Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust (19 page)

‘Because I’m clever, Lasjoz,’ replied Les.

A crooked, mirthless smile appeared on Lasjoz’s jowly face. ‘Maybe too fucking clever for your own fucking good, Les Norton.’

‘Now hold on a second, Lasjoz,’ said Les. ‘You don’t have to be like that. There’s no reason we can’t work something out here.’

‘Work something out. What?’

‘I’ll tell Bodene I found the bag somewhere else,’ suggested Les. ‘And you and I can split the reward money. Sixty-forty your way.’

‘Split fucking money,’ exclaimed Lasjoz. ‘Why you think I stole bag in first place? So I can share fucking money?’

‘Well, no. But why did you steal the bag?’ asked Les, figuring while he was talking, Lasjoz wasn’t trying to choke him and he could work out an escape.

‘For fucking money. Why you think?’ shouted Lasjoz. ‘Bodene pay me shit.’ The big man indicated round his flat. ‘Look what I live.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Les. ‘I’ve seen worse.’

‘Where? Fucking Bangladesh.’

‘Jamaica?’

‘Pah!’ Lasjoz spat on the carpet. ‘So how come you know I steal bag?’

‘You shouldn’t have used one of your gay pals as a go-between,’ said Les. ‘Bodene picked up on his voice. And shit. Even I know you’re gay.’

‘How you know I am gay?’ demanded Lasjoz.

‘Your clothes.’

‘My clothes?’

‘Yeah. And the way you walk,’ answered Les. ‘You want to learn to take bigger steps.’

Lasjoz banged his huge fist against the wall. ‘Enough of this fucking bullshit,’ he thundered. ‘Now you die, Les Norton. Clever, stupid bastard. Then I cut you up. And take you for swim with sharks.’ Lasjoz advanced towards Les with his huge hands open and a horrible smile on his face. ‘How you want die, Mr Clever? Easy? Or hard?’

Les stared grimly at Lasjoz for a second. ‘Hard,’ said Les. ‘Real fuckin hard.’ Saying that, Les hurled the green bag at Lasjoz’s head.

The bag hit Lasjoz in the face and only made
him blink angrily. Les stepped forward and belted the big man with a straight left and a right cross. It was like punching a bag of cement. Lasjoz rocked on his feet for a second, then spat a little blood from a split lip and smiled.

‘Stupid little man,’ he said, then swung his massive right arm round and backhanded Les across the face.

The force sent Norton’s cap flying and knocked him over the lounge before he landed on his back, seeing stars. He shook his head and started getting to get to his feet when Lasjoz reached down, grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt, and hurled him across the other side of the room. Les managed to cover his head before he crashed into the computer table, sending the computer one way and anything else on the table the other. Les sucked in some air before Lasjoz took him by the scruff of his T-shirt and flung him back over the lounge. Les covered up again and barrelled noisily into the CD cabinet scattering CDs and DVDs everywhere. Les got up and shook his head, then set himself and kicked the advancing Lasjoz in the groin and punched him in the face with two sizzling left hooks. Norton’s heart sunk as Lasjoz stopped and smiled at him.

‘Is that best you got?’ sneered Lasjoz. ‘And you call me poofter.’

Lasjoz grabbed Les by the front of his T-shirt with one hand and the front of his cargoes with the other, lifted Les up and flung him over his head across the room. Les covered up and yelped as he sailed over the lounge and crashed back onto the computer table, smashing it beneath him before landing on the floor amongst the wreckage.

‘Ohh fuck!’ winced Les, holding his ribs.

Lasjoz laughed menacingly. ‘Funny you should say fuck, Les Norton. Because that is what I do before I kill you. And you like my fuck. Guarantee. But before this,’ said Lasjoz, looking down on Les. ‘I have fun. Like cat with little mouse.’

Ripping the neck open, Lasjoz grabbed Les by his T-shirt and hurled him back across the room into what was left of the CD cabinet. Les barely had time to glimpse the stars spinning round in front of him before he felt himself being flung across the room again into the TV set, sending it and the stereo crashing onto the floor. Les gulped in some air as Lasjoz grabbed him by a leg, flung him against the lounge, then threw him across the room into the wall opposite the wrecked computer table.

‘Hey. How you like so far, little man,’ laughed Lasjoz. ‘Is good? Well, don’t worry.’ The monster rubbed his groin. ‘Best is yet to come.’

