Rye Ironstone: Mother Tesla's Death Ray

by John Wilkerson

  I looked at the sign. My heart skipped a beat. Professor Gale grabbed the proverbial brass-ring.

  I crossed the street to the building Gael pointed out and peered in the window. A real estate office filled the space. Home pictures and pamphlets lined the shelves. Several desks nestled down the outer walls leaving walking space through the center.

  I buffed a little dirt off the window. “There’s a stairwell in the center up to the mezzanine. It used to be a retail store.”

  Gael joined me at the dirty glass. “We want to go down, not up.”

  “Yep, but first we have to get in,” I said.

  Gael stepped forward and made a strange looking fist with her thumb poking out. My jaw dropped as I watched her snap her fist forward, striking the thumb nail against the door glass. Pop—the lower glass panel spider-webbed into a million pieces.

  I pushed the glass inward with my foot, and then stepped over the crunchy shards onto strip-wood flooring. The lingering smell of scented candles and stale fried potatoes attacked my senses.

  On a whim, I tried a light switch. Nothing happened.

  Gael stepped to the center of the room. I passed her and pushed open the swinging door giving access to the back room. A small kitchen space with refrigerator, sink, and coffee pot lined the wall. The back three walls were stone and brick. An oversized loading door looked to have been filled in some years ago with different brick. A newer steel-cased door led outside.

  I lifted the piece of iron pipe someone used to secure the door, threw the latch, and pushed. It gave access onto a spacious alley lined with dumpsters and other odds and ends from modern day business life. One of those new-fangled fax machines was heaped on the ground with ‘DIE” scrawled in red marker.

  “What are you looking for?” Gael asked as she appeared at my side.

  I stepped out the door and inspected the asphalt left and right. “Scratch marks.”

  Gael joined me on my search.

  Luck was with me. Twenty feet down the alley was a boarded-up doorway with the stalk and ribbon above it. Several long gouges lead from the threshold out into the center of the alley.

  “Help me get the planking off.” I slipped the tire iron in a crack and began prying the boards loose.

  Gael moved beside me to help. “How did you know there would be scratches on the ground?”

  “They moved the death ray somehow. I figured they placed the machine on the ground and dragged it into position.”

  The plywood and planks came free, revealing a steel-banded wooden door from early in the century. A new padlock and hasp secured the entrance. I went to work on the door and lock with my foot and the pry bar. My flashlight illuminated down a hall slopped toward the bank. I could see a landing fifty or sixty feet further in.

  At the distance of the beam were a couple of hand trucks and furniture dollies.

  Gael elbowed past me and shined her own light down the passage. “I’ve been looking for this for twenty years.”

  “You get to go first, if you want.” I did a little bow.

  Gael flipped her jacket open and cradled the Uzi hung from a carry strap. “Fall in, kiddo. We’re moving forward.” She took a tentative step.

  I moved alongside Gael, flashlight and pistol pointed front.

  It was pretty dark once the door closed. I could smell musty air. The kind you find in a building closed up for years. Good. We headed down, toward the bank, and my gut told me Tesla’s lab.

  Fifty feet down the hall, we reached an open landing. It was not what I expected. A beautiful dark-wood bar ran along one wall. Antique tumbler glasses and empty booze bottles filled its shelves. A crazed mirror with an etched-glass surface presented a frolicking pastoral scene. It was cool. I would have thought we were the first people here in decades except for the hamburger wrappers littering the floor. Mother Tesla and the Blue Fez Boys were litterbugs, another reason to dislike them.

  As hidden doors went, the next one was pretty easy to find. I followed the boot scuff marks. They led around a corner next to the doors for the toilets.

  “The way in,” I said.

  Gael followed me to a blank wall catty-cornered a toilet room door. “Pretty gross place to hide his lab.”

  I started tapping on the wall with a knuckle. “Who better to keep a secret than a bunch of bootleggers? Besides, he could step out for a leak and no one was the wiser.”

  Gael chuckled. “You’re good at this. These skill-sets weren’t in your file.”

