Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (10 page)

Les found his goggles, got into some old gear then went downstairs and did a lazy ten laps of the outdoor pool. There weren't many people in the pool and as he ploughed along Norton pondered whether he was
doing the right thing. He was still pondering this as he got under the outdoor shower and even when he returned to his room over more orange and guava juice. He was still pondering at the counter of Ala Moana Car Rentals in the hotel foyer as he waited next to a young Japanese couple. By the time the Hawaiian attendant in the pink floral shirt served him, Les had decided he probably wasn't.

Norton ended up hiring a Ford Mustang convertible for a week. Although he only had six days to go it worked out better that way and cost around $300 US with insurance against everything including a nuclear attack. Les paid for it with his VISA card. Next thing he was in a minibus out near the hotel driveway waiting to get driven to the car hire depot, along with the Japanese couple and several loud, fat seppos from Wis-karn-sarn. As he sat in the minibus Les looked over at the parking lot where he had belted the last two marines and noticed it was next to a fairly large white church that went down to Kalakau Avenue. Opposite were more shops belonging to the hotel complex. The driver got in and they cruised off in air-conditioned comfort, taking pretty much the same route Mick did past the Ala Wai canal; only instead of going up and over the bridge they cut down some street back into Kalakau, pulling up in the lot of Ala Moana Car Rentals. It was big and spacious and reminded Les of a car yard.

After signing some more forms in another office Les found himself back outside, looking down at a low, sleek, metallic grey convertible with a rack on the boot, trying to figure out how to get the hood down. The trick was two little clips up beside the windshield. After that it
was simply push a button here, a button there, then the electric windows hissed down, the roof hummed back over the boot and the sun poured in. Even after being flogged half to death by every tourist to hit Ala Moana Car Rentals, the engine kicked straight into life and sounded good. In fact the whole little car felt okay and after his earlier experience driving in America, Norton was full of confidence as he slipped the Mustang into drive and eased in amongst the other traffic on Kalakau Avenue.

The traffic was fairly heavy and, once again, not only did the silly bloody Americans drive on the wrong side of the road, but in Hawaii they only have one set of traffic lights facing you at the intersections and they're on the opposite side of the road. Les almost skidded into a couple of cars at one intersection then had to reverse back a few metres and sit there like a bit of a wally. However, the other drivers could probably see that he was just another dopey bloody tourist and didn't bother to abuse him; they simply stared at him like he was an idiot. While he tried to ignore them behind his sunglasses Norton switched on the radio and couldn't quite believe it when he got the same oldies station and blasting out of the four-way speakers came ‘At the Hop' by Danny and the Juniors. Now Les not only felt like a dopey tourist driving a rental, he felt like an Elvis impersonator sitting in a Cadillac convertible — all he felt was missing was the wraparound sunglasses and the white, sequinned cape.

The traffic finally took off, Les eased in with it again and this time it was no sweat. The road was wide and even though the Mustang felt a little low compared with
the other cars, his view was good and Les had no problems weaving in and out through the lanes. In fact, Norton was feeling quite the toff as he cruised along with the breeze in his hair and the radio going. Nothing wrong with this, he thought, as he kicked the Mustang back into second and zoomed past a taxi to take a left into Paokalani then round the block and back to the hotel. As he pulled up in the driveway Norton thought, if James Bond can do it, why can't I? He got out of the Mustang and as the attendant in a light blue Hawaiian shirt came over handed him the keys.

‘I'd like to valet park this, please.'

‘Certainly, sir. What's your room number?'

The attendant was around twenty with a cheeky sort of smile. He explained to Les exactly what he had to do. Les slung him a dollar, walked across to the foyer and filled in another form, then went up to his room.

