Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (11 page)

‘You big shit.' The owner jigged up to Norton and threw her arms around him. ‘Jesus, it's good to see you.'

‘You too, Andrea.' Les squeezed her in return. ‘It's always good to see an old friend.'

Andrea gave Les a big sloppy kiss on the lips then stepped back with his hands in hers and looked up at him. ‘You look so well, Les. And I still can't believe it.'

‘I can't quite believe it either, Andrea,' smiled Les.
‘And you look pretty good yourself, you little shit.' Norton let his eyes run round the room. ‘You don't look like you're starving either.'

‘How the bloody hell did you find me?'

‘Just asked the first Aussie cop I bumped into where you were and he did everything but draw me a map.' An odd look flashed across Andrea's face. ‘How about making us a cup of coffee and I'll tell you exactly what's going on.'

‘Coffee you got,' said Andrea enthusiastically. ‘Come on, grab a seat on the lounge.' She led Norton over to where she'd been sitting and they sat down next to each other. ‘Les Norton.' Andrea kept shaking her head. ‘I still can't bloody believe it.'

‘It's me all right,' said Les. ‘The Tripeman.'

Andrea laughed out loud. ‘I nearly died when I got that message. You stupid bugger. And don't ever bloody call me Fenwick again, either.' Andrea Hayden, alias Andriana Hazlewood, notorious brothel keeper and madam to the stars, laughed out loud again.

Andrea called the maid back and got the coffee organised, then she and Les started rabbiting on like a couple of old mates who hadn't seen each other for ages. Which was pretty much what they were. Les had met Andrea at a party in Sydney not long after her divorce and taken her out for a while. She was on the rebound and still a bit gun-shy, but Les found her to be a very funny woman who had never lost her personality, despite what she'd gone through. Always cracking corny jokes or trying to do equally corny impersonations. They got into each other's pants one night after about a gallon of daiquiris back at Norton's place. But Andrea still
didn't want to get involved for a while and both agreed it was more drunken, wretched lust than anything else — even if a jolly good time was had by all concerned and Andrea went off like a Belfast car bomb. Les still took her out now and again because he enjoyed her company and being older than him and better educated Les learnt a few things along the line as well. Half knowing her dopey ex husband Wayne, Les never mentioned anything much about her to anyone and they remained good friends till she sort of vanished off the scene and the last he heard from her was when she dropped him a postcard from Hawaii. It was her ex husband's name coming up down the beach that made him think of her and just a coincidence that Mick had a small file on her. The Tripeman thing came about when Les used to ring her up at the bank and ask for ‘Fenwick' after a bank clerk he'd seen in some old movie on TV. And when Andrea found out Les was a bouncer and didn't manage a smallgoods factory like he said, she reckoned he was full of tripe and nicknamed him the Tripeman. It was a silly thing between them they used to joke about.

The coffee arrived on a silver tray that sparkled like an ice cave, along with some tiny chocolate wafer truffle things that melted in your mouth. Les waffled on about how he still worked for Price, how Warren had tipped him into the free trip to Hawaii, how he knew Mick Reinhardt and this was his second trip to America. Although he was doing most of the talking, Les soon got the impression Andrea was a bit like Mick — rapt in seeing a friend from Australia and also dying to get something off her chest. Les poured himself another
cup of delicious Kohna coffee and decided it might be time to lob the ball over into Andrea's court.

‘So that's about my story, Andrea, old sausage. Here I am, and there you are.'

‘Yes. Here we both are. And it's so good to see you, Les.'

Les nodded. ‘Yep. I feel pretty much the same.' Les took a long, slow sip of coffee and looked at Andrea over the top of the cup. ‘So what's your story, Andriana Hazlewood? It's not a bad moniker you thought up either.'

‘My story?' purred Andrea innocently.

‘Yeah.' Les looked around him. ‘Last time I saw you, you were working in a bank driving an old Toyota with a stuffed gearbox. Now this. You don't buy houses like these selling hot-dogs outside the SCG. What's your story, Fenwick?'

Andrea sipped her coffee delicately, staring right back at Norton. ‘And just what do you think my story is, Les?'

