Alternating Current: A Tesla Novel

BOOK: Alternating Current: A Tesla Novel
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Alternating
Current

John
Agostino

Alternating Current

Copyright © 2013 by John Agostino

Alternating Current

Copyright © 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 by John
Agostino

All rights reserved. No part of this book
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and
retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support
of author’s rights is appreciated.

All characters in this work are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely
coincidental.

 

For my
wife, Bonnie.

CHAPTER
1

Turbo had counted
the 1652 sidewalk cracks between Public School 202 and his electronics repair shop
in Brooklyn many times, but he never stepped on any of them. Not as a boy
walking back and forth from school and his father’s shop, and not forty years later
as he walked from his new flat to work in that same shop. He didn’t believe all
the stuff about breaking his mother’s back, not even as a kid. Still, he wasn’t
taking any chances, even though his mother had been dead for years. Once in
stride, he wouldn’t even glance down at the sidewalk anymore. Instead, he marveled
at all the traffic on New Lots Avenue. As he turned on Atkins Avenue, he prayed
some of the vehicles would follow him, but they never did. He was just three
short blocks from his shop, three depressing blocks.

The shops on both
sides of the street dwindled the farther he walked. The candy store he frequented
on his way home from school had since been a 5-and-Dime, a Discount Clothing
Store, a Package Store closed down for not having the proper license, and most
recently a Dollar Store, until a few months ago. The plywood over the storefront
windows had already faded, weathered and worn like the boards covering the other
shops closed for a year or more. The farther he walked the more faded the plywood.

The street out
front of his shop hadn’t seen that much traffic in years. The delivery truck
arrived about the same time as the King’s County pool vehicle. Both came from
the opposite direction, off Linden Boulevard. Parking was not a problem. Turbo
knew what the truck driver was unloading. He’d ordered it from an office supply
catalogue three weeks ago and couldn’t wait to tear into the box. He also knew
what the county man had in his briefcase, too. Although, for weeks he refused
to believe it would come.

The county man
held the door while the delivery driver wheeled in Turbo’s latest scheme to
increase business. Turbo called Cosmo out from the back room. “Hey, help me out
here, will ya?”

“Whatta you wantta
now?” Cosmo Angelini was Turbo’s only employee and only friend. An Italian
immigrant who first stepped onto American soil thirty years ago, he wandered
into Turbo’s shop one day looking for a restroom and never left. He couldn’t speak
English at the time and many would argue he still doesn’t even today.

Turbo understood
him most of the time. “Sign for the package while I help this gentleman.” Turbo
called him a gentleman, but thought him far from one. A gentleman wouldn’t do
what this man was about to do. At least Turbo didn’t think so.

Cosmo scribbled on
the driver’s electronic clipboard then struggled with the oblong box, its tape
unyielding.

“Are you William
T-R-B-O-J-E-V-I-C?”

“Terr-bo-jeh-vick---it’s
pronounced Terr-bo-jeh-vick, but you can call me Turbo.” He wasn’t being
polite. The nickname was easier than phonetically explaining his surname.

“I’m with the
King’s County Clerk’s Office. Turbo, you have been served. Sign here, please.”

Turbo yanked the
pen from the man, and just for a second, thought about stabbing him with it. That
would certainly wipe the smirk off the man’s face. He signed the paper without reading
it.

Turbo didn’t raise
his head until the tiny bell on the front door signaled the man had gone. When
he looked up, he had to laugh. Cosmo was waist high in cardboard and Styrofoam,
standing proud over the slain package, box cutter still in hand. “What are you
waiting for?” Turbo asked. “General Hospital starts soon.”

The box contained
a neon “OPEN” sign which they hung in the window. Turbo doubted it would actually
attract business to the shop, probably only moths and mosquitoes. Still, at
least he was trying, even if his wife didn’t think so.

The building, once
a tailor’s shop, had a large storefront window with an antique RCA console
television on display. The mahogany encased TV was a handsome piece of
furniture. Although, you could never tell window-shopping in front of the
store. The TV’s screen faced the inside of the shop. Turbo and Cosmo watched
soap operas daily.

The two had setup
a small living room, mainly a sofa and recliner, in front of the display
window. Ultra modern fifteen years ago, especially for a repair shop. They
figured that if they had to spend all day at the shop, they might as well be
comfortable. Turbo knew his father would not have approved.

The Friday
afternoon episode of General Hospital had just returned from commercials. Turbo
sat in the recliner while Cosmo sprawled across the sofa. The furniture was
shabby and outdated and the shop oozed clutter. Shelves lined the walls, piled
high with old radios, televisions, and other electronic devices, most broken
and forgotten. The chalky walls begged color and decoration. And the smell of
sardines and provolone cheese wafted from Turbo’s half-eaten lunch in the
backroom.

On the back wall
behind the counter hung an old portrait. A distinguished man from another era
with regal eyes and a devilish smile, possibly a dignitary, but more likely a
politician. Turbo and Cosmo didn’t talk about the man in the portrait; they
haven’t for years. And God help the unsuspecting patron who asked about him.

The soap opera had
them drooling with anticipation. They knew they’d be left hanging on until Monday,
but they didn’t care. The suspense actually added to the weekend and gave them
one more thing to argue about. As business declined over the years, Turbo and
Cosmo became huge fans of General Hospital dating back to when Luke and Laura
dominated the storyline. Fully immersed in that afternoon’s show, they didn’t
hear the tiny bell on the door ring. Someone had entered the shop.

The man made a
throat clearing noise, “Hey, I need some help here.”

“Your turn.” Turbo
motioned Cosmo toward the counter.

“What? No way. I
had the lady with the moustache the other day.” Cosmo remembered physical
attributes easier than names.

“Yeah, and I
helped Frankie’s little brother, what’s his name?”

