A bright burst of jagged light arced between the electrical conductors and ran up to the top before vanishing and then reappearing at the bottom and traveling up again. A loud humming came from the pure electrical energy. With a flick of a couple of switches, electrical impulses fired into the cables and then into the heart. After a few moments, Dr. Fischer switched it off and immediately, there was a buzzing sound within the manmade organ. The light show ended. He unclamped the cable of the voltage box from the heart and lifted his goggles to his forehead once again.
“It is pumping the synthetic blood into the lungs,” he announced, closing the chest and locking it in place with a bolt. “Once the heart is running, it’ll last for years after all the human parts need to be replaced.”
Violetta removed her own goggles. “Is it alive?”
In answer to her question, the sound of wheezing came from the mouth of the machine.
“It’s gasping,” she noted with concern.
“The lungs are reawakening. They will need time to adjust to the synthetic blood and fall into the natural rhythm of breathing again.”
She turned her focus on her Machine Man and reached over to touch its face. The metal was so cold. Violetta thought she’d be afraid to lay her hand upon it, especially when it began twitching his mechanical fingers, but she found it fascinating.
Violetta had been biding her time ever since one of the Ghosts that she’d hired to heist booze from Kelly Quinn told her where his warehouse was located. She wanted to destroy both Kelly Quinn and Leon Clark and take over their territories. Gaining their trust was simple enough. She only needed to agree to a little ol’ treaty. She’d hoped to start a gang war between the two and let Leon take Kelly out. It would make her job that much easier.
Ever since Dominicus Dijk murdered her husband, Adalgiso Romano, she had been searching for the best way to avenge him. And after years of planning and putting things together, she finally had the means to do it. Adalgiso’s death had only fueled her hatred and hardened her sense of survival. She wanted to become a superpower amongst the mobster men, never to fall victim to any of them ever again. After her tryout with her new Living Automatons, Violetta Romano would begin her quest for a complete and utter takeover.
Violetta stared into the eyes that were once Daniel’s. They had been extracted from the skull but not removed from the brain. A pane of glass the size of the eye socket shielded them. The tips of the tiny valves were already dripping an artificial tear into both eyes. The eyes sat nestled inside the metal sockets like rubber balls. An eerie sight, which was why Violetta had plans to hide them.
“They will soon be ready and at your command to do with as you like,” Dr. Fischer stated, coming up alongside her, a look of pride on his hard face. “It’ll be good to see them in action again.”
“Yes,” she agreed wickedly. “And I know just where to start.”
For the next week, Pierce managed The Attic. He found the job simple and entertaining enough. Although the business was illegal, it was the first time in a very long while that Pierce didn’t feel like some common criminal. He actually had responsibilities such as keeping track of profits and taking notes on inventory. He only wished there was a band, such as the jazz band he’d seen at the club in Harlem. However, a band might draw too much attention if someone heard it outside, or so ol’ Georgie had explained. Regardless, the job kept him busy and put dough in his pockets. He longed to spend more time with Lucy but dared not ask her to come to the speakeasy in case Kelly found out about her.
Witnessing the strangulation of the poor sod inside the boathouse had brought Pierce an acute awareness of the kinds of people he was mixed up with, and he didn’t need Lucy around such a mess. When he had a few moments, he gave their relationship some serious thought. He and Lucy having some kind of future together wasn’t an impossible dream, but it was somewhat unlikely, especially if he couldn’t convince the Trickster to let him stay. Because of the risks she had taken in informing him about the submarine and coming with him to The Brass Ring, he felt he owed her something. He began storing funds in a safe deposit box at the New York City Bank.
Doing so was an easy task, for the bank seemed willing to oblige so-called “entrepreneurs” such as mob bosses and the goons working for them. Pierce wasn’t required to open an account, which suited him just fine.
