‘By nothing, Mick,’ explained Jesse, ‘I mean, nothing for the time being. Carry on as planned and see if we can find this thing. And whether we do or don’t, we still go to the papers first thing Monday and give them the story. In fact, your car getting blown up could make this gig worth even more money.’
‘Oh, great, Oz,’ said Mick, sitting back on the bed. ‘You might even get a book out of it.’
‘Hey, don’t worry. I’ve been thinking about that, handsome. The advance would be astronomical.’
Mick rolled his eyes. ‘Fair dinkum. I don’t believe you. The bloody NSA have just tried to kill me. Now they probably want to kill you as well. And all you can think about is money.’
Jesse reached over and took Mick’s hand. ‘Mick, I’m only thinking of you, darling. Look at all the money you spent on this room. I want you to get some back.’
Mick snatched his hand away. ‘Okay. That’s it,’ he said. ‘Get out. Go on. Go and get a room in a motel. We’re finished.’
‘Fair enough,’ replied Jesse. She wiggled her backside on the bed and ran her hands between her thighs. ‘But remember, sugar lips, if I go, this goes with me.’
Mick’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ooohh, you’re a bastard of a woman,’ he said.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ purred Jesse, ‘people tell me I’m nice.’
‘All right then,’ said Mick. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Like I told you. Nothing,’ said Jesse. ‘Just keep doing what we’re doing. And stay very low key.’ She looked at Mick for a second. ‘Your bright yellow Buick could be a problem, though.’
‘Well,’ smiled Mick. ‘Funny you should say that.’
Mick told Jesse about seeing the publican, parking the Buick then going round to Ralphy Boy and picking up the old Holden.
Mick held up the keys. ‘And it’s parked out the back right now. With a full tank of petrol.’
‘Oh. Well done,’ said Jesse. ‘We’re laughing.’
‘Thanks,’ smiled Mick. ‘I feel better already.’ Mick put the paper to one side and eased back on the bed. ‘So how did you go at the library?’ he asked. ‘Did you find anything?’
‘Did I find anything?’ echoed Jesse. ‘Mick. I read every bloody book there was on old Muswellbrook. And there was no sign of a Klaus Slate anywhere.’
‘What about the bank robbery?’ said Mick.
‘That would have been in an old newspaper. And apart from the Muswellbrook Chronicle, all the old newspapers from this area are long gone.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I did come across something.’
‘You did?’
Jesse had the contents of the two old briefcases in a plastic case in her overnight bag. She opened it and took out the paysheets that had been in Lander Oldfield’s briefcase. She then sat down next to Mick and compared one of the paysheets to the photocopy she’d done in the library.
‘Okay,’ she said, pointing them out to Mick. ‘In amongst the thousand or so bloody books I went through this afternoon, there was one called A History of the Seaton Family.’
‘Seaton?’ said Mick.
‘Yes. They were an old pioneering family. They settled here in 1820. Molan Seaton and his beautiful young wife Orseline.’
‘Orseline? I put that in the Buick to stop the tappets rattling.’
‘Actually, it’s an old Dutch name,’ replied Jesse. ‘Anyway. Molan and his missus must have liked a root. Because they had fifteen children.’
‘Fifteen bloody kids,’ said Mick. ‘Christ! Couldn’t Molan drag his arse down to Blockbuster and rent a couple of videos?’
Jesse ignored him. ‘So from the original ankle biters, they all went on to become timber merchants, land owners, cattle farmers, on the council, off to war, whatever. Amongst them was Reginald Seaton, a lightweight boxer. He went away for six months in 1925. And when he came back, he opened up a saddlery, just off the main drag. That’s all it said about him. But…’ Jesse pointed to a line of figures on one of the paysheets. ‘On that paysheet is a Reginald Seaton. And,’ Jesse took out Tesla’s diary and opened it, ‘on this page here Tesla says, amongst other things, “A surprising event happened at the hotel tonight. I was confronted outside the dining room by a brooding great bully. One of our workers, Reginald Seaton, a young man of only quite small stature, came to my assistance and rendered the much larger man unconscious with two punches. I was so impressed, I gave Reginald one hundred pounds. I kept my generosity from Lander and the others and requested young Mr Seaton do the same. But my word, it was a plucky effort.”’ Jesse winked at Mick. ‘So what do you think of that? Reginald Seaton was working for Klaus Slate, aka Nikola Tesla.’
