The Tesla Legacy

by Robert G. Barrett

  After Jesse had bullied him out of the hotel room and all the way down the stairs before spreading herself across the back seat of the Commodore and virtually ignoring him, Mick felt a little peeved with her. Missing out on a cup of tea didn’t help things, either. So Mick decided it was time for a get square. They pulled up at the lights and while they were waiting Mick slipped one out. Mick knew from the heat as it slid through the cheeks of his backside it was going to be bad. But until it fully permeated the car’s interior, Mick didn’t realise just how bad it was going to be. The lights changed and they had started to move off when Jesse dropped what she was reading, closed her eyes and started to gag.

  ‘Ohh, Mick,’ she howled. ‘You rotten bastard.’

  Mick caught Jesse’s eye in the rear-vision mirror. ‘What…?’

  ‘Oh God! The bloody window doesn’t work. Pull over,’ demanded Jesse. ‘I’ll have to open the bloody door.’

  ‘You do have a tendency to go on a bit, you know, Oz,’ said Mick, stopping the car in front of the library.

  Jesse burst out of the back seat and stood on the footpath fanning the door. ‘Fair dinkum, Mick,’ she howled. ‘What have you been eating?’

  ‘It certainly wasn’t breakfast,’ replied Mick.

  Jesse fanned the door a few more times then got back in the car and they proceeded on their way.

  ‘Jesus, you’re a dirty, low bastard of a man,’ said Jesse, taking up her book where she left off.

  Mick caught her eye in the rear-vision mirror again. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘People tell me I’m nice.’

  Standing beneath the trees, Agent Niland couldn’t believe his eyes. He was right. That was them he’d seen in the white vehicle at the garage the day before. Now here they were, directly in front of him, having an argument. He watched Jesse get back in the Commodore and, when it moved off, ran back to the restaurant where Agents Moharic and Coleborne were about to order more coffee.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, excitedly. ‘I just saw them.’

  ‘You did?’ said Agent Moharic. ‘Where?’

  ‘In that white car like I told you. They goddamn pulled up in front of me. They were arguing about something.’

  Agent Moharic slapped the table. ‘They have changed vehicles. Did you get the number, Steve?’

  Agent Niland shook his head. ‘No. It was covered in mud. But they were heading out of town. Towards that milk factory we saw yesterday.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s go.’ Agent Moharic rose from the table. ‘Orrin, you fix the check. And we’ll meet you outside.’

  ‘I got it.’

  Inside Officer Cozens’ room, Craig and Kerrie were still quietly reading when Kerrie noticed the arrow flickering on the scanner.

  ‘Hey, Craig,’ she said. ‘They’re moving.’

  ‘They are?’ Officer Cozens put his paper aside.

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘North-west.’

  ‘North-west. Okay. Let’s see what they’re up to.’ ‘I’ll ring Blessing when we’re in the car,’ said Kerrie.

  Mick was making good time along the New England Highway. The road was long and straight with plains on either side edged by mountain ranges, and the old Commodore went well. It didn’t have the grandeur of the Buick, but it was easier to handle and had a lot more pick-up in second. Mick would have liked it better if the CD player worked. Nevertheless, he’d managed to tune the radio to some Newcastle station where the ads weren’t too punishing and the DJ was playing reasonably good music. Rogue Traders came on thumping out ‘Watching You’ and Mick thought he’d see what the Commodore could do.

  ‘Hey, Oz,’ he said.

  ‘Yessss, Mick,’ she replied, half looking up from what she was reading.

  ‘This old banger goes okay. Watch this.’

  Mick came up behind a blue Kombi wagon and tromped on the accelerator. The Commodore kicked back to second and Mick zipped round the Kombi like it was standing still.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Mick. ‘Old Holdens never die. They just go faster.’

  ‘Very good, Scotty,’ said Jesse. ‘But you’d better take it easy in warp drive. The lithium crystals might not handle it.’

  ‘Aye aye, captain.’

  Mick slowed down and fell in behind a silver Mercedes moving along at a good clip. After a few kilometres, Jesse came to life in the back seat.

