The Apocalypse Four: 93 Million Miles To Gotham Page 3

  He found the editorial quick. It was written by the publisher, Mr. William Randolph Hearst. Somewhere, Crowley once heard that he was given a newspaper to run by his wealthy father. He read the editorial and found it crisp and to the point.

  Crowley was about to discard the paper into the trash can when he noted an astrological column. From the location of it, this had to be a very popular feature. He chuckled over the simplified wisdom of the stars and shook his head over the naivety of whoever wrote it. However, it did give him an idea.

  A few minutes later, Crowley was headed uptown on a subway. He finally knew a way to make money in this new world. He had experience in all manner of divination. Was he not the prophet predicted for this age of the conquering child? If an astrology column was successful, imagine what he could do with his abilities.

  All Crowley needed to do was pitch his idea to Mr. William Randolph Hearst. Surely, the great man would see how useful he could be to him.

  Chapter 3

  “I’m sorry,” the servant said at the door, “Mr. Hearst isn’t seeing anyone today. Did you have an appointment?” The servant was a younger man and Crowley couldn’t tell what kind of domestic he was. Back in the home country, every man in service had a station of some kind and it was easy to tell who he was.

  “Please give this to him,” Crowley told the servant. “I’m sure he’ll see me if you show it to him.” He extended the card. At least he still had one of the good ones left. They were expensive to print and he’d carried them around for a long time.

  “I’ll show it to him. I can’t say if he’ll see you are not. He usually doesn’t when he’s at home, but you never know. Please wait here.” The man indicated a bench next to the door.

  The door closed and latched from the inside. It was obvious to Crowley they didn’t want him wandering around in the house. It wasn’t much of a surprise; his mother had treated the help much the same way. She would tell him not to get to close to them, as they were “common”. This from the woman who was constantly concerned about whether or not someone was going to hell.

  Crowley sat down and admired the small garden behind the mansion. This was the servant’s ingress, although it wasn’t marked. He was familiar enough with the way these places were organized to recognize the back entrance.

  As he sat there, two women, who chattered in Italian, came up to the door from the walk and stopped as they saw him. One muttered something in Southern Italian about “the evil eye” and tried to avoid him. Crowley smiled at both, but they avoided his gaze. As the two walked into the house, one of them crossed herself as she passed him. Since it was locked from the other side, she had to use a key.

  The air was a bit warmer outside. The sun had emerged from the clouds and brought some of the spring warmth to the landscape. It was still too cold for him. Were it not for his pigheaded relatives in Florida, he’d have stayed down there much longer. However, there was only so much a man could endure.

  The door unlatched and the first servant walked out again. “Mr. Hearst will see you now,” he told Crowley. “Please be sure to remove your hat and wipe your feet when you come inside.” He held the door wide open.

  Crowley stood and followed the servant inside the mansion. He gritted his teeth and did as told once he was through the threshold.

  “I’ll keep it,” Crowley told the man when he held out his hand to receive his hat. Just as well, the man acted as if he was some unclean beggar.

  He was lead through the mansion and up a flight of stairs to a small door that occupied the end of a hallway. The servant raised one hand when Crowley started to ask a question. The servant then knocked on the door. A voice from the other side told him to enter. The young man opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

  This is reprehensible, Crowley thought to himself. I should not be treated in such a manner. However, there was little he could do about it.

  The door slid open and the servant emerged. “Mr. Hearst is ready to speak with you,” he announced. He held the door open wide and stepped to one side. Crowley entered the room.

  He stepped into the office of William Randolph Hearst and looked around. The door shut behind him, but did not latch this time. Crowley was confronted with a vast display of Wild West memorabilia. This included a pair of crossed shotguns on the wall, a lasso over the fireplace, and a mounted buffalo head. Several paintings of cowboys and American Indians decorated the walls.

  The whole milieu led to the desk of the man he wanted to see. It was a massive affair stacked with papers and bulletins. The occupant of the desk stood next to it and held Crowley’s card in one hand.