‘You're runnin' some sort of knockin' shop.'

Andrea blinked, recoiling slightly with shock. ‘How dare you. I'll have you know I'm a Sexual Liaison Provider.'

‘That's what I said,' nodded Les. ‘You're a bloody old madam running a doss house.'

Andrea tossed back her head then reached over and slapped Norton on the knee. ‘Exactly, Les,' she chortled. ‘And making a fucking motza.'

Les cast his eyes around the opulent furnishings. ‘I thought business might've been all right.'

‘All right? Les, I only wish some of my girls had another pair of legs. I'd open up on the big island.'

‘Half your bloody luck,' answered Norton, as he watched Andrea bouncing around on the lounge. ‘So now that we've got that settled, how did you get into the rort?'

‘How did I become a madam?' Andrea took a sip of coffee then seemed to settle down into the fluffy white cushions. ‘It's not that long a story. But it's a story.'

‘Well, come on. You can tell me. We're old mates.'

Andrea seemed to get a faraway look in her eye. Here it comes, thought Norton. The whole sordid saga. I must be the local Australian shoulder to cry on. But underneath, Les was more than a little curious to know how fairly innocent bank clerk Andrea Hayden suddenly became Andriana Hazlewood, notorious madam to the stars.

‘You know, Les, I originally came here for just a ten-day holiday. A lousy package tour. Anyway, during my holiday I had a nasty incident with a yank bloke. A very nasty incident.'

Les noticed the humour momentarily evaporate from his old friend's face. ‘Do I detect a bit of… sex without seduction here, Andrea?'

‘Exactly, Les. And a black eye thrown in. But don't worry, it ended up costing this mug plenty. I know who got screwed best in the end.' Andrea smiled thinly. ‘Funny thing, he got killed not long after in a car accident. Along with his wife. So here I am with all this money and I fall in love with a priest.'

‘A priest?'

‘Yeah, James. About the best bloke I ever met in my life. So I arrange to overstay my visa, next thing he gets killed.'

‘What…?'

‘He was standing on a bridge not far from here and this bastard stabbed him.' Andrea's eyes went very soft for a few seconds. ‘Actually, it was about this time when it happened. Just before Christmas. I always… I always remember.'

Les could see that the priest still had a place in Andrea's heart. He thought that it might be an idea to delicately change the subject. ‘That's no good, mate. So what happened then?'

‘What happened then? Well, I'm in Hawaii trying to get over a divorce. I've been here five minutes and I get raped, then I get my heart broken. I've got all this money and there's nothing much waiting for me back in Australia. I've sworn off sex, men, booze and thinking things can only get better. Then I get run over.'

‘You
what
?'

‘I got run over. By this fucking stupid old Jap who shouldn't even have been driving a car.'

‘Were you hurt?'

Andrea's mouth formed a thin, sardonic smile. ‘Not as much as I made out. Anyway, I'm off to the hospital and I've got this old prick bang to rights because I was on a pedestrian crossing. But it turns out he's a Godfather in the Yakuza. You know what that is, Les?'

Les nodded. ‘Like a Japanese Mafia.'

‘Right. Now this old rooster knows I'm putting on a bit of an act, but he can't really do much because he's in the wrong — plus he's run over a woman and there's all this honour and face-saving shit they go on with. So he offers me a quarter of a million bucks to cop it sweet.'

‘Shit! That was okay.'

Andrea nodded slowly. ‘In a way. I could have sued him for millions if I'd have wanted to go through the courts and all that shit. Plus, at the time I didn't have a green card and I would've had to do it flying back and forth between Australia. Of course I didn't let on.' Andrea smiled thinly again. ‘I learnt a few things from that arsehole Wayne before I got my divorce. So I um and ah a bit and the old bloke for some reason takes a bit of a shine to me. And being an old gangster right down to his toenails, he's made me an offer.'

‘To set you up in the brothel business?'

‘Exactly,' beamed Andrea. ‘I'll tell you how it all works. It's the best rort going.'

‘Obviously.' Les could now see Andrea was rapt in getting all this off her chest to someone she knew. Pretty much like Mick. Les was quite rapt too getting the story from the other side. And with Andrea, the surroundings were a lot better than an office at the HPD.