Mick smiled and slipped his arm around her. ‘Oz. You are a genius. No wonder I worship and adore you.’
‘Thank you, my jewel,’ Jesse smiled back. ‘But it gets better. I asked the librarian, and even though the saddlery has been closed for years, the old shop is still there. And there’s a W and H Seaton still living at that address.’
‘Which means?’
‘They have to be family going back to Reginald Seaton.’
‘Oh yeah, baby,’ enthused Mick. ‘So what do you want to do?’
‘Go round and see the Seatons. You never know. They might be able to tell us where Reginald got to in 1925.’
‘Okay,’ said Mick. ‘Let’s go.’
Jesse shook her head. ‘Not right now. I’ve been sitting on my big fat arse in a library all day and I need to stretch out.’
‘Which means you want to go for a walk,’ muttered Mick.
‘Yeah. You coming with me?’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Not unless you wish to incur my wrath.’
Although Mick truly loved Jesse and everything about her, he didn’t particularly like the walks. She never spoke, and she walked like a demon. Mick would have preferred to simply run for an hour and be done with it. The only way he handled the walks was to slip a couple of metres behind Jesse, remain deep in thought and watch her adorable tight rump moving from side to side while he hurried to keep up.
Mick shook his head. ‘Okay. I’ll get out of my nice clean gear. I just had a bloody shave too.’
‘And you look so nice,’ smiled Jesse, running a hand across Mick’s face.
‘What if the NSA are out there looking for us?’
‘We’ll just have to burn those bridges when we come to them,’ replied Jesse.
‘Okay,’ said Mick. ‘But don’t let them pull the rug from over your eyes.’
Jesse unzipped her jeans. ‘I’m also working on another theory,’ she said.
‘Another one? Like what?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
Jesse got out of the clothes she was wearing into a pair of shorts, an old white T-shirt, trainers and a sweatband. Mick changed into much the same gear, except for an old black T-shirt with the sleeves missing. There wasn’t much room between the beds and Mick managed to bump into Jesse a few times while she was in her underwear. Jesse warned him off and before long, Mick found himself outside the hotel doing stretches with her. When they’d finished, he asked Jesse which way she wanted to go. Jesse sniffed the air and pointed west.
They took off down the street, turned left and passed under the railway bridge. Jesse indicated straight ahead at the lights and soon they were following a long flat road past shops and houses on the left and fields on the right as the road arrowed towards the distant mountain ranges. Sweat stinging his face, Mick fell back his customary two metres behind Jesse and mulled over the photo of what was left of his van. He also thought about the people that wanted him dead and wondered if Jesse might be taking the search for Tesla’s death ray machine a bit lightly.
While Jesse and Mick were power walking into the sunset, the people in question were arriving in Muswellbrook with the two ASIO officers dodging in and out of traffic further behind them.
‘So this is Muswellbrook,’ said Agent Niland. ‘It reminds me of that movie T
he Last Picture Show.’
‘Hey, you’re right,’ said Agent Coleborne. He pointed to several young people grouped outside the post office. ‘Look, there’s Jeff Bridges and Cloris Leachman standing on the sidewalk.’
‘Hey Cloris,’ Agent Niland called out. ‘Let’s see your titties.’
‘Right now we’d better find somewhere to stay,’ said Agent Moharic, as they drove slowly up Bridge Street. ‘There’s two motels over there.’
‘That white one, the Bodega, looks all right,’ hinted Agent Niland. ‘And there’s a steak house out front.’
‘I guess that’ll do fine,’ answered Agent Moharic. ‘We’ll register, then go take a look for Vincent’s yellow Buick.’
‘He might even be in this motel,’ suggested Agent Coleborne.
‘Hey,’ grinned Agent Niland, ‘now wouldn’t that be something.’
