nearly fell. “Hey!”
“Sorry, old dude,” the kid said. “Didn’t see you there.”
Geezer watched him walk away. He wasn’t surprised that the boy had run into him. He’d been invisible all his life, but that was about to change.
A flicker of light drew his attention to the Oyster Bar. He looked at the Tesla table, expecting to see Tatiana and her son still talking over coffee, moving in the synchronized dance of those who know each other well, laughing at half-finished jokes.
But their table was empty.
They hadn’t come past him. He shifted from foot to foot, ready to run after them, but he didn’t know where. The damn restaurant must have a second exit.
He pushed through the door at the Oyster Bar and sprinted through the dining room until he saw the other exit. He knocked a waiter on his ass when the guy tried to stop him and made for the door.
Everyone moved out of his way as he ran. The commuters weren’t surprised to see a guy running in the terminal. Everyone had almost missed a train at some point.
He pounded into the main hall and saw Joe Tesla close to the clock, a yellow dog trotting along at his heels. Joe was pulling the black suitcase, and a man dressed in black was closing in on him.
Geezer sprinted toward the two men.
Chapter 10
Joe tugged the suitcase behind him through the concourse. Edison walked on his left to stay out of the way, and he felt hemmed in. He shook his head. It wasn’t Edison’s fault that he was cranky because his mother had always known he wasn’t a Tesla at all and had still let him be tortured because he hadn’t been Tesla enough.
Now she’d brought him a box of secret papers from his paranoid father. They were probably Nikola Tesla’s grocery lists, or notes about pigeon care and feeding.
Still, he was intrigued. His father had never given him presents, relying on Tatiana to remember birthdays and Christmases. This might be the first real present he’d ever received from his father. A present wrapped in all the mystery of Nikola Tesla himself.
Joe hurried toward the elevator, and his heart beat faster with anticipation. He couldn’t wait to open the suitcase and see what was inside. She’d have known that, too, just as he’d known that she would love the house when she saw it. She’d thawed after she saw his pictures, agreed to come visit as soon as he could add her to the list of people cleared to use the elevator. He’d get Mr. Rossi to file the paperwork, and she’d be on the list in a few days.
Rush-hour travelers pushed by on either side. Grand Central, busiest place in the world, a cliché because it was true. He dodged left to avoid a gaggle of nuns in tennis shoes. They weren’t exactly jogging, but they made a fast-moving undulating wall of black cotton.
His suitcase was yanked out of his hand — a quick, sharp pull, gone before he could react. Edison’s reflexes were sharper. The yellow dog lunged forward and sank his teeth into the case’s fabric. He braced his sturdy legs and pulled.
Joe had played enough tug-of-war with him to know he was deceptively strong. The guy stealing his suitcase hadn’t. He slowed and tugged back. Joe charged him, but the man dodged, punching Joe in the side of his face as he went by. Joe saw a blur of black spandex, a black baseball hat, and sunglasses.
He lay sprawled on the marble. His cheek throbbed, and his hip hurt where he’d landed, but he scrambled to his feet, hands up.
Edison held on to the suitcase. Joe swung at the guy’s face, but just a feint, instead using his real force to knee him in the groin.
But he hit air. Black Spandex was damn fast. Even more humiliating, he was fighting Joe while still holding on to the suitcase — basically winning with one (cyan) hand tied behind his back.
“Police!” shouted someone.
Joe didn’t turn to see where the sound came from, and neither did his opponent. The man slid into a crouch, shot his leg out, and swept Joe off his feet. Again, he hit the floor hard.
From his new vantage point, he saw three men in military khaki and two cops in blue heading for them, a man and a woman. He stayed down. Better to make it obvious that he was the victim when they got here.
His attacker whipped his head around as if to take them all in, then let go of the suitcase. Edison held on to his end, growling. The cops closed in first — a tall blond guy and a shorter woman with black hair.
The guy in black went into a spinning frenzy, like an actor in a martial arts movie. He hurled himself straight at the pair of cops, striking with elbows and arms, bouncing from one to the other with a choreographed grace that impressed the hell out of Joe, even as he lay on the ground with the wind knocked out of him and his cheek throbbing.
The man knocked the largest cop down and spun to take out the second, but she had dodged to the side and was fumbling for her nightstick. She was quick, ducking and weaving expertly.
The soldiers had almost reached them when the attacker hurdled the fallen cop and sprinted toward the outside doors, dodging between commuters as if he’d rehearsed it.
The soldiers took off after Joe’s attacker, but Joe doubted they’d catch up. He’d been attacked by freaking Bruce Lee.
Which didn’t help his ego all that much. Especially since the female cop had held her own.
Edison dragged the suitcase over to Joe. He licked his bruised cheek. Joe gritted his teeth and pushed the dog away. Even such light contact hurt.
“Good boy,” he said. “Give me some space.”
Edison sat next to him and looked up to the woman reaching a hand down for Joe. She had shiny black hair and a nice smile. “I’m Detective Bailey. Are you OK?”
“I think so.” He took the hand and pulled himself up, then grabbed the suitcase’s handle.
He ran his tongue across his teeth. A couple felt loose, and blood filled his mouth. He wanted to spit, but couldn’t exactly do that on the polished marble floor. He swallowed the blood and reached for a tissue in his pants pocket. “Thanks for your help.”
“You should have let him have the suitcase,” she said. “Nothing in there worth getting hurt for.”