What Les felt like as he pulled off his sweaty T-shirt was a nice strong cup of coffee; unfortunately, however, there was nothing in the room to make it with. Oh well, he chuckled to himself, you never know. I might get a cup up the road. He put the radio in the bathroom and whistled happily along to ‘He's So Fine' by the Chiffons as he climbed under the shower. This time Les gave himself a full-on detail: hot shower, close shave, the hotel shampoo and conditioner, Xeryus patted onto his face and Norsca under the arms. The works. There was an iron in the wardrobe so he pressed a pair of dark blue cotton trousers he'd thrown in plus a maroon silk shirt with a blue design and topped this off with his shiny black, Cuban heel R.M. Williams riding boots. Standing about two inches taller, Les gave himself a
couple of once up and downs in the mirror. He was about to adjust the collar on his shirt and shook his head. No, mate. It doesn't get any better than that. He sipped some more orange and guava juice, had a quick look at the contents of the mailing bag, checked the map he'd got at the car hire, then placed them all in his overnight bag, along with his camera. He had another quick look round the room to check that he had everything then turned off the radio and went back downstairs.

The young attendant gave Les a bit of a once up and down in his new clobber as Norton showed him the form from the hotel. Les then went across to the parking lot and got the car. The hood was up, Les left it that way as he took a left onto Kalakau and wound down all the windows; it was only about a ten-minute drive to where he was going. He turned on the radio at a set of lights then when they turned green drove into Kapiolani Park going towards Diamond Head.

The park was wide and sparse and swarming with brightly coloured joggers, mainly Japanese. Les cruised along with the ocean on his right, past a smaller, but nice-looking hotel called the Kalimani, then a fountain on his left, then turned into Diamond Head Road, which soon began to climb steadily. There were initially houses on either side covered in blue bougainvillea and other colourful shrubs and flowers, then there was nothing but sparse, treeless granite cliffs on the left and a long granite wall winding up on the right with the ocean beyond that. Les drove past some sort of lighthouse station and further on a lookout area then a couple of kilometres or so further was another lookout area. The view was quite spectacular so Les pulled up, got
his camera out and took some photos of several windsurfers doing some unbelievable manoeuvres in the stiff offshore winds gusting over the blue reefs. It was postcard stuff all right — the breeze, the towering cliffs, the reefs, the colours. But Les had other things on his mind. He got back in the car, checked the map again and drove on.

The road descended now, with expensive-looking houses on either side surrounded by tropical trees, till Diamond Head Road came to a park, passed it and became Kahala Avenue. Right off the park another road dipped down through more sumptuous houses built a few hundred metres back from the ocean; this was Kula-wani Place. Les drove down a couple of hundred metres or so, checking the numbers on the surrounding mansions. The one he was looking for was on a corner on the right. Les parked on the opposite side of the road, switched off the engine and checked the house out.

It was big, taking up all the corner, two storeys of stucco concrete in three shades of brown with a red, Spanish-style roof. There was an abundance of well-manicured trees, flowers and shrubs, and security cameras around the walls protected it from the street. From where he stood Les could see the other palm-tree dotted houses with their private beaches a couple of hundred metres away and beyond that more reefs running into the windswept ocean. The whole area smelled of money, comfort and style and if Honolulu had a Vaucluse this was it. There was a white, double wrought-iron gate across the driveway, solid enough to stop a Panzer Division. Norton got his bag from the car and walked over. The gate was built to keep out nosey
parkers, but peering through the grilles, Les could see a man in white trousers and a blue floral shirt running a hose over a bronze Mercedes. The bloke was black and an absolute monster. Six feet four, twenty stone at least, a barrel chest with a paunch underneath and arms like two cedar logs. He had a flattened nose and the ear on one side of his head would have looked all right sitting on a plate with corned beef and white sauce. Les tipped him to be either a wrestler or an ex gridiron player. He caught Norton's eye and stopped what he was doing for a second.

‘Hey, mate!' Les called out. ‘Can I see you for a minute?'

The monster dropped the hose and ambled over. When he got to the gate he almost took up one side. ‘You want something, buddy?' he asked, in a deep, growly voice that was almost expressionless.

‘Yes,' smiled Norton. ‘Could you tell Andriana Hazlewood there's a Mr Les Norton over from Australia would like to see her.'

The monster shook his monster head once. ‘No.'

‘No?'

‘That's what I said, friend. Miss Hazlewood ain't seeing no one today. This week. Ever.'