Agent Moharic drove to the end of Bridge Street, did an extremely careful U-turn, then drove back down to the white motel and pulled up in the driveway outside the office. Up close, the Bodega had a soft, Spanish appearance, with a small pool to the right of the office and a restaurant out front facing the street. The rooms were spread round an ample parking area where a number of cars were parked in front of the doors.
‘Okay,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘How about after we check in we meet in my room?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ answered Agent Niland, opening his door.
Kerrie Ryman watched the black Cherokee lurch to a stop in the motel driveway. ‘Looks like they’re booking into that white motel,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ mused Craig as they drove past. ‘I wonder what brings them to Muswellbrook of all places?’
‘The night life?’ said Kerrie.
‘Yeah. I believe U2 are playing at the rissole tonight.’
‘Seeing as the Mormons are staying at the white motel, why don’t we book into that big brick one further up the hill? The Olympic?’ suggested Kerrie.
‘Okay,’ agreed Craig.
‘Then I might surreptitiously slip back to the Bodega and stick a bug under the Cherokee’s mudguard.’
‘Good thinking, Ninety-Nine,’ said Craig, doing a U-turn at the same intersection as Agent Moharic. ‘We’ll book in, then I’ll meet you back at your room.’
‘Righto.’
Kerrie and Craig drove into the Olympic and got out of the car. The motel was set out much like the Bodega except the restaurant was adjacent to the office and the pool was behind a fence at the back of the parking area. They got their keys, Craig parked the car outside his room, and once they’d moved in, they met to discuss their strategy.
Down the street in Agent Moharic’s room, the away team were doing the same thing while they checked their side arms.
‘Now remember what Zimmer told us,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘It has to look like a weirdo did it.’
‘No problem,’ said Agent Niland, running an eye along the sights of his .45.
‘If we don’t find Vincent and his girl tonight,’ said Agent Colborne, ‘we’ll find him tomorrow. Christ! Where can you hide a bright yellow 1936 Buick in a town this big?’
‘Nowhere much,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘So we’ll start with all the hotels and motels first. Then cruise the backstreets. He’ll show up.’
‘They always do,’ Agent Niland smiled confidently.
‘Okay guys,’ said Agent Moharic, buttoning up his coat. ‘Let’s go.’
Officer Ryman had just walked into the parking area to place a tracking device on the Jeep Cherokee when the away team came out of Agent Moharic’s room looking grim-faced and business-like. She bent down in front of a silver BMW 4WD and did up her shoelace as they drove past, then took out her two-way radio.
‘Yeah?’
‘Craig. They just drove out.’
‘I’m on my way.’
By the time Kerrie got to the front of the Bodega, Craig had arrived in the Commodore. Kerrie opened the door and got in.
‘They went left,’ she indicated, ‘and they’re armed up. But fair dinkum, you should have seen them. They look like the Men in Black. The only thing missing was the mirror sunglasses.’
‘I’d love to know what they’re up to,’ said Craig, taking off down the street.
Kerrie turned to him. ‘Hunting aliens from another galaxy?’
‘Knowing the NSA, it wouldn’t bloody surprise me.’
In the darkened park opposite the railway station, Mick was sweating and so was Jesse as she got him to hold her feet while she did four sets of twenty-five sit-ups. She pivoted at the waist as she grunted out the last sit-ups, then stood up, went into a boxer’s crouch and feinted two straight lefts at Mick and a right to the head. She followed up with a left rip to the body and another short right to the head, then flicked out a snap kick to his solar plexus, finishing with two snappy left hooks. Jesse then let her hands hang loose by her sides and lightly rocked around on the balls of her feet.
‘You finished, Rocky?’ Mick asked her.
‘Yeah,’ puffed Jesse. ‘Yeah. I think so.’
‘You hungry?’
‘Yes, I am actually.’
‘I found a grouse Chinese restaurant earlier.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Jesse. ‘But I wouldn’t mind a T-bone steak and a cool one.’
‘Okay. We’ll go up the rissole.’
‘After I call round the old saddlery first.’
‘Righto, champ.’
Jesse looked at Mick for a moment, grinned, then threw her arms around him and gave him a hug. ‘Ooh I love you. You big, sweaty, smelly hunk of a man.’
