Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (12 page)

Les took the mailer from his overnight bag, opened it up and spread the contents on the coffee table. ‘Mick took me down to the HPD and I got these while I was there.'

Andrea shook her head as the anger in her eyes melted into sadness. ‘God! Poor little Sum Lin. Little Wu Tae.' Andrea stared at the photocopies, then her expression changed. ‘Christ! Who's the black scrubber? She's not one of mine.'

‘Her name's there. I think she comes from Chicago.'

‘Pepper Pebble Rock? Have a go at her tits. The nipples look like manhole covers.' Andrea shuddered. ‘You wouldn't give that to your dog.'

‘Mr Walker didn't think so.'

‘Is that what they're calling this creep?' Andrea glared at the photocopies. ‘I'll give him fuckin' Mr Walker if I ever get my hands on the prick.'

‘You got any idea who it might be, Andrea?'

Andrea shook her head. ‘They reckon it's some marine. I had a bit of trouble with some of them early in the piece, but that was only for annoying the girls down the beach.'

‘You ever thought this wombat might be angling towards you through your girls? You know, trying to put the frighteners on you first? Then,
crunch
! Me and Mick had a good talk about this and it was one idea he put up.'

‘I had thought of that,' agreed Andrea. ‘But I carry a handgun with me most of the time. And I got Monroe out the front. A dinosaur wouldn't get past him. Not that he's with me twenty-four hours a day. And not that I want him with me twenty-four hours a day. He scares me half the time. The bloody earth shakes when he's walking next to you.'

The coffee was still warm. Les poured a fresh cup and nibbled on another chocolate truffle. ‘You know, Andrea, the main reason Mick wants to talk to you is about this Mr Walker arsehole.'

Andrea looked up from the photocopies. ‘Fuck him. He's still a cop.'

‘Yeah, I know what you mean, Andrea. But, believe me, he's got just as much shit coming down on him over all this as you have. Probably more.'

‘Good. I'm glad.'

Les smiled and shook his head. ‘He's not even all that mad keen to nick you. He can't anyway, more or less.'

‘I know,' nodded Andrea. ‘Isn't it beautiful?'

‘In that respect he just wishes you'd fold up your tent and move on. Which you're gonna have to do sooner or later. But in the meantime, he just wants to have a word with you about this killer.'

‘It's probably one of his copper mates and he's just trying to cover up for him.'

‘I thought you said they were all squeaky clean.' ‘They are. But they all still like a root.'

‘Don't we all? What about the night I was forced to rape you myself?'

‘I remember it well, Les,' smiled Andrea. ‘You tied me up with strips of wet newspaper. I was powerless to resist.'

‘You just brought out the animal in me, Fenwick.'

Les and Andrea went over the photos, talking about different angles and things, with Andrea still adamant she didn't want to talk to the police, she had her own methods, and Les trying to convince her she should. Half the time Les wondered why he was bothering — none of it was his business and he was only there for a week's holiday. But something wasn't right and this Mr Walker character needed to be sorted out. Finally Les tapped the photos with an index finger.

‘Okay, Andrea. If you don't want to see Mick, that's fair enough. I don't really blame you keeping away from the cops. But if you won't do it for yourself, I reckon you at least owe it to little Sum Lin, or whatever her name is.' Les looked Andrea right in the eye. ‘Or at least the other girls you've got working for you. The ones that are left.'

Andrea stared right back at Norton and her hazel
eyes narrowed. ‘You can be pretty convincing at times, Les, can't you?'

A half smile spread over Norton's face. ‘How do you think I was able to get into your miserable pants, you rotten little thing.'

Andrea continued to stare at Les for a few minutes. Her eyes were still narrowed and the expression on her face didn't change one bit. Les soon got the feeling this wasn't Andrea Hayden, his old friend, staring at him. This was Andriana Hazlewood, hard-nosed millionaire businesswoman and well-connected criminal. Who, as Norton said earlier, didn't get where she was by selling hot-dogs outside the SCG.

‘I'll tell you what I'll do, Les,' she finally said. ‘Tell Reinhardt I'll meet him nine o'clock this Wednesday morning at the Kalimani Hotel. We'll have breakfast. You know where it is?'

Les nodded. ‘Yeah. I passed it on the way here.'

‘Tell him to come on his own and park outside. And I want you there too.'

‘Okay. No worries. Mick'll be rapt.'

‘And tell the miserable prick he can pay too. Charge it to the HPD.'

‘As good as gold, Andrea. We'll do breakfast. I'll make sure the bill gets paid and a lovely time is had by all.'

