Gunsmith 360 : The Mad Scientist of the West (9781101545997) (2 page)

The man set the tray down on the table that separated Clint from Cleveland. He poured two cups, then looked at the President.

“That's fine,” Cleveland said. “We'll take care of the sugar and cream ourselves.”

“Yes, sir.”

Henry withdrew from the room.

“Help yourself,” Cleveland said.

“Just black is fine with me,” Clint said, picking up the cup.

Cleveland poured in cream from a small pitcher and then added several sugar cubes. He stirred, then picked up his cup and sat back.

“Nikola Tesla,” he said. “Do you know the name?”

“I've heard of him, yes,” Clint said. “Some people call him a mad scientist.”

“That may very well be true,” Cleveland said, “but he's brilliant, nevertheless. His work with electricity may very well be priceless to our country.”

“And what about Thomas Edison?”

“Also brilliant, but impossible to deal with. He and Tesla have an adversarial relationship at best.”

“I see.”

Clint sipped his coffee and waited for the President to get to the point.

Cleveland drank some coffee and then set the cup down.

“Mr. Adams—Clint—we believe that Tesla's life is in danger. I would like you to make sure that he does not get killed.”

“You want me to be his bodyguard?”

“Exactly.”

“You think Edison is trying to have him killed?”

“Not at all,” Cleveland said. “Edison may be a pain in the butt, but he's no killer. No, we don't know who's behind it. We've got somebody working on that part of it. I believe you know him? Jim West?”

“Yes, a good friend of mine. Did he recommend me for this?”

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Cleveland said, “but I had already started to think about you. It was just a case of great minds thinking alike.”

Clint had heard his friend West described many ways, but never as a great mind. That kind of thing was usually reserved for people like Edison and Tesla.

“Of course, you'll be paid for your time,” Cleveland said.

“That's not a concern, sir,” Clint said. “If you want me to do this, I'll do it.”

“That was what West said you'd say, but we'll pay you. If you like, we'll just deposit the money into your account until the job is over.”

“That'll be fine. Where is Tesla now?”

“Colorado,” Cleveland said. “He plans to do some experimenting in the mountains, but you can join him in Denver.”

“When, sir?”

“As soon as possible.”

“I can probably get on a train this afternoon, or at least tomorrow morning.”

“You already have a ticket for this afternoon's train.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“You'll have to ask your friend West about that,” Cleveland said. “He's the one who told me to go ahead and buy the ticket.”

Both men stood.

“You can keep in contact with me by telegraph,” the President said. “Mr. Cromartie will give you all the details.”

“Yes, sir.”

The President extended his hand, and Clint shook it firmly.

“I appreciate the help, Clint,” the man said.

“It's my pleasure, sir,” Clint said. “I'm always ready to help my country.”

“Mr. Cromartie should be right outside the door,” Cleveland, moving back to his desk. “I have some paperwork to get back to. He has your ticket, the rest of the facts, and he'll see you out.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint said. “I'll be in touch.”

“One other thing, Clint,” the President said.

“What's that?”

“When Tesla gets something in his head, he gets sort of . . . well, focused. Fixed. He loses any sense of . . . propriety.”

“And?”

“I need you to keep him out of trouble,” Cleveland said. “Don't let him do anything that might get him . . .”

“Arrested? Killed?”

“And more,” Cleveland said. “Just keep him out of trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

By the time Clint went out the door, Grover Cleveland's attention was on something else.

Clint left the White House, escorted every step of the way at first by Cromartie, and then by two soldiers. Once outside he found a telegraph office and sent a telegram to his friend Rick Hartman, in Labyrinth, Texas. He had traveled by stage and rail, and in doing so had left Eclipse behind in Rick's care. He just wanted to let his friend know where he'd be. He promised in his telegram to drop another line when he knew where he would be in Colorado.

From there he returned to his hotel, packed, and barely made his train.

 

Clint made good time, arriving in Denver three-and-a-half days later, despite the trains stopping for water, and time lost changing trains. As soon as he arrived, he headed right to the Denver House Hotel, where he always stayed when he was in town.

Their turnover of clerks must have been amazing. He never seemed to see the same desk clerk when he arrived, and yet they always said, “Glad to have you back,” when he checked in.

“Can I have someone take your bag?” the man asked.

“No, thanks,” Clint said. “I've got it.” He had only one carpetbag with him. He picked it up and carried it to his room.

He had already telegraphed from Washington to see if his friend Talbot Roper was in town. Roper was a private investigator, the best in the country, and a longtime friend. He received a message back from Roper's current secretary saying he was out of town.

So there was nothing to do but meet with Tesla.

According to Cromartie, Tesla was in a Market Street hotel called the Bijou. When Clint got down from the cab, he saw that the hotel and the neighborhood were both rundown, even seedy. There were some beggars out front as he entered, and he had to wake the desk clerk to ask for Tesla's room.

“He may have a girl with him, though,” the clerk said. “Maybe you should wait.”

“That's okay,” Clint said. “He's expecting me.”

“Suit yerself.”

Clint went up the stairs to Room 5 and knocked.

A slender man with a carefully manicured mustache opened the door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Tesla? I'm Clint Adams.”

The man stared at him for a few moments, then said, “Oh, my bodyguard, right?”

“Right.”

“Come in, come in,” Tesla said.

Clint entered. The first thing he saw was a girl sitting in a chair. She was naked to the waist, and there were some wires hooked to the nipples of her small breasts. He followed the wires to a box with some dials on it, and on top some metal rods with wires wrapped around them.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Oh, this?” Tesla asked. “This is Angela. She's agreed to help me with some experiments.”