Pierce really began enjoying the twentieth century. He rather liked being able to bathe every day and being only a walking distance from the local market. He enjoyed dressing in stylish suits, riding the trolley, and most importantly, he loved the picture shows! He’d actually been flirting with the idea of going to Hollywood and trying out to be an actor. Pierce was already a natural thespian, so why the bloody hell not? For the first time in his entire life, there seemed to be many doors opening for him. He only needed to stay alive long enough to choose which threshold to cross.
Another night ended and the patrons left with their heads blissfully full of illegal alcohol. Pierce sat at the bar, tallying up the night’s profits using a black Brunsviga MH Calculator. He preferred the open space of the speakeasy over the cramped office.
“You got any plans for the holiday, Isaac?” George asked, cleaning glasses in the bar’s sink. He wore a waterproof glove that reached to his elbow to help protect his artificial arm from getting wet.
“I have an idea,” he said as he punched in numbers into the adding machine.
Indeed, Pierce had plans involving Lucy. He’d already requested that she join him, which she had accepted. Kelly had announced that The Attic, like all the other businesses in the city, would be closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
“What about you, eh? Planning to go home to Tennessee?”
When no answer came, Pierce raised his chin from his ledger. George’s expression portrayed heartache.
“Bloody hell, mate. You all right?”
“What?” he demanded as if Pierce had stolen him away from someplace in his mind. “Oh, um, nah, I ain’t goin’ home.”
“Some bad blood there?”
The one-armed bartender sighed, taking a glass out of the sudsy water and putting it into a row with the others. “Before I left to go off fightin’ in the war, I was your average run-of-the-mill adolescent. Got my schoolin’ in, went fishin’, took girls to my folk’s hayloft up in the barn, campin’, huntin’, that kind of stuff. Yip. An all-American boy. Until I returned home with this.” He pulled off the glove and flexed his straight razor-shaped fingers. “Instead of being welcomed as a hero of the war, the townspeople, and even my own kin, shunned me. They considered me a freak, something unholy like them Living Automatons.”
“Jesus, Georgie,” Pierce said plaintively.
“They didn’t want me and my mechanical arm around, so I left,” George concluded.
Pierce shook his head and tutted. “That’s a bleedin’ shame, mate. Fear and arrogance go hand in hand, says I.”
“I says it right back. Okay, enough chitchat. I’m ready to get outta here.”
Kelly Quinn was peacefully reading the morning paper and drinking his coffee at his antique store. He was seated in his usual spot at the round mandala table off to the side of the room. Every Thursday he would manage his quaint little front himself. Once in a while, he needed to show the public that he was still the store’s owner. He’d never really minded. The place was charming in its own way. A shop filled with beautiful relics of past human creations. Sometimes, he’d admire how the sun hit the hanging crystals on the Victorian chandeliers at certain times of the day, splashing colorful reflections all over the place. Quinn also had a blue crystal octopus chandelier that had come from some old hotel in Cowes, England. Its long arms held gas-powered lights.
Quinn was in a splendid mood. His speakeasy was doing well and he had Clark’s submarine to bring in large quantities of cargo. He was considering opening another nightery if he could find the right location first.
He had been extremely careful about keeping Clar
k’s suspicion at bay. He had been sending Brody and Jones off on fake runs out to Rum Row and pretending to haul in barrels. Knowing Clark, he’d most likely had people out searching, and it wouldn’t be long before they discovered his boathouse in Inwood. As long as Clark bought the idea that things were normal on Quinn’s end, then everything might work out. Besides, he really didn’t think Clark would last many more years in his condition. His oxygen tank would only serve him temporarily. Leon Clark was living on borrowed time whether he accepted it or not. When the man’s lungs finally squeezed out their last breath, Quinn and that Italian swine, Romano, would be the only ones left. By then, Quinn would have enough loot to hire more muscle to help deal with her.
The bell over the front door dinged when someone entered. Mr. Garcia, standing by the cashier counter, smoking and reading a magazine, turned his attention on the person, already sizing them up. Mr. Garcia was thickheaded but a good protector.
The young man seemed to be just another blue-collar man, judging by the clothing he wore. He didn’t look as though he could afford anything in The Village Antique store.
