The Tesla Legacy Read Online Free PDF

been nice talking to you.’
    ‘Nrngrhh!’
    Mick turned then went over and let himself out the front door, closing it softly behind him. He walked out to the van, got in and drove off.
    After the acrid smell of cat’s piss and Mrs Hedstrom’s non-stop abuse, Mick felt like a drink; a double bourbon with a schooner chaser would have gone down well. Instead, Mick pulled up at a small takeaway food shop two kilometres down the road and got a can of lemonade and the paper. At a plastic table out the front, he found a plastic chair that wasn’t too dirty, sat down and took a long pull on the can until the bubbles hurt his throat and made him belch. Mick had another drink then took the keys to the Maxwell from his pocket. He figured the biggest one would be the ignition key, then turned the leather tab over and found the initials L.O. stamped on the other side in fading silver. Mick smiled as he ruminated on the keys for a moment or two before returning them to his pocket. He sat in the sun and went throughthe paper while he finished his can of lemonade then, feeling considerably fresher, got back in the van and continued on to the Nise brothers’ garage in Hamilton.
    There were three driveways out the front and the office was on the right with the windows painted over in white and Nise Brothers Mechanical Engineering and Body Shop painted across the front in black. Mick pulled up in the middle driveway behind a silver Holden ute with the back jacked up, and got out of the van. Inside, the garage was the usual clutter of cars and commercial vehicles under repair, spread around three hoists. A radio was playing above a long bench at the back covered in tools; girlie calendars and posters clung to the walls and a grease-stained doorway in a corner on the right led to the lunchroom and toilet. You couldn’t miss Mick’s yellow Buick at the very end of the garage on the left. Jimmy, his four mechanics, two panelbeaters and the two apprentices were gathered around the Maxwell which was already standing with the front jacked up two cars back from the lunchroom. There was no sign of Neville. Mick walked over to a chorus of greetings from the staff:
    ‘Great car, Mick.’
    ‘Where did you get hold of this?’
    ‘How much’d cost you?’
    ‘Bloody genius, Mick.’
    Mick acknowledged their compliments with a friendly grin.
    Then Jimmy’s voice rose above the others. ‘I got some good news for you, Mick,’ he said casually.
    ‘Yeah?’
    Jimmy nodded. ‘The pressure plates are compatible.’
    ‘Fair dinkum? Un-bloody-real,’ replied Mick. ‘I got some good news too.’ He held up the leather tab. ‘The old girl had the keys.’
    ‘Ah-hah!’ said Jimmy. ‘Now that’ll make things a lot easier.’
    ‘You don’t think the battery might need a charge, do you, Mick?’ cackled one of the apprentices, a redhead with a faceful of acne.
    Jimmy gave him and the rest of the staff a sour look. ‘Okay, girls,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen enough. Come on back to work. This is a garage. Not a sheltered bloody workshop.’
    There were a few muted words mixed with smiles for Mick and the staff trooped off. In seconds the garage was once again a cacophany of hammering and spraying over the top of Ben Lee’s ‘Catch My Disease’ playing on the radio.
    ‘I got some more good news for you too, Mick,’ said Jimmy.
    ‘You have?’ said Mick.
    ‘Yeah. Neville knows a Nomad who’s got a Harley chopper shop on the Gold Coast. And he’s a genius welder. There’s a good chance he can weld your other pressure plate back together.’
    ‘Fair dinkum!’ Mick gave Jimmy a pat on the shoulder. ‘That’s fantastic.’
    ‘Anything for you, Mick,’ Jimmy said patronisingly. ‘You know that.’
    ‘So how long will that take?’ asked Mick.
    ‘Ooohh. He’s a busy man. By the time we get it up there and all that. Around three weeks.’
    ‘And how long to get the Maxwell going?’
    ‘This?’ said Jimmy, giving the old car a slap on