Free The Tesla Legacy by Robert G. Barrett Page A

involved in. ‘I’ll go and see Neville.’
    ‘Yeah, righto,’ grunted Jimmy.
    Mick walked round to the office and stepped inside. Jimmy’s even bigger and uglier brother was seated at the desk in a pair of greasy blue overalls, ogling a girlie calendar he’d just taken out of a large envelope. He looked up and flashed a lopsided, toothy grin when he saw Mick.
    ‘Michael, my boy,’ he said. ‘How are you, mate?’
    ‘Good thanks, Neville,’ replied Mick. ‘Jesse said she called in this morning and checked out the Maxwell.’
    ‘Yeah. I’d only just opened the garage.’ Neville’s beady eyes narrowed at Mick. ‘Jesus, she’s a good style, your girl. Where did you get her?’
    ‘Out there, Neville,’ replied Mick. ‘Same place you found your beautiful wife.’
    ‘Yeah,’ snorted Neville. ‘I was in a pub, drunk. And I’ve stayed drunk ever since.’
    ‘Anyway,’ said Mick. ‘I see my car’s ready. What’s the damage?’
    ‘The damage? Let’s have a look.’ Neville put the calendar down and rifled through a bunch of invoices. He took one out and handed it to Mick. ‘There you go, mate.’
    Mick took the invoice and gave it a double blink. ‘Seven hundred and fifty dollars. Including GST. Jesus Christ, Neville. What did you do? Fly a Swiss watchmaker in from Zurich to do the job?’
    ‘Mick,’ Neville replied impassively. ‘Do you know how much rooting around we had to go through to get those two old pressure plates out? I’ve had two mechanics working overtime so you could have your Buick on the road by today. Counting the towing, we’ve made nothing.’
    ‘Yeah. I’ll bet,’ muttered Mick. He took his chequebook out and sat down in front of Neville. ‘Anyway. It’s going again. That’s the main thing.’
    ‘Not only that,’ smiled Neville. ‘But your old pressure plate’s on its way to be welded, and before you know it, you and your lovely lady will be driving around in two vintage cars. And won’t you look a fine couple at that.’
    ‘Yeah. Jesse’ll be paying for the petrol.’ Mick shook his head as he wrote out the cheque. ‘Seven hundred and fifty bucks. I don’t believe it.’
    Mick made out the cheque and handed it to Neville. Neville stamped PAID on the invoice and handed it to Mick.
    ‘Always a pleasure, Mick,’ smiled Neville.
    ‘Yeah. Same here,’ mumbled Mick.
    ‘Which is why you keep coming back,’ winked Neville. ‘Would you like a calendar?’
    ‘No, thank you.’ Mick stood up and pocketed his chequebook. ‘Where are the keys?’
    ‘The keys? Underneath the sun visor.’
    Mick was about to say goodbye and he’d be in touch, when one of the panelbeaters put his head in the door.
    ‘Hey Neville,’ said the panelbeater, ‘the compressor’s stuffed up again.’
    ‘Oh shit,’ cursed Neville. ‘What’s happened now?’
    Thinking this would be as good a time as any to get going, Mick left Neville arguing with the panelbeater and walked out to where his Buick was parked in the driveway.
    Seven hundred and fifty dollars or not, the smile soon returned to Mick’s face when he got behind the wheel and his nostrils filled with that quaint leathery smell that can only be found in vintage cars. The smile quickly turned into a grin when he put the key in the ignition, pressed the starter and the old Buick rumbled into life. Oh yeah, Mick chuckled as he felt the big straight eight humming under the bonnet. He gave the engine time to warm up, then gently pushed thegear stick into first, eased off the clutch and joined the afternoon traffic.
    Mick knew it was vanity bordering on ostentation, but he couldn’t help preening at the looks he’d get from other drivers and pedestrians when he drove past in the shiny yellow Buick. Often they’d smile and wink; Mick would always smile or grin back. It was a definite buzz. He cruised past Kooragang and was in heaven when he dropped the Buick back into second and gave it a little bit of a nudge over Stockton