  “I grew up in a truck stop. Lots to learn when you deal with dirty hungry people and their broken down machinery.”

  Gael moved a couple feet along the wall. “Got it.”

  A small piece of paneling was loose, letting the trim hang at an odd angle. Sure enough, a steel striker plate for a key was hidden behind.

  Gael pulled a shiny brass skeleton key from her pants pocket, inserted it in the lock, and gave a twist.

  I heard a soft click from behind the wall.

  A three foot wide section of the lower paneling pushed inward. Inside the door was a small landing and spiral stairs leading down. The stairs were wood, looked creaky, and covered in dust except for a single pair of shoeprints.

  “That’s odd.” I aimed my flashlight down the cavernous hole. “There’s only one set of prints. Must be another way out.”

  Gael played the beam of her light around the upper landing and flipped a switch near the railing. A soft glow emanated from below.

  “The lab is getting power from somewhere,” she said.

  Gael eyes glowed like a child’s at Christmas and I could feel my heart pounding with excitement.

  Gael placed a foot on the first stair, testing its rigidity. Satisfied, she took a few more cautious steps.

  I followed on her heels. We descended what I estimated to be about thirty feet. The lower landing terminated in a steel hatch you might have seen on a World War One submarine. The big wheel-handle was tight, but with Gaels help, the cams released, and I felt the seals break free. Soft light emanated from the opening hatch.

  Inside, a macabre scene like something from Doctor Frankenstein’s laboratory revealed itself. Blue and amber light buzzed from several machines, and ozone was thick in the air.

  The stone walls were lined with wooden shelving. Hundreds of experiments lay on the shelves in orderly rows. The smell of electrical equipment hung in the air. I stood in amazement. This place was fifty years old, or more. Not long ago if you measured it by a lifetime, but the technology difference was transcendental. The vibe was silent-movie creepy. I no longer feared the zombie. The green-skinned flat-headed monster haunted my thoughts.

  In the center of the room a collection of three work benches were set in the shape of a triangle with what must have been a singular, large project in the middle. Scrape marks and fresh chips from pry bars blemished the concrete floor. Something sizeable was missing.

  Gael and I strolled around the room in amazement. I could sense her wonderment, matching my own. We’d found the old man’s lair. By God, I did it. We found Tesla’s secret lab.

  A great greenish metal cage hung from the ceiling, reminiscent of the top half of a bird cage. Braided cables as large as my wrist snaked from the cage to grounding poles piercing the concrete floor. Tesla could’ve experimented with lightning bolts judging from the size of the grounding cage and cables.

  “Where do we start?” I asked.

  Gael pulled her camera from her jacket pocket and started taking pictures. “Go find how they got the machine out of this room.”

  I turned on my heel and followed what appeared to be wheel-tracks behind one of the larger freestanding book cases. About forty feet down a wide corridor, lined with more shelving, I came across the iron cage of a freight elevator. It stood in the middle of an open landing. Jumbles of wooden crates were stacked in piles, as if waiting to take their turn for the trip upward. Each crate was tagged with a bright-pink index card. A fine womanly script labeled each, ‘take to small
barn.’

  I lifted the safety gate, stepped in, and closed it tight. The little red power lever moved up and down. I started to move the power switch to ‘up’, and then I stopped. How’d they get the death ray out if they used the elevator? We’d missed where the elevator opened when we came down the hallway above. Another door and elevator landing were somewhere above.

  I took another look around. Nestled alongside and the cage grate was an iron ladder. It reached up into the darkness.

  I flipped the switch. Whirling and the rattle of cables jolted the lift upward. Darkness surrounded me as I entered the hole in the ceiling. The soft glow from a couple of small cracks in the upper wall showed about twenty feet higher. I slowed my ascent, and pulled to a stop where I could almost see out the cracks.

  Muffled voices and the movement of people passed by my vantage point. I hastily switched off my flashlight.

  “Who do you think pulled the planking off the door?” A young male voice asked.

  A grumpy older man answered. “No idea. Let’s get the door open. You can bring the elevator back up for me.”