  ‘You know Mick,’ she said. ‘There’s something odd in this diary.’

  ‘There is, mate?’ replied Mick.

  ‘Yes. Either that, or Tesla had a strange sense of humour.’

  ‘Oh? How do you mean?’ asked Mick.

  ‘Remember when I told you how the media often referred to him as the mad scientist?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, on one page here he’s written, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the maddest scientist of them all?” And at the bottom of the next page he’s written something in Hebrew.’

  ‘Hebrew?’ said Mick.

  ‘Yes. Either Hebrew or ancient Celt. His handwriting’s hard to understand at the best of times.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And on another page,’ said Jesse, ‘he’s written, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the sweetest-smelling scientist of them all?” And on the next page he’s written something strange again.’

  Mick shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, Oz. You’re the expert.’

  ‘It’s a funny one.’ Jesse closed the diary and looked at Mick in the rear-vision mirror. ‘You know what I reckon, Mick?’

  ‘What, oh jewel of the cosmos?’

  ‘Tesla’s definitely left clues in the diary about where he put the doomsday machine. But in case the diary got stolen or something, he made them so ambiguous, he may as well have written them in Swahili.’

  ‘Well, that’s what happened, Oz,’ said Mick. ‘The diary did get stolen.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Jesse. ‘So he covered his arse. And I can tell you one thing, Mick.’

  ‘What’s that, mate?’

  ‘He sure covered it well.’

  Mick gave Jesse a thin smile in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Much better than we covered ours.’

  A kilometre behind Mick and Jesse, the NSA agents were following a long line of traffic. Sitting in the back, Agent Niland rang Zimmer Sierota to inform him of the new development. Agent Niland listened intently then hung up.

  ‘So what did Zimmer say?’ Agent Moharic asked from behind the wheel.

  ‘He said to use our own discretion. But now the police have our number and the vehicle is damaged, take every precaution. He doesn’t want this turning into an incident. He suggested we do the job at night, then get back to Newcastle when it’s dark, ASAP.’

  ‘Nothing else?’ asked Agent Coleborne.

  ‘Nope. Just be careful. He doesn’t want any links.’

  ‘Then careful it is,’ said Agent Moharic.

  Roughly a kilometre behind the away team, Craig and Kerrie were following them easily. Craig was driving, Kerrie had the scanner in her lap and the bug was working perfectly.

  Officer Cozens gave his back a shake under his seatbelt. ‘I’d love to know what these dills are up to,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Officer Ryman. ‘Do you think they might be heading for Tamworth? Do a bit of boot scooting?’

  ‘Maybe they’re going to shoot up the Big Guitar,’ said Craig. ‘Sierota might think it’s been infiltrated by Muslim terrorists.’

  ‘Out to destroy country music,’ suggested Kerrie.

  ‘Hey, Kerrie,’ said Craig. ‘What do you call a Muslim stand-up comedian after his first gig?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Decapitated.’

  ‘Not bad,’ conceded Officer Ryman. ‘Did you hear about the Muslim walking down the street in Tehran, Craig? He sees his mate Mahmoud coming out of a micro-surgeon’s after getting his hand sewn back on. So he says to his mate, Hey Mahmoud, what happened to your hand? Did you have an accident? And Mahmoud says, No. I got nicked for shoplifting. And I won m
y appeal.’

  Further ahead, Jesse was steadily reading and Mick was having fun passing cars and zooming in and out of the traffic. On the other side of Aberdeen, George Thorogood was howling ‘Blues Highway’ and Mick had just slowed down after roaring past a fridgemobile, when a huge policeman wearing jodhpurs, long boots and a green safety vest stepped out in front of him and raised his hand.

  ‘Oh shit!’ cursed Mick.

  Jesse looked up from her book. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s a bloody cop. I’ve been nicked for speeding.’

  ‘Oh, Mick.’

  Mick slowed down and gave the police officer an oily grin. ‘Good morning, officer. Lovely day.’

  ‘It is.’ The police officer looked behind him and waved Mick on. ‘You’re right, driver. Keep going.’