  William Randolph Hearst was a big man and impeccably dressed. He wore a bow tied over his starched collar and looked at the card. Crowley and he weren’t that much different in age. Both started from similar circumstances. Both had to put up with domineering mothers who placed restrictions on the money that each felt was rightfully theirs by inheritance. The big difference was how they’d ended up. Hearst controlled a vast syndicate of newspapers and magazines. He lived in one of the most opulent mansions in Manhattan. Crowley lived with an artist friend in a cold-water flat and didn’t have enough money to last him the week. Perhaps this all was about to change.

  “Mr. Aleister Crowley,” the tall publisher spoke to the British mystic. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you a long time. It’s a shame that our paths never crossed before now.”

  “I’m glad to correct that,” Crowley said and extended his hand. Hearst clasped and shook it. Crowley could feel the strength in his grip.

  “So what was it you wanted to see me about?” Hearst asked. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Is it true you’re an expert on the black mass? Did you come to Manhattan to set up a devil worshiping cult?”

  Crowley tried to let the slight bounce off him. This is what came from allowing the press to write whatever about you it liked.

  “I’d have to be a Catholic priest to do the black mass,” Crowley replied. “And defrocked as well. I am sorry, dear sir, but I’ve never had the good fortune to be a priest, so the black mass was never an option.” He tried to smile.

  “So what was it that you wanted to talk about?” Hearst sat the card down on his desk.

  “I see that your main paper employs an astrologer,” Crowley told him. “I can tell you, as one who’s consulted the stars for years that her charts are poorly constructed. I am in a position to write a much better column on the subject.”

  “So you want me to fire my current astrologer and replace her with you?” Hearst asked, a grin on his face.

  “I’m sure the results from what I furnish will be much more to your liking,” Crowley explained. “I have spent plenty of time in the divinatory arts and could supplement the column with all matter of predictions of the future.” He paused, unsure if Hearst took him seriously or not.

  “In other words, you want to furnish me with the news before it happens.”

  Crowley was silent. He sensed this interview wasn’t going the way he’d planned.

  “Mr. Crowley,” Hearst began. “I appreciate your concern as to the accuracy of our present astrologer, but we don’t employ her because her predictions are accurate or not. If you’ve read her column, you will note that she furnishes the most general and positive information about each symbol of the zodiac. The reason she’s a good fit for our paper is that she can write in an entertaining style. That is the only reason we employ her services for our paper.”

  Crowley remained quiet. This trip was a waste, as he’d feared, but at least he’d made an attempt.

  “So unless you have something else for me,” Hearst concluded, “I will bid you good day. Do you have anything else? Surely a man of your renown must have another pitch for my paper.” Hearst smiled again. He enjoyed himself.

  “Well,” Crowley replied. “I did meet an important person today who’s been out of the news for a long time. I suppose I could arrange an interview with him, if you would like
.” Crowley suspected Hearst knew about the Equinox. It was a prestige occult publication Crowley edited for many years until he ran out of funds.

  “And who might that be?” Hearst asked him.

  “Nikola Tesla,” Crowley responded. “The great electrical scientist.”

  “Tesla?” Hearst was intrigued; Crowley could see it in the expression on his face. “I haven’t heard of that man in years. After his transmitter on Wycliffe was shut down, didn’t he go into seclusion?”

  “I met him at a public park today. He was feeding the pigeons. I’m sure I could find him again. Would you publish an interview with him?”

  “Of course. I’d pay a good penny to find out what the man’s been up to all these years. Did he talk about anything?”

  “He seemed to think the world was about to end,” Crowley responded, “And only he could stop it from happening.”

  “Really?” Hearst guffawed. “Oh, this will knock one out of the park. Yes, do get an interview with him. If it’s good, I’ll be able to use more from you.” Hearst reached into his desk drawer and pulled out something.