‘Yeah. You’re not a bad bloke yourself. Come on.’ Mick put his arms around Jesse’s shoulders and they walked over to the hotel.
Back in their room, they each gulped down two large bottles of mineral water Jesse had bought when she got the paper, then they walked down to the separate shower blocks and got cleaned up.
After that, Mick changed back into what he’d been wearing before, while Jesse dried her hair and swapped her Orca T-shirt for a blue one with DARWIN ROCK ART on the front.
‘Righto,’ said Mick, as soon as Jesse was ready. ‘You okay to visit the Seatons?’
‘Yep,’ replied Jesse. ‘I sure am.’
‘All right then. Let’s hit the toe.’ Mick locked the room and they walked down to the car.
The old Commodore didn’t look all that bad in the darkness, when Mick opened the door for Jesse. He climbed into the driver’s seat, put on his seatbelt and started the motor. Jesse studied the car’s interior then turned to him.
‘You know, Mick,’ she said. ‘These are the things I like about you. Everywhere we go, I get driven round in luxury cars and stay in flashy hotels. I don’t quite know what to say.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Mick, driving out of the car park. ‘Keep that sort of talk up and see what you’ve got to say when you’re sitting in a dentist’s chair and they’re wiring your jaw up.’
With the two ASIO officers following a discreet distance behind, Agent Moharic and the others scoured Muswellbrook from the other side of the railway crossing to the cemetery and out to the Oak milk factory in their search for Mick’s car. Only to find nothing. Not even another car remotely like it.
‘Goddamn!’ cursed Agent Moharic as they drove back past the bikie clubhouse. ‘Where could he possibly hide the thing?’
‘Maybe he’s not here?’ said Agent Niland.
‘No. He’s here all right,’ said Agent Moharic. ‘I can smell it.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ agreed Agent Coleborne.
‘So what’ll we do now?’ asked Agent Niland.
‘Can it for the time being,’ replied Agent Moharic, swinging the Jeep Cherokee into the motel driveway. ‘Let’s eat. Have an early night, then get an early start tomorrow. He has to show up in that thing sooner or later.’
‘Maybe we should door-knock all the local gas stations,’ suggested Agent Niland. ‘See if his car’s broke down?’
‘That’s an
idea,’ nodded Agent Coleborne. ‘In the meantime, who’s gonna ring Zimmer and give him the good news?’
‘I guess I will,’ volunteered Agent Moharic.
Kerrie Ryman turned to Craig Cozens when they arrived back at the Olympic. ‘Well that’s got me beat, Craig,’ she said. ‘What do you think they’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Craig. ‘But they’re definitely looking for something. Maybe a house.’
‘Or a car. Or a truck?’
‘Yeah. That too,’ replied Craig.
‘So what’ll we do now?’ asked Kerrie.
Craig switched off the engine as they pulled up in front of his room. ‘They got a good room service menu here. I was thinking of getting something brought round and having an early one. It might be a long day tomorrow.’
‘Good idea,’ said Kerrie. ‘Later on tonight I’ll go back and stick that bug on their car.’
‘Yeah, I’ll come with you this time,’ said Craig.
Following Jesse’s instructions, Mick found himself driving along a wide avenue with trees in the centre two streets up from where he’d hired the old Commodore.
‘Where’s this place again?’ he asked her.
‘Somewhere along here. Number 142. We just passed 104, so it can’t be much further.’
‘Righto.’
The street came to an intersection and Jesse tapped Mick on the shoulder. ‘There it is. On the next corner.’
‘I got it.’
Mick stopped the car in front of an old white shop with boarded-up windows, flaking paint and a bend in the awning out the front. Weeds pushed through the footpath and a good gust of wind would have blown over a picket fence running down to a backyard on the left. A wire gate on the right led to a small porch where a faint light shone through a square of frosted glass set in a splintery wooden door.
‘Muswellbrook saddler, howya travelling?’ quipped Mick.
‘Yeah,’ answered Jesse. ‘Something like that.’
‘What are you going to say when you knock on the door?’
‘No more than I have to,’ winked Jesse. ‘If that.’
‘Okay, Chilli,’ nodded Mick.
The Tesla Legacy Page 12