‘You see, Les, half these houses around here are empty. They're owned by rich Japs who might only stay here one or two weeks a year. They're just investments. So this old Godfather arranges it all for me, with the owners' consent, of course, to use the houses as, like, travelling brothels. I keep moving the festivities from place to place. Which is one reason the cops can never catch me.'

‘Sounds good.'

‘It is. Now the girls are all Korean. Old Takushi lined them up too. They all come from this one big fishing village near Seoul and they're all glamours. It's something in their breeding gives them these sensational figures and they look so young. I got girls working for me that are almost thirty and they look about fifteen.'

Norton flashed back to how young and pretty the girls in the photos looked, even though the shots were taken in a morgue and under harsh lights.

‘I blonde their hair, tart them up with the grouse makeup, and the punters love them. Plus, and this must be in the breeding too, they're the best little roots in the world.'

‘Fair dinkum?'

‘Are you kidding, Les? I have to have a doctor and an ambulance on standby. They've given over twenty of the punters heart attacks.'

‘What a way to go.'

Andrea winked. ‘I look after the punters, though. As well as them getting the best roots in the world, I lay on all the grouse food, piss, drugs. Whatever their little hearts desire. And charge them accordingly.'

‘Sounds good to me.'

‘I rotate just on a hundred girls with fifty here all the time. And each one makes me around two grand a week after exes.'

‘Bloody hell!'

‘That's what I said when I made my first million. Next thing I'd made another one. And before long…' Andrea waved an arm in the general direction of the house.

‘Beats working in the bank, Fenwick.'

Andrea smiled and winked at Les. ‘Plus I don't have to worry about slinging the cops.'

‘You don't?'

‘No. They're all squeaky clean. Like silly fuckin' Reinhardt. But even if they could pinch me, they don't want to.'

‘The little black book?'

‘You know about that?' Andrea shook her head slowly. ‘Oh, Les, if you knew who some of my punters were and what they like to get up to, it'd curl your toenails.'

‘I suppose it would.'

Andrea gave a little sigh. ‘In a way, that's what's going to bubble the rort. You see, originally this was just supposed to be for all Takushi's rich mates, and some other rich Asian shifties. And don't worry, there was enough of them to go around. But before long word got out about the good times to be had at Aunty Andri-ana's, and next thing I start getting all these mainland yanks from Hollywood, New York, Washington, wherever, all cashed up and all wanting in on the rort. And I'm not going to knock back a quid. Their dough's as good as any of Takushi's dingbat mates. So I let them in, made sure that they all had a good time, and made sure I got a little something on them while they were at it. Cheerleader outfits are very popular with congressmen. Film stars and directors are more partial to French maid's outfits and school uniforms.'

Norton gave a little chuckle. ‘And what's the Godfather, this Takushi, think of you bringing in all the extra business?'

‘He doesn't.' Andrea rolled back her eyes. ‘He's dead too.'

‘Shit! What happened to him?'

‘He had a bloody heart attack.' Andrea shook her head in despair. ‘Everyone I meet seems to toss tails. I'm like the bloody angel of death.'

You're not wrong, thought Les. And we haven't even got round to the murders yet. ‘So what happens now?'

Andrea shrugged. ‘Well, I haven't quite got the protection
I had. Takushi's two sons have taken over the old man's business interests and they're letting things slide for the time being. Not being on the mainland helps. But…'

‘Mick reckons the FBI are about to put their heads in.'

‘Yeah,' nodded Andrea. ‘I heard that. They're a different kettle of fish altogether. They'd love nothing better than to raid one of my soirees and find some congressman tied to a bed, covered with cherry jello and getting his bat sucked by a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys.'

Norton had to shake his head. ‘So how long do you reckon before the shit'll start hitting the fan?'

Andrea shrugged again. ‘I'd like to think another year. Even six months. But, like I said…'

Les looked directly at Andrea. ‘And right in the middle of all this you've got a serial killer knocking off your girls.'

Andrea's hazel eyes flashed dark with anger. ‘Yeah, the bastard. You know about him too, do you, Les?'