“Can I help you, son?” Quinn greeted the man.
The youth eyed him. He removed his cap and held it in both hands. “’S’cuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Kelly Quinn?”
Quinn hated it when someone came looking for him. In his line of work, it usually meant trouble. He kept his welcoming smile fixed and answered, “I am.”
“Sorry to be bothering you, Mr. Quinn. My name is Cain Reilly. I’m Raymond Reilly’s younger brother.”
There was a dash of an accent in his tone, a faint residue of his old world roots. His brother had spoken the same way. Already, Garcia was causally reaching under his jacket.
Quinn played it cool.
“Yes, Mr. Reilly. What can I do for you?”
“It’s Raymond. We haven’t seen him in days. He said he worked for you, Mr. Quinn, at this antique store.”
At least Reilly mentioned nothing about the speakeasy.
“The last time me, my sister, and our grandparents saw him, it was at dinner at my place. We were making plans for Christmas. Our mother, Mr. Quinn, was sick and wanting to see him.”
“Was sick?” Quinn inquired.
The boy’s dark eyes glistened in the lights. “Yes, sir. She . . . she passed on last night. She caught Klebsiella at the hospital, is what the doctor told me. We were trying to get her into a better place with more sanitary care, but money is tight.”
Quinn didn’t care to hear any of this.
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss, Mr. Reilly. I haven’t seen your brother. He was scheduled to work days ago and never showed.”
The youth bowed his head. “He wouldn’t just vanish. We’re a close-knit family.”
Quinn stood, reaching into his pocket for his billfold. He wanted the kid out of his store. “Here, young man. Take this and try to have a good Christmas.”
He put thirty dollars into Reilly’s hand. Reilly looked at it and then at Quinn. The anguish of not knowing what had happened to his brother was obvious in those watery eyes of his.
Quinn showed him out and wished him luck in finding his brother. It amazed him sometimes how cold he could be. Quinn closed the door and turned to see the look of pity on Garcia’s crooked-nosed face.
“Jesus, boss,” he said as if they could undo what had happened.
Quinn returned to his table. “It’s business, Mr. Garcia. Only business.”
On Christmas Eve, the entire city closed down except for where Pierce and Lucy were going. He had arranged overnight plans, and so had decided to leave the praying mantis that he’d named Marvin behind at his flat. Pierce didn’t reckon it needed to eat, so he’d left it in an open soapbox filled with broken pieces of wood that he’d found by a pile of rubbish in the front of his apartment building. Pierce figured the mantis would be entertained enough.
He found himself fortunate to have been able to reserve tickets and a couple of rooms so close to the holidays. He was over the moon about the evening ahead and hoped Lucy would be, as well. He hadn’t told her what he had bought tickets for, only that he had booked them something special.
He waited inside the taxi in front of Jerry’s Diner, which was also closed. Lucy arrived on foot and the taxi drove them away.
“So, what’s the surprise?” she asked, sitting next to him in the backseat.
“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you prematurely,” he pointed out.
When they were closer to their destination, he requested that she wear a blindfold. Given her nervous nature, he feared what she might think, but she allowed it. The taxi stopped and after Pierce paid him, he helped Lucy out. As the driver took his suitcase out of the trunk, Pierce untied the blindfold.
“Oh, Isaac,” she gasped, gazing out at the field of Zeppelins. “Are we going to ride in one?”
“Aye. I’ve arranged an overnight trip halfway round the country and back.”
She eyed him worryingly. “Overnight?”
“No worries, love,” he assured her quickly. “I booked two rooms.”
Her concern didn’t seem diminished. “Oh, it . . . it’s not just that, but I haven’t packed anything.”
“Already taken care of,” he declared, taking his suitcase from the driver and leading her toward the ticket station ahead. “Everything you need is in here.” He lifted the suitcase. “I bought you a new nightgown, clothing for tomorrow, and an evening dress.”
She was so surprised that she could barely speak.
