The Tesla Legacy Read Free

to warm up before turning right out of his driveway.
    It was a beautiful spring day, traffic was light and before long Mick was driving through New Lambton. Two streets past Regent Park he found the place he was looking for halfway down on the opposite side of the road. Mick pulled up and checked it out.
    It was an old white wooden house with the paint flaking off under a rusty galvanised-iron roof. A TV aerial clung loosely to the side of a crooked chimney and a rusty gate clung loosely to a chipped brick fence at the front. On the left, an open driveway ran down the side to a garage, and behind the gate a short path led up to a wooden verandah and a door between two security windows. Apart from a yellow letterbox, the only sign of colour was a large tree growing over the roof. Mick did a U-turn and pulled up behind a small white car parked out the front then cut the engine and got out of the van. He walked over and opened the gate just as the front door slammed and a stocky, blonde woman in a blue dust coat came striding down the path, her face a burning mixture of rage and frustration.
    ‘That’s it,’ the woman cursed, shaking her head angrily. ‘I’m never coming here again. Bloody Bronwyn can stick the job. I don’t need money that bad.’
    ‘Hello,’ said Mick, keeping the gate open. ‘Is something wrong?’
    ‘Something wrong?’ The woman glared at Mick. ‘Are you the cleaner?’
    Mick shook his head. ‘No. I’m here to see Mrs Hedstrom about a car.’
    ‘Well bloody good luck.’
    The woman stormed past Mick and got into the small white car out the front, slamming the door behind her. As soon as she revved the engine noisily into life, the woman crunched the car into gear and disappeared down the street in an angry squealing of tyres. Mick gave a quick shrug as he closed the gate, then walked up to the front door where a buzzer on the right sat above a large jade plant in a plastic pot. Mick pushed the buzzer and a sound like a whiny car alarm came from inside the house. There was no answer. Mick waited and pushed the buzzer again.
    ‘All right!’ barked a whining, horrible voice from inside. ‘You don’t have to ring the house down. I was on the toilet. I’m not deaf, you know.’
    ‘Sorry,’ apologised Mick.
    Mick waited contritely until the door opened and a short, stooped apparition wearing a blue dressing gown with a green scarf over its head peered up from behind a safety chain. Set in a thin bony face, a bony nose poked out from under the scarf and a pair of watery eyes blazed with hatred and loathing. One thin hand held the doorknob and the other clutched a metal walking stick.
    ‘Well, what do you want?’ demanded the figure in the dressing gown.
    ‘Are you Mrs Hedstrom?’ Mick asked politely.
    ‘Well of course I’m bloody Mrs Hedstrom,’ snapped the old woman. ‘Who else would I be?’ The watery eyes glared at Mick. ‘Well, come on. Don’t just bloody stand there. What do you want?’
    Mick hesitated for a moment. ‘I came here to see about a car you might be selling, Mrs Hedstrom,’ he replied.
    The old woman appeared to ignore Mick’s answer. ‘I suppose that bloody Bronwyn sent you, did she? Bloody bitch!’ she spat. ‘She’s conspiring against me, you know. She wants to put me in a home.’ The old woman paused for breath. ‘The bastards. They’re not shoving me into some glorified bloody dog kennel.’
    ‘Was that Bronwyn I just saw coming down the path?’ asked Mick.
    ‘No,’ snapped the old woman. ‘That was Maxine. She’s another lazy good-for-nothing bitch, too. You can’t rely on anyone these days.’ The old lady paused to build up more steam. ‘They’re all out to get you, you know. Nnnrghh! They won’t get me though. The bastards.’
    ‘No. You’ve got the right idea, Mrs Hedstrom,’ said Mick. ‘Keep your guard up. I do.’
    ‘Bastards,’ grunted Mrs Hedstrom.
    ‘Yeah. The world’s full of them.’ Christ, thought Mick, what have I got