“The skinny kid?
He bought a nine-volt-battery, that doesn’t count.”

“You’re crazy, why
doesn’t that count?”

The customer made
another throat clearing noise.

Cosmo cursed in
Italian and gave the young man a deathly glare.

Turbo relented.
“Okay, I’ll go, but you get the next two.” Turbo leaned forward out of the
recliner, which folded up like a Transformer retreating to its decoy. He
stomped down a row of dilapidated televisions to get behind the counter. “Sorry
about that. What do you need?”

“Can you fix this
shortwave? It just went dead.”

“You came to the
right place, kid. They haven’t built the radio I can’t fix.” The kid, as Turbo
called him, appeared to be in his mid-twenties, although his blonde hair and
rosy-red cheeks may have been deceiving.

The young man
smiled. “Great. Can you do it now?”

“Sure I---gimme a
few minutes, as soon as G. H. is over. Sonny’s going down today.”

“No way they gonna
catch Sonny.” Cosmo yelled from the sofa.

“Okay, I’ll wait.”

Turbo returned to
the recliner, although he paused a long second in front of Cosmo.

“Sit down or I’ll
knock you down.”

“You and what
army?”

Cosmo was still
sprawled across the couch. They waited for the final round of commercials to
finish before the Friday afternoon cliffhanger scene.

“Cosmo, where are
your manners? Let the kid sit down.” The customer stood at the counter. “Hey kid,
come over here. Don’t be afraid, Cosmo won’t bite.”

The young man sat,
but didn’t relax. He clutched the shortwave radio to his chest. “Are you sure
you can repair it? It’s important.”

“Shhhh. It’s back
on.”

“He’ll fix it,”
Cosmo whispered.

The young man
leaned back against the sofa.

Ten minutes later,
Turbo picked up a small device with exposed wires and circuitry all held
together by black electrical tape. With a press of a button, the TV went off.

“Wait!” Cosmo
cried. “Damn it, you did that on purpose, you know I like to see who’s on
Oprah.”

“We have a
customer.”

Cosmo glared at
Turbo, again cursing in Italian.

“Okay kid. Let me
take a look at that thing.”

The young man
handed him the radio. “Did you make that remote control?”

“I sure did,”
Turbo went behind the counter.

“Awesome.”

“Thanks. What’s
your name, kid?”

“Alex Gaye.”

“Wow, I bet you
got teased a lot in school.”

“Pretty much, are
you Turbo?”

“Yeah, how’d you
guess?”

“The sign outside.
Did your parents give you that name?”

“No, nickname,
short for Trbojevic.” He removed the last screw from the back panel and pulled
off the cover. “Everything’s in place. Let me test the circuits.” He fumbled
with the wires, circuit boards and vacuum tubes on the counter, unable to
locate his tester.

“Cosmo, have you
seen my circuit tester?”

Cosmo had snuck
back over to the sofa and turned on Oprah. “Check your coat.”

“I would, if I
could find that, too.”

“Check on the
stool behind you, right where you left it.”

Turbo tested the
circuits. “How long have you had this radio?”

“My whole life.
My father used it to talk to his cousins in Canada when he was young.” Alex
stared at the portrait behind the counter. “Why do you have a portrait of
Nikola Tesla?”

Turbo dropped the circuit
tester into the radio, “you know him?”

“Tesla, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Nikola
Tesla, he’s my uncle.”

Cosmo rushed over
to the counter.

“Hey Cosmo, Alex
knows my Uncle Nikola,” Turbo smirked at his friend.

“How many times do
I have to tell you? He’s not your uncle, he’s your granduncle,” Cosmo smirked
right back at Turbo.

“Uncle---granduncle.
What’s the big deal? “Alex, what do you know about him?”

“He invented
alternating current, changed the world. I read about it somewhere.”

Turbo
congratulated the lad then spoke of Tesla’s other inventions. “My uncle holds
more than 300 patents. Invented the Tesla Coil and much of the technology we
use today. Everything from remote controls to x-rays. And the light bulb, too."

“I thought Thomas
Edison invented the light bulb.”

“He did,” Cosmo
was quick to affirm.

“Yes, but my uncle
invented fluorescent lights, softer and easier on the eye. I bet Edison’s
rolling over in his grave right about now. The government is planning to ban
incandescent light bulbs. Oh, and my uncle invented the radio, too.”

That did it. Cosmo
knocked over a box of tubes, a few shattered making an awful racket and a huge
mess.

“Didn’t Marconi
invent the radio?”

“See, even the kid
knows who really invented the radio.” Cosmo stood proud of his compatriot.

“Alex, don’t pay
any attention to him. In 1943 The Supreme Court of the United States declared
Nikola Tesla was the true inventor of the radio.” Turbo got back to the shortwave.
“Why’s this shortwave so important?”

“I just need it.”

“Are you talking
to a girl? Does she live in another state?”

“No, not a girl,
can you get it to work or not?”

“I told you, they
haven’t built a radio I can’t fix.” He reached into a bin and pulled out a
part. “Bad transistor,” Turbo plugged in a soldering iron. “Just take a minute
to heat up. So who are you’re talking to on this thing? You’re not doing
anything illegal, are you?”

“No, Sir.”

Turbo soldered the
transistor. “Good as new.”

“How much do I owe
you?”

“Don’t worry about
it, kid. My treat.”

“Thanks, Sir.”

“You’re welcome. Hey,
since you don’t want to tell me who you’re talking to, at least let me know how
far you’ve reached.”

“No, I’d better
not.”

“C’mon,” Turbo had
pleading look on his face, “we’re old friends here. We’ve watched soap operas
together.”

“Well, I’m not
sure, but I think I reached Mars.”

BOOK: Alternating Current: A Tesla Novel
13.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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