“How wonderful.” It was all she seemed capable of managing.
They collected their reserved tickets and got directions to their Zeppelin, The Gondola. Once they left the station and were out in the field, Pierce drank in what he saw. The airfield had a dozen or so landing pads for the Zeppelins. Smaller aircraft for short tour rides around the city were also stationed there. They were the same airships that constantly cruised the sky. The larger Zeppelins were for cross-country journeys. The airships looked so much more massive up close—giant, cigar-shaped beasts, silver with four large fins at their ends. A few short-trip Zeppelins were coming in for a landing, and some had already landed with a trail of people exiting them. A few other airships were departing to begin their long overnight trip. They rose straight up into the air almost like hot air balloons.
Pierce and Lucy went to Airship 7. There they showed their tickets and were let on. The Gondola had three levels. Dining and entertainment were on the lower level, the lobby was located above it, and the private rooms were on the upper level. Pierce had seen the floor plans on the brochure. The place was decked out for the holidays and the decorations included a tall Christmas tree standing by a grand piano. It was decorated with all sorts of shiny ornaments. Garland was curled around the banisters and the railing of the staircase, and pots of red poinsettia flowers were set everywhere, even on the front desk. The lobby itself was pretty swank, with a glimmering tiled floor, crystal chandeliers, and posh furniture.
Lucy gasped with delight and wrapped her arms around his. “It’s almost like being on board the Titanic.”
He looked at her queerly and asked before he could stop himself, “Pardon?”
“The Titanic,” she repeated. “You remember. It sank fifteen years ago.”
He hadn’t the foggiest notion what the Titanic was other than it must have been a boat or ship if it had sunk. Pierce, though, refused to let his slip up make him look foolish.
“Has it been that long already?” he mused. “My, where has the time gone, eh?”
They reached the reception desk, checked in, collected their keys, and went upstairs to their rooms. The second floor resembled a hotel with a narrow corridor running between thirty rooms, all cramped cabins. The walls were wallpapered in old-fashioned Victorian style paper, and the carpet was green with a black, orange, and white flower pattern. Tiffany glass lamps lit the way.
Lucy’s room was only a few doors down from Pierce’s. He�
�d wanted to share the same room, but not without asking, and that would’ve ruined the bloody surprise. After unpacking his things in a room that was half the size as his flat, he brought the suitcase with Lucy’s new clothes to her room.
“There’s going to be a comedy act tonight if you want to have a laugh during dinner,” he informed her at the doorway.
“Sounds lovely. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
When he returned to his room, the floor and walls were rumbling. The engine was gearing up. He rushed to the window and flung it open. The sky was darkening as evening settled in. A slight pressure weighed upon him as the airship rose. Pierce stuck his head out, watching the land below grow smaller. A slash of red in the distance where the setting sun was reflecting off the clouds and across the ocean shone brightly. The lights of New York City became stars to gaze at from above. He was utterly thrilled to have experienced this. After all, if he returned to his own time, when would he ever have the chance to ride in another airship?
It wasn’t until his face turned completely numb from the frigid cold that he finally closed the window. He dressed in his best suit—a black jacket with a shiny paisley design, a dark plaid vest, and britches of deep violet. He even slicked his hair back with Brilliantine. The feel of the oily mess on his scalp caused him to shudder uncomfortably. After he was ready, Pierce went downstairs and stood by the Christmas tree where a pianist was playing slow, peaceful songs on the grand piano. Pierce gazed out of the bay windows. There wasn’t much to show now that they had flown out of the city limits, but it still amazed him to be soaring across the sky. He held a rose made of copper by its stem and a small box wrapped in red glossy paper.
“Isaac?”
Pierce turned as she came down the stairs. Christ, she was a vision to behold. The gown that he’d bought fit her slender frame perfectly. It was a stunning silver Gatsby-inspired dress with white beaded sequins. He was actually proud of himself for getting the size correct. Seeing her all dolled up in such a classy manner made him lightheaded with delight.
Boom Time Page 22