‘But I'm a good friend of hers from Australia. I gotta see her.'

‘I don't care if you're the Lord Jesus Christ selling five-dollar shoes. Miss Hazlewood ain't seein' no one. And she particularly mentioned Australians.'

‘She did?'

The monster nodded his head again. ‘That was the lady's exact words.'

‘Shit!'

‘Right on, brother. And that's what you gonna be in if you don't get the fuck out of here and stop wasting my time.'

‘Shit!' Les looked at the monster again, who wasn't smiling one little bit. There was no way of getting through the gate and if you did the monster waiting on the other side would probably tear you apart then eat you. Plus, if Norton wasn't wrong, underneath the blue floral shirt he was carrying a rather large gun. Maybe it was the look on Norton's face, maybe it was his aftershave. Maybe the monster was hoping Les wouldn't go away so he could come outside and rip his spleen out. But the big man seemed to hesitate for a moment.

‘All right, fair enough,' said Les quickly. ‘But could you do me just one favour?' The monster didn't move. ‘You've got an intercom over there. Get a message to Miss Hazlewood. Say to tell Fenwick it's the Tripeman. Hang on, I'll write it down for you.' Before the big man had time to think too much, Les had whipped out a biro, written it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him through the gate.

The monster blinked at the message then blinked up at Les. ‘Okay, I'll see she gets the message. But if it comes back nil vibes, I'm coming out there and you're gonna eat it. Plus the rag top on that shitty little convertible you got out of.'

Norton nodded his head and stood his ground. ‘Okay, mate, fair enough.' If Andriana Hazlewood was who he thought she was that message would get through. If she wasn't, and the monster came back out smoking, Les could bolt for the car, get it going and run over him. The monster walked off.

Les paced up and down the front for a few minutes, then he thought he saw the bloke walking back across the driveway. Next thing the gate swung open about a metre and the monster nodded for him to come inside.

‘Don't know who you are, Tripeman, but you sure must know something.' He closed the gate behind Les with a clang and locked the bolt. ‘Just before we go any further, brother, I'll take a look in your bag.'

‘Sure,' answered Les.

The big man went through Norton's overnight bag, then very professionally patted him down. ‘Okay. This way.'

The driveway was more a courtyard of rust-coloured paved bricks. This led across to a double garage and a solid oak door embossed with bronze dragons, above which was a short tiled roof supported by four marble columns. Landscaped lava flowerbeds ran up to the columns, and hanging from the open-air roof were a number of indoor flowers and several bronze and shell mobiles. The big man thumped once on the door which soon opened to an attractive Asian maid in a black uniform.

‘This way please, sir,' she said.

The big man disappeared as Norton stepped inside and had a quick look around. The house was furnished mainly in jade, white and a kind of soft mustard, and had plain beige carpet. Although the house was fully air-conditioned, ceiling fans spun silently, just rippling an abundance of tall indoor plants. It was split level with stairs going up, and on the other side of the sunken lounge facing him Les noticed a spiral staircase out on a verandah with a sparkling blue swimming pool behind
it. All the furniture was pastel-coloured, comfortable and expensive-looking. There was a black TV and stereo stand against one wall, paintings, silk fans and bronze plaques hung on the other walls, and on just about every table sat a jade or onyx lampstand. Two ceramic cheetahs were at the top of the short staircase where Les stood and at the bottom was a family of solid onyx cats. The house had a kind of Asian feel about it. But whatever the feel it was all very tasteful and all very expensive. The maid motioned for Les to go down the stairs into the sunken loungeroom.

Sitting on a white lounge with the pool behind her was the same blonde in the newspaper photo only she was wearing a sheer, cinnamon-coloured woollen dress with an orange, carved coral necklace. Her blonde hair bobbed over a pair of diamond earrings and this time without the sunglasses there was no mistaking those hazel eyes and the smartarse smile — which turned into a wide grin when she saw Les coming down the stairs.

‘Les bloody Norton,' she said, getting up and walking over. ‘As I live and breathe.'

‘Andrea bloody Hayden,' replied Norton. ‘What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?'