Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (21 page)

‘Well why don't you, sweetie?' purred Andrea. ‘Huh, sweetie?'

‘You bloody well know why,' answered Mick.

‘Exactly — sweetie.'

‘Oh for Christ's sake,' said Les. ‘We're supposed to be having breakfast.'

Norton was about to say more when their plates of fruit arrived. It all looked that delicious — strawberries as big as your fist, perfect melon balls, neat slices of soft, pink papaya — that Andrea and Mick left each other's throats alone for the time being to get into it. Nonetheless, as they picked and chewed there was still a thick blanket of tension in the air.

‘This fruit's all right, isn't it?' said Les tentatively.

‘Yeah. Tops,'grunted Mick.

‘Quite refreshing,' said Andrea, picking daintily at a slice of papaya. She decided to put Mick on the back-burner for the time being and turned to Les. ‘So, what happened? You missed out last night, did you, lover boy?' she smiled.

Les made a gesture with his hands. ‘I didn't even try. Besides, she's got a boyfriend.'

‘You thought I was going to send you over one of my lovely models, didn't you?'

‘Knowing you, Fenwick, I didn't quite know what
to expect. But there was nothing wrong with Mitzi. She was great. And she's got some good-looking girlfriends too. Who, I might add, think I'm the hottest dancer and best sort to hit town in years.'

‘Best sort to hit town,' guffawed Andrea. ‘I'll bet you were running round on three legs all night too. As usual.'

‘No. Not really,' said Les.

Andrea looked evenly at Les and nodded slowly. ‘Actually, Mitzi said you were a perfect gentleman. And very polite. Helping her out of the car, and the lift — and all that.'

Les caught Andrea's drift and nodded back. ‘Yes. Well, it doesn't hurt to be polite, does it? And talking about polite, why don't you two both knock all this shit on the head and get fair dinkum. We all know what's going on and the understanding is, I brought you both together for Mick to talk about the killings. That's all.'

‘That's right,' said Mick. ‘I've had it up to here with that other rattle. You can stick your hookers for all I give a stuff. But I'm not copping some whacko running around murdering people. I want to nail this Mr Walker dude, and I don't care much what I gotta do to do it. You dig?'

Andrea was quiet for a moment, then she nodded slowly again. ‘Yeah, you're right. I was a bit out of order there, Mick. I apologise. We do have to do something.'

‘Well, thank Christ someone's showing a bit of brains,' said Norton, easing back in his seat.

‘Yeah, fair enough,' said Mick. ‘And I apologise too. I did say a few nasty things then and I know I can get a bit pushy at times.' He half smiled. ‘And you're
not that fat at all. In fact, Ms Hazlewood, you're quite an attractive woman — lady.'

‘Why, thank you,' beamed the madam to the stars. ‘Why don't you call me Andrea. And I'll call you Mick.'

‘Okay — Andrea.' Mick seemed to think for a moment. ‘So what can you tell me — Andrea?'

‘Well, for the moment, Mick, all I can tell you is there's some very delightful food coming our way. And the way superstud here's drooling all over the table, it looks like he's ready to chew the waiter's arm off when he puts it down.' Andrea smiled up at the three waiters for a second, then back at Norton. ‘The thing on the right, Les, is called a knife. The other implement is a fork.'

‘Thanks, Fenwick,' smiled Les. ‘How would you like them both jammed in your khyber?'

Andrea smiled back. ‘How would you like me to call Monroe and get him to sort that out with you?'

Les winked. ‘You're right, Andrea. I'd look pretty funny riding a pushbike with them both jammed in mine.'

Andrea wasn't kidding about the food — it was scrumptious. Norton's breakfast steak was like marshmallow and the devilled potatoes, lightly fried in some tomato, onion and basil chutney, were almost a meal on their own. The good food, pleasant surroundings and excellent service seemed to calm things down even more. Andrea and Mick talked away, through their mains, right up to the coffee and almond croissants. Les kept silent most of the time, although he did put his twenty cents worth in every now and again, adding a couple of things that Mitzi had told him and a couple of theories he'd discussed with Mick back at the HPD.
Finally, however, the only things they could seem to agree on was that whoever this Mr Walker cat was, he was cunning, strong, seemed to know all the girls' movements and appeared to strike on the full moon.

‘So that's about it, Mick,' said Andrea, washing a nibble of croissant down with a sip of coffee. ‘I only wish I could help you more. But this bastard's got me flummoxed as much as everybody else.'

‘And you've never got any marines off side or had any dealings with them?'

‘No.' Andrea shook her head adamantly. ‘My girls wouldn't go near those poxy jarheads. Besides, they couldn't afford them anyway.' She looked at Mick, then seemed to gaze out over the ocean for a moment. ‘Wait a minute. Wait a minute. There was a marine colonel we catered for some time back. But he was retired. He was a big, fit bludger, though, if I remember. I'll find out who he was. I forgot all about him.'

‘See, that's what I'm looking for, Andrea,' enthused Mick. ‘Any little thing like that. He could be our man.'

