Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker

Robert G. Barrett was raised in Bondi where he has worked mainly as a butcher. After thirty years he moved to Terrigal on the Central Coast of New South Wales. Robert has appeared in a number of films and TV commercials but prefers to concentrate on a career as a writer.

 

Also by Robert G. Barrett in Pan

YOU WOULDN'T BE DEAD FOR QUIDS
THE REAL THING
THE BOYS FROM BINJIWUNYAWUNYA
THE GODSON
BETWEEN THE DEVLIN AND THE DEEP BLUE SEAS
DAVO'S LITTLE SOMETHING
WHITE SHOES, WHITE LINES AND BLACKIE
AND DE FUN DON'T DONE
THE DAY OF THE GECKO
RIDER ON THE STORM AND OTHER BITS AND BARRETT
GUNS 'N' ROSÉ

 

As usual, the author is donating part of his royalties to Greenpeace.

This is a work of fiction and all characters in this book are a creation of the author's imagination.

First published 1994 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited 1 Market Street, Sydney

Reprinted 1995, 1996, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2008, 2009

Copyright © Robert G. Barrett 1994

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data:

Barrett, Robert G.

Mele kalikimaka Mr. Walker.

ISBN 978 0 330 35607 7

I. Title II. Title: Mele kalikimaka Mister Walker.

A823.3

Typeset in 10/13.5 pt Times by Post Pre-press Group Printed in Australia by McPherson's Printing Group

Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

This book is dedicated to a couple of Bondi waxheads, Kevin Brennan and Brad Mayes
.
Unfortunately the boys are with us no more, but as a sign of respect
,
Brad Mayes' board hangs on the wall of the Windsor Castle Hotel in Paddington.

 

The author would like to offer his deepest thanks to the following people for their friendliness and assistance in getting this book together.

Officer Rick de Ruiter, MPO-M. 11. Honolulu Police Department. Lieutenant Allan Napolean, in charge of homicide, HPD. Major Mike Carvalho, Narcotics/Vice Division, HPD. Doug Tanaka, Investigative Operations Bureau, Narcotics/Vice Division, HPD. Major Boisse P. Correa, Central Patrol Bureau, HPD. Detective Senior Constable Gerard Dutton, Forensic Ballistics Unit, New South Wales Police Service. Constable First Class Derryn Borg, NSW Police Service.

And Tanya Stein in Sydney for the dance instructions.

‘Righto, Warren. Now run all that rattle you were muttering about earlier in the week by me again.' Les Norton looked directly over his cup of coffee and the breakfast table at the top of Warren Edwards' head. ‘And maybe a little slower this time.'

Norton's flatmate looked up uninterestedly from his newspaper for a second time, then turned another page. ‘And just how slow do I have to run it for a wombat like you to understand?'

‘Not all that slow, home boy,' nodded Les. ‘But just slow enough. It appears I could have a financial interest in this, and I'm a little curious.'

It was the usual Sunday morning at Norton's house in Cox Avenue, Bondi. Les and Warren were in their tracksuits, having breakfast — eggs, toast, brewed coffee, whatever. The Sunday papers were spread over the table and some FM music was drifting quietly into the kitchen from the stereo in the loungeroom. Les had worked for Billy at the club the night before. Billy had gone down the south coast with his family for a week. Another easy night. Warren had taken his latest squeeze home
earlier, Annie, a sub-editor on some women's glossy magazine — because she had to go out to Penrith to see her sister. It was getting on for Christmas and well into summer, though going by the weather outside — cool, cloudy with a gusty sou'easter blowing and a chance of rain that night — you wouldn't think so. So apart from a couple of things here and there, life was continuing pretty much the same as normal at Chez Norton.

Les had got back from Jamaica okay and made it on time to Aunt Daisy's funeral. The family was rapt when he showed them the photos and told them about what he'd discovered over there, then after all the drunken festivities when the wake finally wound down he returned to Sydney. In confidence he showed Price the gold cross he'd snookered and Price offered him a small fortune for it on the spot. But Les preferred to hide it somewhere safe for the time being; it would always be there if Price or someone else wanted it. Another event that had happened was that DD had got in touch with him from Taree and returned to his life for a few days. The drama with her family was still going on, but DD had unloaded the pot she'd found and set herself up with an aerobics centre. ‘Taree Two Thousand' she called it and it was firing on all cylinders. DD was fit enough when Norton first met her, but now that she was running a gym she'd turned into a human dynamo — as Les shortly discovered when DD came down to Sydney to buy some more gym equipment at an auction. Five days she stayed with Les before driving back to Taree the previous Saturday with one of the girls who worked for her and a pretty torrid five days it was too, especially in the porking department. However,
there was a bit more to it with DD than just that, and now that she was gone Les found himself thinking about her quite a bit, particularly when he'd be sitting around the Kelly Club at night when it was quiet. In fact, if it hadn't have been for DD's ratbag family, Les might have gone up to Taree and given it some sort of a go. In the meantime life had to go on and on this particular breakfast occasion Les and Warren weren't about to discuss women, the coming of Christmas or what was making the headlines in their Sunday papers. During Norton's absence, Warren had received part of a modest inheritance, which he'd now turned into a sizeable investment which Norton wanted to discuss a little more fully. But more out of curiosity than anything else, as he'd told Warren earlier.

‘Okay, Les,' said Warren, folding his Sunday paper, ‘now what is it rattling around inside that empty biscuit tin you call a head that's worrying you?'

‘Well,' replied Les, taking a sip of coffee and placing his cup on the table, ‘you've bought yourself a two-bedroom home unit at Randwick — double garage, two balconies, close to the shops and with quite a good view of the park. All very nice indeed, I might add. I've driven past a couple of times and checked it out.'

‘That's right,' conceded Warren. ‘I've made a small investment.'

Les nodded. ‘And this… small investment of yours, you've laid new carpet, put in some curtains and a fridge and you've rented it out already.'

‘That's right,' conceded Warren again. ‘A nice Australian schoolteacher and his equally nice dental nurse wife. A lovelier couple you'd never wish to meet.'