Andrea continued to stare at Les. ‘Okay. Now that's all cleared up, how long did you say you were here for? You go back Saturday night?' Les nodded. ‘Except for Wednesday morning I'm flat out for most of the week, but I want to have a drink with you before you go back. Maybe Thursday night. In the meantime, what are you doing tomorrow?'

Les shrugged. ‘Not much. I was thinking of taking a run over the North Shore. I got to drop a camera case off to some bloke at a surfing contest.'

‘I'll send someone round to keep you company.'

‘You'll what?'

‘I'll send someone over to look after you and make sure you don't get lost. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning there'll be a knock on your door. And you can tell me about it when I see you on Wednesday morning.'

Norton was a little at a loss. ‘Okay,' he nodded. ‘I could do with a bit of company, to tell you the truth.' Les decided it was about time he got something off his chest. ‘All I've done since I've been here is fight silly bloody marines.'

Andrea screwed her face up. ‘There was something on the news about a brawl in Kuhio last night. Some marines got beaten up pretty bad by a mob of pommy soccer hooligans. You weren't in that, were you?'

‘Forget the pommy soccer hooligans,' scoffed Les. ‘Try one terrified Australian hooligan trying to get home without getting his head kicked in.'

Les told Andrea what happened on both nights and Andrea cracked up. ‘Christ! You haven't bloody changed, have you?' she said, almost wiping tears from her eyes.

‘Probably not,' agreed Les. ‘You certainly have, though.'

‘Touché,' smiled Andrea. ‘Hey, talking about getting away by the skin of your teeth, I'll tell you a funny story. I nearly got brought undone in a big way about a year ago. I was going to open a house up on the big island where your mate Warren's staying. You know,
keep this one on the sly just for all the rich yanks from the mainland. I got onto this place owned by an old Hawaiian who's never there and I sent someone over to check it out and make an offer and all that. So what does the goose I send over do? Goes to the wrong bloody house. There's this fifteen-year-old girl there, not a bad sort, and he thinks she's part of it, so he gives her the whole spiel. It turns out she's Arden French's stepdaughter and it's his joint.'

‘That nark from “The French Report” who never shuts up about pervs, paedophiles and anyone caught having a root out of the missionary position?'

‘Yeah, him. His bloody stepdaughter's gone along with it, sucked my bloke right in, then told her stepfather and he's come thundering out with a film crew, hoping to do a big exposé. I managed to knock it all on the head and he couldn't trace me. But he was here for nearly two weeks sniffing about. It was bloody close.'

‘Christ! Imagine the beat-up he'd get out of something like that. He'd run it for a month. “My holiday home invaded by hookers and pimps.” “My stepdaughter's life in danger.” “My secret agony.” Blah-blah-blah!' Les started to laugh. ‘What's he say at the end of his show? “C'est la vie.” He'd have given you c'est la vie all right.'

‘Yeah. Say no bloody more. The little shit.' Andrea winked at Les. ‘So I never quite got to open up on the big island, Les.' Andrea then opened her legs a little and winked at Les. Les reached over, ran his hand along her thigh and gave it a squeeze, making her giggle like a schoolgirl.

They talked and laughed some more about old times and different other things. They'd had enough coffee
so Andrea got the maid to bring some iced mineral water. She told Les how she'd scammed her green card and managed to get a fair bit of money out of the country. She still kept in touch with home and she knew about her ex going to gaol. Which was one of the reasons she told Monroe to keep an eye on any Australians that might come round, just in case it was Wayne or one of his mates trying to put a snip on. Andrea laughed at the photo in the paper. Her and old Takushi were at the flower show just buying some bonsai trees of all things and a photographer just snapped a photo of her for a society column.

Although Andrea was laughing and kidding about a lot, Les sensed that this was mainly from bumping into an old friend and having a bit of gossip. Underneath all the pizzazz Andrea had plenty to worry about. Her Godfather was dead, this nutter was murdering her girls and if she got too greedy and the FBI swooped on her she was looking at a good ten years or more and losing everything she had. Little black book or no little black book. Her purple patch had to end sooner or later. But seeing Les was a bit of a tonic and she was looking forward to seeing him on Wednesday with Mick and later on again one night before he flew back to Australia.

Eventually it was time for Les to go. Andrea gave him a quick tour of the house, introduced him to the maid, Shu-Yi, then walked him out the front and introduced him to Monroe, with instructions that if Les called round or rang up, he'd know who it was and to treat the honoured guest from Australia accordingly. The monster was all smiles and kind of apologetic now for being so gruff before. When they shook hands he didn't
quite crush Norton's, but almost wrenched his arm out of its socket instead. As Les rotated some feeling back into his shoulder, he wondered what might have happened to the last bloke who nicknamed Andrea's massive bodyguard Marilyn.