Les looked up at Lasjoz laughing at him from across the other side of the room and the beads of nervous sweat he felt earlier when he was searching the big man’s bedroom were now streaming down his face. Norton knew if he didn’t do something, and quick, he was gone. Rose the tarot lady warned him the time might come when he would have to dig deep. She was right. Without a knife or a gun, there was only one way he could stop Lasjoz. Les was going to have to use the fearsome Mongolian Death Lock.

Les learnt the Mongolian Death Lock by sheer chance after school one day in Dirranbandi. Of all the people in the world, a family of Mongolians stopped at Dirranbandi for two weeks on a cultural exchange. They had two sons, Hatgal and Halvan, who attended the local school to mix with the kids and learn a little about Australian education. Although Hatgal and Halvan’s English was limited, Les and his brother Murray befriended them and liked the strange clothes they wore, especially their pointy-toed boots. But kids are kids. And fat Buddha Bailey,
the school bully, wanted to fight the Mongolian kids, who weren’t at all interested. Young Les and Murray were walking home from school one afternoon with the Mongolian kids when Buddha Bailey appeared on the scene and started shoving Hatgal around. Before Les and Murray had a chance to intervene, Buddha was lying on his back gasping for breath and they thought he was going to die. Buddha never knew what hit him and Les and Murray weren’t sure either. But they asked Hatgal to show them what he did. Hatgal reluctantly agreed, but warned Les and Murray only to ever use the death lock as a last resort. Because as well as being unbreakable, it was deadly. And even if you were strong enough to break it, you only had seconds to do so before you either blacked out or died.

Through his sweat, pain and ripped clothing, Les blinked up at the leering Lasjoz. He didn’t particularly want to kill him and go through a great hassle with the police. But if he could apply the grip just long enough, he could get away, take the script to Bodene and spill the beans on Lasjoz, who would no doubt get a bullet or three in the head from his boss. Les half rose to his feet as Lasjoz swept the lounge aside and came slowly and confidently towards him.

‘Now little man,’ Lasjoz scoffed from behind the sinister smile on his face, ‘I think I put your head down shithouse. Drown you little bit like rat. Then fuck you. Before I slit your throat.’

Les flicked the huge Albanian a thin smile. ‘Lasjoz,’ he said, evenly. ‘You wouldn’t have a dick big enough, or a knife that sharp.’

Les waited till Lasjoz was almost on top him, then leapt to his feet and with all the strength left in his body, hit Lasjoz in the heart with a perfectly timed left rip. It wasn’t enough to flatten the giant. But it made him grunt with pain, shut his eyes and stop for a moment. This was all the time Les needed to quickly step behind Lasjoz and kick his legs away. As Lasjoz fell back against him, Les slipped his right arm around the big man’s throat, jammed the edge of his wrist against Lasjoz’s Adam’s Apple then closed his right fist and gripping it tight with his left hand, pulled the big man back down to the floor. When he landed on his rump, Les jammed his right knee into the nape of Lasjoz’s huge neck then sat back and started crushing Lasjoz’s throat between his right knee and his wrist.

With the oxygen supply to his brain completely cut off, Lasjoz gagged and coughed and tried frantically to tear Norton’s arms away.
But to no avail. Les kept squeezing Lasjoz’s throat in a vice-like grip till the big man’s eyes began to burst. The seconds ticked by and Lasjoz’s kicking and flailing attempts to free himself got weaker and weaker before they finally stopped and he slumped unconscious in Norton’s arms. Les held the Mongolian Death Lock for another second or two, then released it and stood up to get his breath back.

Lying on his back at Norton’s feet, Lasjoz’s bloodshot eyes were bulging out of his head, his face was dark blue and his tongue was protuding through a pair of blackened lips. Les was sure he’d killed him, when a ghastly rattling sound escaped Lasjoz’s mouth and he managed to suck a little air into his lungs. Les stepped across and kicked him in the balls several times with the heel of his trainer in case he looked like getting up. The only movement from Lasjoz was another tortured gasp of air and a feeble attempt to place his hand against his ruptured throat.

Les stood back and smiled down at Lasjoz. ‘Well Lasjoz,’ he said. ‘I hate to tell you this old mate, but from where I’m standing, I’d say you’re the one that just got fucked.’

Les tucked what was left of his T-shirt in and glanced around the flat. There was broken
furniture and other wreckage strewn everywhere. The only things that survived were the lounge and two Albanian travel posters. Les limped into Lasjoz’s bedroom to check himself out in the wardrobe mirror and couldn’t believe what he saw. His T-shirt was torn and there was a red mark where Lasjoz had backhanded him. And there was no doubt he was going to wake up with a shitload of bruising the next day. But apart from that, he didn’t have a mark on him. Not even a stitch got broken.