  ‘Keep going?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Mick didn’t need to be told again. He drove off slowly as another big cop in a green safety vest stepped out onto the opposite side of the road and stopped the traffic heading towards Muswellbrook.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Jesse.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ shrugged Mick.

  ‘Hey Mick,’ said Jesse. ‘Have a look behind you.’

  Back from the car, a team of mounted stockmen and their dogs had driven a huge herd of black shorthorn cattle up against the fence running along the side of the road. One of the stockmen opened a gate and, with their whips cracking and the blue heelers barking, the men started herding the bellowing cattle across the road to more stockmen waiting at another gate.

  ‘It’s a cattle drive,’ said Jesse. ‘They’re moving the herd from one side to another.’

  ‘They are, too.’ Mick pulled the car over and stared out the back window. ‘I was watching that big cop and I never noticed. Good bloody thing he let me through. It’ll take them a month to get all those cattle through the gates.’

  ‘Reckon,’ agreed Jesse. They watched the men and cattle for a minute then Jesse picked up what she was reading and waved her hand forward. ‘Okay, Mick,’ she said. ‘Head ‘em up and move ‘em out.’

  ‘Okey doke.’ Relieved that he never got booked and guessing the local police were preoccupied, Mick slipped the old Commodore into drive then winked at Jesse in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Next stop, Scone,’ he said, and stomped on the accelerator.

  Roughly a kilometre behind Mick and Jesse, Agent Moharic braked the Cherokee to a halt behind the quickly forming line of traffic.

  ‘What the goddamn…?’ he cursed.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Agent Coleborne.

  ‘It looks like an accident,’ said Agent Moharic.

  ‘I’ll have a look.’ Agent Niland got out and peered down the highway through all the people standing on the road with their VCRs and cameras. ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he said, getting back in the car. ‘It’s a cattle drive. There’s hundreds of the suckers all over the road.’

  ‘What!’ exploded Agent Moharic.

  ‘It’s a cattle drive,’ repeated Agent Niland.

  ‘You mean to tell me,’ seethed Agent Moharic, ‘they’ve blocked off a friggin’ main highway so a herd of steers can cross the road?’

  ‘It sure looks that way, Floyd,’ said Agent Niland.

  ‘Jesus H. Christ!’ cursed Agent Moharic. ‘What kind of coon-ass, hillbilly country is this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Agent Coleborne. ‘But with all these cars and cops around, it’s gonna screw things up trying to pop Vincent and his girl.’

  ‘Did you see their car at all, Steve?’ asked Agent Moharic.

  Agent Niland shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Shit!’

  In the line of traffic further back, Officer Ryman had the scanner on her lap, checking the distance between them and the Cherokee when Craig stopped the car.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked Officer Cozens.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I hope it’s not an accident.’

  ‘I’ll take a look.’ Kerrie got out of the car, walked around and stared down the road then came back to Craig’s window. ‘It’s a cattle drive. There’s blokes with big hats and whips and dogs running round all over the place.’

  ‘There is?’ Officer Cozens opened his door. ‘Give me a look.’

  With no traffic and no cops and the radio playing good music, Mick was having a ball flogging the old Commodore along the highway. Before he knew it a sign flashed up: SCONE, HORSE CAPITAL OF AUSTRALIA, and they were soon approaching Kelly Street, Scone’s main thoroughfare.

  ‘Hey Oz,’ said Mick. ‘We’re here.’

  ‘We are?’ Jesse looked up and saw a green and white motel sitting on the left in a landscaped garden of trees and flowers. A swimming pool sparkled blue amongst the greenery and a sign at the front said TUDOR MOTEL. ‘Mick, stop the car,’ ordered Jesse. ‘We’re booking into that motel before you find another mate who owns a pub.’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Mick. ‘I’ll just take a quick cruise up the main drag and find the library first.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Concentrating on his side of the road, Mick drove roughly a kilometre along a level boulevard with rows of trees and shrubs running up the middle. He noticed a supermarket, then a Subway franchise, the post office at a roundabout, more shops and a hotel. At a park entrance was a statue of a mare and her foal, then on the other side of the railway line Mick did a U-turn just past another motel.