  “But?”

  The grumpy voice answer. “Mother Mary said to get the rest of the crates. That’s what we’re going to do.”

  I could hear a creaking sound to my left and right. The dry taste in my mouth made my tongue stick to my teeth.

  A column of light grew wider as the wall-panel opened before me.

  I drew my pistol and put a mean nasty look on my face.

  Mr. Grumpy and the kid continued to pull the concealed door open.

  “Who left the elevator…,” the kid said.

  This wasn’t exactly going the way I’d imagined it.

  “You move. I shoot.” I clicked the flashlight on and shined the beam back and forth into their eyes.

  Chapter Nine

  I pointed my pistol at the old man and kid, and enjoyed watching the surprised look on their faces.

  “Old man.” I zeroed the pistol at Mr. Grumpy. “Yeah, you with the mustache, raise the grate. Kid, move funny or start to run, I’ll blow your kneecaps off.”

  Grumpy was pretty cool about it. He lifted the front cage panel. I figured he got to be old by developing a basic level of wisdom.

  The kid’s brow glistened with sweat, and he swallowed a lot. It was distracting watching his Adam’s apple bulge and wiggle.

  “Kid, get in here on the floor. I’m going to handcuff you to the grate. Move now!” I used the flashlight beam to point where I wanted him.

  Mr. Grumpy eyeballed me. His sweat smelled like cheap wine, a mixture of sweet and sour with a lingering fermented stink.

  The kid sat on the floor and I clicked the cuffs around his wrist.

  I was halfway there, assuming Grumpy and the kid were the extent of the collection committee. There could be somebody outside with the truck.

  Grumpy wasn’t moving, except for his bloodshot eyes which kept measuring me. He was playing the situation just like I would. Don’t move. Make the guy with the gun commit. Measure his level of intent. I admired him for a brief moment.

  I played a hunch. If someone else was part of their team, this guy would be the one up-top, probably taking swigs from a bottle as he waited. Grumpy was too drunk to be down here luggin’ boxes. He’d lose his buzz. Their team was only two deep.

  Grumpy slowly rocked from one foot to the other.

  My knees started to feel weak, and I felt jolts of electricity tickle my tongue.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, raising one eyebrow and tilting my head for dramatic effect.

  Grumpy’s eyes glowed blue, his left hand reached for me, and sparks crackled along his fingers. A blue aurora emanated. “Screw you. Mother Mary said our task was righteous.”

  I could see the tip of a leather holster protruding from under Grumpy’s nylon jacket.

  The kid squirmed and gulped his breath. “Mr. Keith, please do what he says.”

  My grip tightened around the pistol. I slowly depressed the trigger. “Smart kid. You should listen to him.” A metallic taste formed in the back of my mouth, and I felt like I was leaning against an electric fence.

  My gun tip wavered. I started to see stars.

  Keith rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. Sparks crackled around his eyes.

  My breathing became labored. “Choose your next move carefully, old man.” I applied more pressure to the trigger. Nausea engulfed me.

  Grumpy sprang forward.

  My heart pulsed from electric shock.

  I pulled the trigger and shot the old man square in the chest, sending a plume of smoke and embers against his flannel shirt. Small bolts of lightning flashed out of the bullet holes.

  Grumpy collapsed to his knees, and slowly relaxed onto the floor.

  Breakfast lingered near the top of my throat.

  I pointed my pistol at the kid. “You were the wiser man.”

  **

  I burst from the elevator and ran down the hallway into the lab. “We have a problem.”

  Gael was focused on a wall rack holding belts and suspenders rigs. Several hand sized brass boxes were affixed to each belt. “What kind of problem?” Gael asked.

  I took a breath and worked to slow my pounding heart. “I caught two of Mother Tesla’s guys, they’re in the elevator.”

  “Elevator?” Gael asked. “You said two. Are there more?” She turned to face me, concern wrinkled her brow.

  “Probably not. I checked and didn’t see anyone else.” I walked over to the submarine hatch we used to enter the room and twisted a piece of loose wire from a workbench around the interior handle. If I was wrong about there being only two, at least our backdoor was secure.