‘Well, Fenwick, thanks for the coffee,' smiled Les. ‘It was terrific seeing you again.'

‘You too, Les, you big spunk. I'll see you on Wednesday morning.' Andrea grabbed Les and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. But not that quick that she didn't find time to slip the tongue in. Then it was a last wave as the gate closed behind him and the next thing Norton was in the Mustang heading back up Diamond Head Road towards his hotel.

Well how about that? Les chuckled to himself as he came down into Kapiolani Park. I was right. It was her. And just as mad as ever. A bit of a grin spread across the big Queenslander's face. I wouldn't mind giving her another one, either. There's still something about her turns me on. And what a bloody story. I wish I'd thought to take a couple of photos. I'll get some on Wednesday morning. Hah! Wait till I tell Mick. He'll shit himself. Les was still a bit up in the air when he dropped the Mustang off in the driveway and caught the lift to his room.

Les got out of his Sunday best and back into his jeans shorts and a clean white Eumundi Lager T-shirt. The day was just about shot and he was figuring what to do with himself. He was dying to ring Mick, but he'd probably be having a kip with the answering service on. He'd catch him at work that night. The water still looked okay from his window, with the sun dancing
over it, but he'd already been for one long swim and didn't particularly feel like snorkelling around the same shallow reefs again. A cruise round in the ragtop with the wind in his face would be a bit of fun, and there was a big shopping centre he'd heard about at a place called Ala Moana, which wasn't very far away. Les got his overnight bag, locked the room, then, after cashing a couple of traveller's cheques at the foyer, slung the attendant another dollar and found himself back in the Mustang with the hood down, making a left into Kalakau Avenue.

With all the rattle of the day running around in his head, Les cursed himself for not bringing a tape with him to play. ‘Monster Mash' by Barry Boris Pickett was okay. But KIKI was starting to sound like some radio station where all the old records went to die. It was okay though cruising along in the ragtop, and it wasn't hard to get around. The traffic was fairly heavy, with cars going everywhere all on the wrong side of the road. But the roads were wide and there were a lot of one-way streets — if you took a wrong turn you just kept going round in circles on the wrong side of the road till you found your way again according to the road map. Les drove alongside a canal, past monster highrises, hotels, and hundreds of shops and restaurants till he zoomed up over a bridge across a canal and there was the entrance to Ala Moana Park on his left, running past the blue waters of Mamaia Bay. Then, on the other side of the massive six-lane he was on, split down the middle by an equally huge median strip, loomed Ala Moana shopping centre on the right, covered in Christmas decorations. Les cruised in and had no trouble
finding several parking spots, probably because your average American would find the going a bit tough having to walk about seventy-five yards, then up two small flights of stairs to the nearest escalator. Les didn't bother putting the hood back up. It wasn't his car and if anybody wanted to steal it they could have it; he'd just catch a cab back to the hotel and hire another one. With his bag over his shoulder and his VISA card burning a hole in his pocket, Norton strode cheerfully off towards the nearest escalator.

The mall was all bright and glitzy, festooned with red and green Christmas decorations and swarming with people of all ages, shapes and sizes strolling around doing their Christmas shopping. There were interesting little shops everywhere for you to spend your money in and a few spacious department stores: J.C. Pennys, Liberty House, Sears, and others if you had any money left over. There was also a store full of Walt Disney paraphernalia and a bigger one, Warner Bros World, stacked with souvenirs and clothing for every character in the Bugs Bunny show, and while you were shopping you could watch non-stop cartoons playing on a giant screen TV. Les drifted around and was just about to attack with his VISA card when he heard all this racket coming from below. He got an escalator to the bottom level, getting off near an open-air stage where about thirty hula girls in grass skirts and palm frond headdresses were going for it in front of half a dozen Hawaiian men banging on these drums like their lives depended on it. The girls were all quite pretty and dollied up with make-up and the oldest would have been about fourteen. Les whipped out his camera and started firing off a
few photos. I hope that nark from the big island Andrea was talking about isn't around, Les chuckled to himself as he banged off some more photos. Be nice if he saw me here watching all these schoolkids. He'd probably devote an entire show to me. But the young girls certainly knew how to hula and Norton wasn't the only one taking photos and applauding loudly. They took a break and Les decided to go shopping.