  “Here,” he handed a card to Crowley. “This is my secretary’s phone number. She can take care of anything you have and pass it on to me. How long do you think it will take you to get the interview?”

  “I should have it no less than a week.”

  “Good, we can’t have it wait too long. The world might end before you get it finished.” Hearst chuckled at his own comment.

  The same servant showed Crowley out. He was soon on his way back downtown on another train. At least the servant gave him a bit of respect the second time. Crowley noted that the moment the interview ended, the door popped open.

  Crowley was pleased with the way things had gone with Hearst. It might not have been the exact meeting he wanted, but he got something out of it.

  The only problem was, he needed to locate Tesla. The inventor had walked off without giving Crowley any means to contact him. However, he had to be located near the park where they’d met.

  Since he couldn’t afford a fare for the entire length of the transit, Crowley was forced to exit close to the spot where he’d listened to Marcus Garvey. He walked up the stairs to the street level and tried to figure out how long it would take him to reach the park where he’d met Tesla.

  “Back again so soon, Mr. Crowley?” A Jamaican accent spoke next to him. Crowley turned to face Garvey. Crowley was surprised at running into him again.

  “I like to walk whenever possible,” he told the man from Jamaica. “It’s good for your health.”

  “Even in this cold weather? Where I’m from, walking was the only way people get around, unless you can find a horse.”

  “No cars in Jamaica?”

  “Plenty, but you have to have a lot of money to afford one.”

  “I could use one right now,” Crowley explained. “I need to locate a man named Tesla and I have no real way to find him.”

  “Tesla?” Garvey exclaimed. “You move in some strange circles, Mr. Crowley. He lives in the Waldorf Astoria Hotel.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Many of our people are employed there. Every now and then, someone spreads information about. They like Mr. Tesla, but he doesn’t leave his room often enough.” Garvey turned and looked into the general direction of the famous hotel.

  Now Crowley was very interested. “Is there a way you could get me to him?”

  “I might be able to manage that. It can be arranged. Why do you wish to speak to this man?”

  Crowley quickly went over the reasons he needed to see Tesla. Garvey’s eyebrows rose when he heard the name “Hearst” mentioned.

  “I can do it for a small fee,” Garvey said and quoted Crowley a price.

  Crowley grimaced. This was most of the money he had left, but, should Hearst run the interview, his financial problems would be alleviated. In addition, there might be more newspaper work for him if this interview proved to be popular. At the moment, his options were limited. Crowley decided to go ahead and accept the man’s offer.

  “Do you think we’ll have much trouble getting into the place?” Crowley asked Garvey later as they headed down the street to the fancy hotel. He was a bit surprised to find out that Tesla lived at such a swank establishment, but the man still had a bit of fame.

  “Not really, if you know how to go about it, Mr. Crowley,” Garvey responded. They were riding in a small cart used to haul junk around the city. The man who held the reigns was an older black man from Georgia who’d offered to help Garvey when he learned he needed a ride down to the hotel. Crowley listened to the hooves of the horse team clip-clop on the streets. Cars and trucks streamed past them. It wouldn’t be much longer before the city banned these animals except for special occasions. He could see it coming. New York City prided itself as the pinnacle of progress. If horse carts needed to go, then so be it.

  One thing that bothered him was the way people still called him “Mr. Crowley”. It seemed so formal, and yet these Americans were very casual in their daily life. He’d tried to pass himself off as a renegade member of the aristocracy with his self-titled “Sir Crowley”, but it didn’t last very long. Along with his stunts in support of Irish independence, it was something he’d like to forget. Garvey had a particular way of speaking, such that “Mr. Crowley” came out as “Mistah Crahlei”.

  “You might as well call me, Aleister,” he told Garvey. “No need to employ such formalities now that we’re outside the empire.”

  “And you can call me Marcus,” Garvey replied. “In truth, I was never that formal of a man. It always seemed to me the polish was in what a man could accomplish, and not from his birth.”