‘Well, how about that,’ smiled Les. ‘Hey. While my luck’s in.’

Les opened the wardrobe, reached down and pulled the panel back and took out the packet of money. After pocketing the plastic bag, Les shut the panel then closed the wardrobe and returned to the loungeroom.

Lasjoz hadn’t moved and was still lying on the floor barely breathing. Les gave him another kick in the balls for good luck then picked up his cap along with the green bag from where it fell after he flung it in Lasjoz’s face. The zinger was still in his pocket, but Les didn’t have a clue where his sunglasses were and didn’t particularly care. He had a last look at Lasjoz then moved towards the door.

‘Adios Lasjoz, me old China,’ saluted Les. ‘Don’t bother getting up. I can find my own way out.’ Les opened the door then stepped out onto the landing, closing it quietly behind him.

Two old ladies in cotton dresses and cardigans were standing on the landing, along with a young blonde woman in jeans and a grey sweat shirt holding a baby.

‘What was all the noise in there?’ asked one of the old ladies.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry about that,’ replied Les. ‘I was just helping my friend move a piano inside.’

‘A piano?’ said the other old lady.

‘Yes,’ smiled Les. ‘Back in Poland, Igor was a classical pianist. Didn’t you know?’

‘No. I didn’t,’ said the first old lady.

‘He sure is,’ beamed Les, heading for the stairs. ‘As soon as he gets it tuned properly, you’ll be able to listen to all your beautiful old favourites. Chopin. Mozart. Beethoven. Rolf Harris.’

‘Oh, how lovely,’ said the second old lady.

‘Yes,’ agreed the first old lady. ‘Much better than that horrible music they play today.’

‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ smiled Les. ‘Goodbye ladies. Sorry about the noise.’

‘That’s quite all right. Goodbye, young man.’

Les put his cap on then exited the block of flats and walked towards Glenayr Avenue. Right, determined Les. The sooner I get this bag to Bodene, the sooner I can get my money. And the sooner he can put a bullet in Lasjoz’s brain. Christ! I’d hate to have to go through that again. Les got to the corner to wait for the lights to cross over and noticed the other people waiting for the lights were staring grim-faced down Glenayr Avenue. When Les joined them he couldn’t believe his eyes. Seven Ways was total pandemonium.

Police and police cars were everywhere. Bodene was against one police car in handcuffs along with one of his friends. Topaz and Barbara were both handcuffed, and what looked like Bodene’s two other friends were lying on the grass with black plastic sheets over them. The crowd at Azulejos was standing back with stunned looks on their faces. Two cops were running out yellow Crime Scene tape. The council workers had all downed tools and the loafing council workers Les had noticed earlier were walking around, guns in one hand and walkie-talkies in the other.

‘What the fuck?’

Suddenly, Les heard a voice behind him.

‘Hello Les.’

Les turned around. It was Detective Maroney wearing the same blue suit as the day before and his sunglasses.

‘Rod,’ said Les. ‘What…what’s going on?’

Detective Maroney pointed to the green bag and smiled. ‘I see you found the green bag with the eagle on the side, Les. Clever little devil, aren’t you.’

Les looked at the bag then turned to Detective Maroney, stunned. ‘How the fuck…?

‘Les. Come here.’ Detective Maroney moved Les back from the people on the corner. ‘What do you think I told you to keep away from Bodene Menjou for? He’s been parked outside Azulejos for the last three weeks organising a shipment of coke. It’s all up at the pizza shop. Topaz Delimara’s the tester. And Barbara Lewis is in on the distribution.’

‘You’re kiddin,’ said Les.

Detective Maroney shook his head. ‘The smartie thought all the noise from the council workers would stuff up the surveillance equipment. And he was half right. But we planted sensors all round that little park. And got every word.’

‘Every word?’ said Les.

‘Every word,’ nodded Detective Maroney. ‘You’re on tape,’ he smiled. ‘In fact the boys got a bit of a laugh about your views on political correctness.’

‘Oh shit,’ groaned Les.

‘It looks like you found the bag all right, Les,’ said Detective Maroney. ‘But you’re going to be a long time waiting for your money. At least twenty-five years.’

‘Oh shit,’ Les groaned again. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’

‘Something like that, Les. Yeah.’

Les shook his head then looked seriously at Detective Maroney. ‘Look, thanks for telling me what you did, Rod. I appreciate it and I had no intention of going near those pricks. But I have to admit, when I found the bag, I was on my way down there to see about my money.’