  Gael narrowed her stare. “How sure are you?”

  “Pretty sure. I hope.” I grimaced, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I went out to the street and looked. No one beside those two were in the area.”

  The sour taste in my mouth caused my stomach to clench. “One is dead.

  Gael placed the belt-rig she was holding on its wall hook. “Dead, how?”

  “I shot him.”

  “Show me.” Gael started toward the lift.

  I pulled a strange looking pistol from my leather jacket. “Wait, you need to see this first.”

  My Grandpa would’ve recognized it from his boyhood comic book days. The pistol was Buck Rogers all the way. Brass fins were shaped alongside a central tubular body. Thick copper wires wrapped the front barrel and the whole contraption fit comfortably in the palm of my hand.

  “Did he shoot it at you?” Gael stopped walking, turned to face me, and looked at the weapon in my hand.

  “No. I took it off him after I cuffed his body to the elevator cage. The body and kid are both cuffed.”

  Gael was all business. “How young is the kid?”

  “Mid teens,” I replied, inspecting the weapon. “He’s pretty terrified.”

  She fixed her gaze on me. “You think he’ll talk?”

  “I can make him talk.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll ask him nicely.” I put the pistol in my pocket and headed down the corridor. “Come on.”

  Gael followed a step behind.

  As I approached the elevator, I raised my voice. “The old guy’s eyes went blue, and he shocked me. The crazy coot shocked me.”

  Mr. Grumpy was sprawled on the floor, blood pooling around him. The kid sat with his knees up to his chest, quivering.

  “What do you mean he shocked you?” Gael knelt and checked for a pulse.

  “His eyes lit up like firecrackers, blue sparks flying like the freaking Fourth of July. My knees stated to buckle. Like when you pee on an electric fence,” I said.

  Gael started to ask a question but stopped.

  I remembered the sensation and shuddered.

  “What else did he do?” Gael asked.

  “What do you mean what else? He grabbed and shocked me. What else is there? He’s a miniature version of Mo
ther Mary. I might need to shoot him again.” I pointed at Grumpy’s body. “You sure he’s dead? Blondie keeps coming back from the grave. Maybe this guy’s some zombie-freak too?”

  “Calm down, Rye,” Gael said. “Why don’t you go in the other room for a few minutes, I’ll cover this.”

  I pulled out Holly. She was cold and felt like a lead brick in my hand. “No way. I’m going to shoot him again.”

  Gael stood up and positioned her body between me and the kid. “No you’re not,” Gael commanded. “Go in the other room. Find something constructive to do.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m not getting shocked again, or watching you get zapped either.”

  “Agent Ironstone, stand-down.” Gael pulled her best I’m the boss-man voice out of her back pocket. “You will not shoot this young man.”

  “The devil I won’t. Crazy-crap church people running around shocking me and blowing up my house. This kid better start telling me why I don’t want to put lead bullets deep in his skull.”

  Gael’s hand reached for mine.

  I bent over and sneered at the kid. “You get my point. Start talking.”

  “Ironstone, you will wait in the other room. Now!” Her hand pressed against my forearms.

  I turned to look her in the eye. “I’m going to shoot him.”

  Gael winked back. “Not today. I’ll speak with him. I’m sure the young man will be most cooperative.”

  I gave the kid my best evil-eye stare, and sulked back into the main lab.

  Gael was right. I needed to poke around the lab. She could handle the kid.

  My attention was drawn to the weird looking experiments on the shelves. Levitating objects, colorful vortexes, and brass boxes with buttons and lights seemed to be a favorite theme for Tesla’s creations.

  Many of the objects were unknown to me. I was intrigued, and started to stack the ones I found interesting on the wooden desk. Maybe they could help. Besides, if Mother Mary wanted them, so did I.

  My collection grew. Half-dozen smaller-than-a-breadbox constructs filled the desktop. One contraption reminded me of Dick Tracy’s wrist radios. The others, who knew? The egg beater looking thing could’ve been an improved mousetrap.