  They spent some time in conversation as the cart headed in the hotel’s direction. Crowley was curious as to Garvey’s plans and what he intended to do in the world. He tried to interest Garvey in his own concepts, but the man from Jamaica changed the dialogue every time he brought up True Will or the current eon. Garvey snorted when Crowley tried to bring up his own prophetic abilities. After a while, Crowley let Garvey talk and listened to him.

  They soon pulled up to the entrance of the Waldorf Astoria and the old man let them out. Garvey attempted to pay him, but the driver waved the money away, as he took off in his cart.

  “You see that man,” Garvey spoke to Crowley. “Every day he comes and goes without a complaint. He works harder than twenty men I know. What does he get in return? A small room in the back of a tenement house near Harlem and a place in his church choir.” He shook his head.

  “Perhaps for him,” Crowley spoke, “it’s all that he needs. Not everyone was destined for greatness. If he’s happy with his station in life, he must have found his True Will.”

  “Ah, back with that again, Aleister,” Garvey spoke. They walked in the direction of the hotel lobby. “And what if it’s my True Will to go inside the lobby as a black man? Shall we find out if that’s in conflict with the white staff and their Will to keep the colored out of the lobby?”

  “If the destiny of the hotel is to promote universal harmony,” Crowley spoke, “then it would be the True Will of it to allow you inside.”

  “So now you tell me that hotels can have their own True Will?” Garvey chuckled. “I thought a few minutes ago in the cart you talked about how the destiny of the human race was to accept you as a prophet. Now how can the hotel’s True Will conflict with mine if I too feel there is an ultimate destiny to improve my people by strolling into the lobby? Would this too be ‘the whole of the law’, as you so eloquently put it a few streets back?”

  Crowley was about to offer a comment when they spotted the gaunt form of Nikola Tesla stroll out of the lobby in front of them. He headed down the street in the opposite direction. Tesla walked fast and made good time. If they were to catch up with the inventor, both of them needed to increase their pace.

  “I see the Universal Will has solved the problem for us,” Crowley spoke as they rushed to keep
up with Tesla. Crowley coughed and wheezed as he walked. “I really don’t like this cold, damp air. It was one of the many reasons I left England.”

  “I prefer a dry climate myself,” Garvey spoke to him. “Watch out, he’s turning the corner, we don’t want to lose Tesla.”

  “He’s not that hard to find, given his size.” Crowley waited for the traffic to stop and crossed the street with the man from Jamaica.

  He felt assured they would soon be able to keep up with Tesla. Crowley still had his pad and pencils with him and would be able to interview the great scientist in a few minutes. If he were lucky, it would be possible to take the story up to Hearst’s newspaper office and turn it in that day. Maybe even be paid and get an advance for another article.

  Unfortunately, they walked right into a rally for the Industrial Workers of the World.

  Crowley had encountered these IWW “Wobblies” before and found them to be full of anger and force. He was certain the Age of Horus was upon him when he went to one of their rallies on the west coast. It was full of ruffians and angry men, ready to strike out and demand more. No soft words of pleading with these men, they were ready to take back what they felt was rightfully theirs.

  In front of them was a mob of fifty Wobblies who carried signs and chanted. Neither Crowley nor Garvey could make out what they were screaming about, but it had something to do with the looming war in Europe. The United States avoided the conflict, but it couldn’t hold out much longer.

  “It appears we’ll have to go through them,” Garvey spoke to Crowley.

  Crowley watched Garvey approach the mob, then step back to the curb. “I don’t like this,” he told the Englishman. “They’re angry. I understand the anger, but not misdirected. This will bring out the cops. When the cops arrive, they’ll have all the excuse they need to bust heads. I don’t need my head busted.” He turned to walk away.

  Crowley stopped him. “Perhaps we can find Tesla tomorrow,” he told the Jamaican. “This mob won’t be around that long. Didn’t you say you knew Tesla’s address?”