The girl stared up at Clint with a glassy smile. He saw an empty whiskey bottle on a table next to her.

“Just watch what happens when I flip this switch,” Tesla said.

“You got her drunk so she'd do this?” Clint asked.

“Well,” Tesla said, “I just needed her to loosen up a little.”

As Tesla approached the box to flip the switch, the girl giggled.

“Okay, hold it,” Clint said. He put himself between Tesla and the box. “Forget that.”

“What?”

“Part of my job, Mr. Tesla, is to keep you out of trouble.”

“I'm not getting into trouble.”

“If you hurt this girl, you will be.”

Clint removed the wires from the top of the box, then went to the girl. She had abnormally large, distended nipples, and Tesla had wrapped the thin wires around them.

“Jesus,” Clint said. “Doesn't that hurt?”

She looked up at him and said, “It kind of tickles.”

Clint knelt in front of her and unwound the wires from her nipples.

“We goin' to bed now?” she asked. “All of us?”

Her shirt was hung over the back of her chair, so Clint grabbed it and draped it over her.

“Sorry,” he told her, “nobody's going to bed tonight.”

He got her to her feet and pushed her toward the door.

She wasn't too drunk to ask, “Am I still gettin' paid?”

“Sure you are,” Tesla said. He looked at Clint. “Pay her.”

“That's not part of my job,” Clint told him.

Tesla grinned.

“It was worth a try.”

He paid the girl, and she left.

“I was just doing an experiment,” Tesla said.

“On a live person?” Clint asked. “Is that wise?”

“Did you see her nipples?”

They were sitting at a table in a steakhouse that Tesla had recommended. Given the hotel Tesla had chosen to stay in, Clint wasn't sure about his choice of restaurant, but it turned out to be excellent.

“I don't think the President would be happy to hear you were using live prostitutes for your experiments.”

“Well,” Tesla said, cutting himself a hunk of steak, “we don't have to tell him, do we?”

“I work for the man,” Clint said.

Tesla put the steak in his mouth and then pointed across the table with his fork.

“You're the Gunsmith, right?”

“Right.”

“I heard you were your own man.”

“That's true,” Clint said. “I'm also a man who's loyal to his country, and his President.”

“Well,” Tesla said, going back to his steak, “I can see you're going to be a lot of fun to have around.”

“Is that what this is supposed to be all about?” Clint asked. “Fun?”

“No, it's about electricity,” Tesla said. “What do you know about it?”

“Just that Ben Franklin flew a kite.”

“Wow,” Tesla said, “I am tired of hearing about that. Do you know anything about alternating current?”

“Not a thing,” Clint said. “Do you know anything about somebody wanting to kill you?”

“Not a thing,” Tesla said. “I've seen no evidence of that rumor.”

“The President feels it's more than a rumor.”

“The only person I can think of who would benefit from my death is Thomas Edison,” Tesla said, “and I cannot see Thomas going to that extent. We may not be friends, but I won't believe that of him.”

“Then maybe it's someone else.”

“Like who?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Clint said. “How many other women have you tried to experiment on? Maybe somebody's boyfriend or husband is after you?”

“I doubt it,” Tesla said. “This was a first. I've never attached wires to the nipples of a woman before. That's what made it so appealing.”

“Appealing?” Clint asked. “I didn't see anything appealing about it.”

“You're right,” Tesla said. “She didn't have very good breasts. But she did have marvelous nipples.”

“Eat your steak,” Clint said, “and tell me why you're staying in that hotel.”

“I like it.”

“I'm sure the government would provide you with better lodgings,” Clint said.

“I like to make my own arrangements.”

“Money, then.”

“I have my own.”

“I see,” Clint said.

“Do you?” Tesla asked. “You see, much like yourself, I like to be my own man.”

“I can understand that,” Clint said, “but the government—”

“Has no claim on my work,” Tesla said. “They're interested in my work, but they have no claim on it.”

“Then who does?”

“Me,” Tesla said. “Just me.”

Tesla told Clint he was leaving Denver the next day.

“Where are we going?”

“We?”

“It's my job to stick with you,” Clint said. “Where you go, I go.”

“Well, we're going up higher—above Gunnison.”

“Littleton?”

“You know the area?”

“Yes.”

“Well, not as far as Littleton,” Tesla said. “There's a house between the two towns. That's where we're going. Out in the middle of nowhere.”

“You bought the house?”

Tesla shook his head.

“I am renting it.”

“You got supplies?”

“I am having them delivered,” Tesla said. “Everything should either be there when we arrive, or get there soon after.”

“Supplies, food stores, water . . .”

“Everything I need,” Tesla said.

Clint wasn't sure that meant everything that he needed, as well.

They left the restaurant and got into a cab. Clint told the driver to take them to the Denver House.

“Excuse me?” Tesla said. “Everything I own is at the Bijou.”

“And my stuff is at the Denver House. We'll pick it up and then I'll go back to the Bijou with you.”

“Is that necessary?”

“Like I said over dinner,” Clint reminded him, “I go where you go.”

“You're not going to share my room.”

“Don't worry, I'll get my own.”

“What if there are no more rooms?”

“Don't worry,” Clint said. “I'll get one.”

 

At the Denver House, Clint made sure Tesla went in with him. First, he didn't want the man running away. Second, maybe seeing the place would convince the man to stay there.

It didn't.