  ‘Can’t see it so far, Oz,’ he said. ‘But not a bad town. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Jesse. ‘All those trees and big houses with gardens. It’s got a nice feel to it.’

  Mick started cruising back down the opposite side of the road past more buildings and a long brick hotel with a restaurant out the front and a parking area on the left. The hotel was called The Greater Scone.

  ‘Hey, Oz,’ said Mick. ‘That pub’s got a band playing tonight. You want to come up and have a look?’

  ‘If you want,’ replied Jesse. ‘The restaurant didn’t look too bad either.’

  Mick drove back past a modern saddlery, more shops and a bakery-cum-cafe next to a hotel near an old art deco picture theatre. Another hotel sat at the roundabout, then just past the Scone Advocate office was a brick building with the windows facing the street from under a white facade. The entrance and a disabled access was round to the left and above the facade a sign read UPPER HUNTER AND REGIONAL DISTRICT LIBRARY.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Mick. ‘Next to the ambulance station.’

  ‘Good,’ replied Jesse. ‘Let me out.’

  Mick gave Jesse a dirty look. ‘When I’m good and ready, shithead.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard.’

  Mick cranked a U-turn then drove back up Kelly Street, did another U-turn and quickly parked in front of the old picture theatre.

  ‘What are you doing?’ demanded Jesse.

  ‘Shut up, you soapy moll, before I give you the back of my hand,’ said Mick, closing the door firmly behind him.

  On the way back Mick had noticed an alcove next to the bakery where people were seated eating and reading. He stepped inside the bakery and picked up a menu from a glass counter crammed with tasty cakes and freshly baked bread. Several girls were busy behind the counter. A fair-haired girl in a pink T-shirt came over and smiled.

  ‘Yes. What would you like?’ she asked politely.

  ‘A takeaway latte, please. Two sugars. And can you put it in a paper bag?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  While Jesse waited in the car, Mick watched the diners enjoying their eggs and coffee. The girl came back with his latte, Mick paid her then went back to the car and got in, resting the paper bag in his lap. Jesse gave him an icy stare as he drove off.

  ‘Are you all right, Boofhead?’ she said. ‘Or do you just like living dangerously?’

  ‘Hey,’ replied Mick, ‘I thought I told you to keep your big mouth shut. Well, do what I tell yo
u while you’re still in front.’

  Jesse shook her head. ‘Shit! You don’t just like living dangerously, pal, you’re on a death wish.’

  Mick went through the roundabout then drove down and stopped outside the library. He got out of the car, opened Jesse’s door and handed her the paper bag when she got out.

  ‘There you are, my dearest, darling heart,’ he smiled. ‘Did I say I’d have you out the front of the library at eight-thirty with a latte in your hand, or what?’

  Jesse felt what was in the paper bag and melted. ‘Jesus, you’re a turd, Mick,’ she said. ‘You really are.’ Jesse then wrapped her arms around him. ‘No wonder I’m crazy about you.’

  ‘Hey. You’re only a woman.’ Mick kissed Jesse on the forehead, then let her go. ‘I’ll meet you back here at twelve-thirty. If you finish early, just go down to the motel and ask which room Mick Vincent the love dog’s in. Owooohhh!’

  ‘I’ll do that. See you.’ Jesse gave Mick a quick kiss and with her coffee in one hand and her bag over her shoulder walked down the side entrance. The electric door opened, she gave Mick a big white smile, and stepped inside.

  Right, smiled Mick once he got back behind the wheel. That’s the evil one happy for the moment. Now I’d better find a room at the inn. He started the engine then drove down to the Tudor and pulled up in the driveway.

  The motel was big and had an olde English look about it. The office on the left faced a licensed restaurant and the rooms running down from the office had small trees and shrubs at the front, edged in with plots of healthy roses. Parked outside every door was a mud-spattered white Holden Commodore. Mick got out and walked across to the reception, where a stocky, dark-haired woman in a green and white dress was seated behind the counter. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at Mick.

  ‘Morning,’ replied Mick. ‘I’d like a room for the night if I could, please.’