The Tesla Legacy (14 page)

‘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.

Mick switched off the engine and they got out of the car. He then followed Jesse through the gate to the front door where the sound of someone’s erratic coughing came from inside. Jesse knocked on the door and stepped back. When it opened, an elderly woman with corn white hair pushed back from a lined face stood there looking at them through an oversize pair of glasses. She was wearing a plain green dress with a short black apron and twin rows of chunky red beads.

‘Yes,’ she said in a quiet, pleasant voice. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Hello,’ smiled Jesse. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but are you one of the Seaton family?’

‘Yes,’ replied the woman. ‘I’m Helen Seaton. I live here with my brother Walter.’

‘Elaine at the local library suggested I see you.’

‘Oh yes. I know Elaine,’ smiled the woman.

Jesse handed the woman her card. ‘My name’s Jesse Osbourne. I own the Eye Full Tower Bookshop in Newcastle. And this is my assistant, Professor Ludwig Von Munchiken.’

The woman studied Jesse’s card. ‘All right, Jesse,’ she said. ‘Professor.’

‘Good evening,’ smiled Mick.

‘I’m in Muswellbrook researching a book,’ said Jesse. ‘And I believe this house was once a saddlery belonging to Reginald Seaton.’

‘That’s right. He was my father.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you a couple of things about your father, Mrs Seaton?’

‘No, not at all,’ replied Mrs Seaton. ‘But I can’t talk long. My brother’s not well and I’m about to give him his medication.’

‘I understand, Mrs Seaton,’ smiled Jesse. ‘I won’t take up much of your time.’

‘All right then.’

‘Mrs Seaton,’ continued Jesse, ‘I know this is going back quite a long time, but before your father opened up the saddlery, he went away for six months. You wouldn’t happen to know where, would you?’

Mrs Seaton shook her head. ‘No. Dad never spoke about that. Not to any of the family.’

‘Oh.’

‘He died when he was thirty-five anyway. I was still a young girl at the time.’

‘Thirty-five?’ said Jesse. ‘Gee, that’s young. What happened?’

‘He was struck by lightning.’

‘Lightning?’ Jesse and Mick exchanged surprised looks.

‘Yes. Dad had a racehorse called Tears of Fire. He kept the horse when it retired, and he was out riding in a storm one night when they were both struck by lightning.’

Jesse slowly shook her head. ‘How unlucky was that.’

‘Sort of,’ answered Mrs Seaton. ‘Dad made himself a big leather belt, all inlaid with copper. He was wearing it when he got killed. They buried him with it.’

‘Nice touch,’ said Mick.

A weak voice spluttered and coughed from inside the house. ‘Helen? Can you come inside for a minute?’

‘Look. I’m sorry,’ said Mrs Seaton. ‘But I have to go. My brother’s really very ill. Especially at night.’

‘I understand,’ smiled Jesse. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what’s wrong with him?’

‘Emphysema.’

‘Cigarettes?’

‘Yes,’ replied Mrs Seaton.

‘I get the picture,’ nodded Jesse. ‘Well, thanks so much for your help, Mrs Seaton.’

‘That’s quite all right,’ said Mrs Seaton. ‘Why don’t you call back again during the day?’

‘I might do that,’ said Jesse, turning to leave. ‘Oh, before I go, Mrs Seaton,’ she said. ‘Just one more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you know where your father bought his horse?’

‘Of course. Scone. Everybody bought their racehorses at Scone then. They still do.’

‘I should have known,’ smiled Jesse. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Seaton.’

Mrs Seaton went inside and closed the door. Mick and Jesse walked out and got in the car. Mick started the engine then turned to Jesse.

‘Professor Ludwig Von Munchiken?’ he remarked.

‘That’s right,’ nodded Jesse. ‘Known to his friends as good old Ludders Munchknickers.’

‘You’re unbelievable,’ said Mick. He reversed around the old shop’s corner then turned right at the intersection and followed the road back towards Bridge Street. ‘So how did you go back there, Oz? Bad luck Mrs Seaton couldn’t talk long. She seemed like a nice woman.’

‘Yes. That’s what I thought,’ said Jesse. ‘But I learnt a couple of things during my brief interlocution with Mrs Seaton.’

‘You did? Like what?’

‘I’ll tell you after.’

‘All right.’ Mick continued on down the road. ‘Hey, what about the name of that horse? Tears of Fire.’

‘Yes. I thought about that,’ smiled Jesse. ‘What a beautiful name.’

‘Bad luck it finished with a million volts of electricity zapped up its date.’