Andrea seemed to think again for a second. ‘Yeah. But I still reckon it's some whacko from the barracks around here who just likes to kill women. Like that big yank soldier in Melbourne during the war. They made a movie about it. What was the song he used to sing in a high-pitched voice? “It's a lovely day tomorrow”?'

‘What about Mitzi's theory?' said Les. ‘The bloke's working his way through the alphabet up to you?'

‘Maybe,' Andrea shrugged. ‘I can't see it though. I cover my arse too well. I still reckon it's a nutter just hates classy girls. Probably because he got a knockback.'

‘The marines have been very guarded, I can tell you that,' said Mick.

Andrea looked at him for a moment. ‘Remember, Mick, I told you about that fifty grand I put on this dropkick's head? Well, if you can nail him, that fifty's yours.'

‘Hey! Hang on a minute,' protested Mick.

‘Oh look, forget about the bloody HPD for a while, Mick. If you get him the fifty's yours whether you like it or not. Make a nice wedding present for you and Kia.' Andrea took amusement from the colour forming in Mick's cheeks then looked at her watch. ‘Anyway, Mick, I've got a million things to do today. And regardless of the fifty, I do feel you should let me pick up the tab.' She discreetly looked at the bill. ‘Yes, I think you'd both better.'

Without waiting for an answer, Andrea pulled a wad of fifties from a purse in her tracksuit and slid some beneath the docket. Then, after a final sip of coffee, they rose from the table, the head flunkie escorted them up to the foyer, where they collected Monroe and walked round to the parking lot. Back at the Mercedes, Monroe held the door open and waited patiently.

‘Well, Mick,' said Andrea, offering her hand once more, ‘it's been a pleasure and I'm glad we got together and worked things out a little more amicably. I've got your card and I'll get Mitzi to go through the files again and I'll be in touch before the weekend.'

‘Okay, Andrea. I'd appreciate that. And I'm glad you appreciate my position.' He squeezed her hand warmly. ‘And thanks for breakfast. It was tops.'

‘Like I said, it was my pleasure.' Andrea looked at
Norton. ‘As for you, Les, I've got things to do tonight. Things to do. But tomorrow night, why don't we go out for dinner and afterwards I might show you a bit of real dirty dancing. Ring me first.'

‘Okey-doke,' smiled Les. ‘I'll spit polish my dancing shoes.'

‘Goodbye, Mick. Goodbye, Les.'

‘See you, Andrea.'

Andrea slid in the back and Monroe closed the door. ‘I'll see you guys some other time.'

‘Yeah, righto, Monroe,' said Les, feeling in a good mood at the way things had worked out. ‘I might even catch up with you for a drink some time.'

‘Possibly.' An exasperated sort of smile flitted across the big man's face just before he opened the driver's door. ‘But definitely not tonight. Tonight I just happens to have the night off, praise the Lord.'

Mick and Les watched the Mercedes pull out of the carpark and move slowly towards Diamond Head, then they got back in Mick's car and drove to Norton's hotel.

‘Well, there you go, Mick. What did I tell you? I said things would work out for the best. And I got a feeling she'll roll up her tent before long and leave you in peace.'

‘Yeah. Yeah, let's hope you're right. This retired colonel sounds interesting too. I'd like to have a word with him.'

‘So what are you doing now?'

‘Now? I'm going home to get some more sleep. I'm still half knackered and I'm working a double header later on. The office this afternoon. Then I'm back in uniform and out cruising around in a blue and white
tonight.' Despite his tiredness Mick couldn't hold back his new-found enthusiasm. ‘But Friday night, I'm taking the night off and you and me are going out to get shitfaced. Shit-fuckin'-faced.'

‘Sounds all right to me,' winked Les. ‘And, Mick, if I were you and I cracked this case, I'd cop that fifty Andrea's talking about.'

‘Yeah. It's a bloody thought,' agreed Mick a little reticently. ‘And it's not like I'm taking a bribe. It's more like a bonus for all the shit I've been put through.'

‘Exactly, Mick. Exactly. We'll make a copper out of you yet.'

Mick dropped Les off at the hotel and told him once more where to get in touch with him if he needed to. Les gave the roof a couple of slaps, said goodbye and watched Mick drive off, then walked around to the lobby and straight into a waiting lift.

Back in his room Les felt good. Even his back seemed to be hurting a little less. It had been a good morning and a good meal and he was contented and feeling quite pleased with himself at bringing Andrea and Mick together. He got a glass of fruit juice and despite it being not much of a day outside, was still feeling pleased with himself when the phone rang. Norton's eyes narrowed. I bet I know who that is. Fuckin' Warren. It was the front desk.

‘Mr Norton?'

‘Yes.'

‘This is the desk. We're confirming your late checkout tonight.'

Les screwed his face up. ‘My what?'

‘Mr Edwards rang to say the suite has been cancelled
for the rest of the week. What time would you like to check-out?'

‘Time…?'

‘Yes. Would eleven pm suit you? Eleven-thirty is the latest we can do. We've let the room already. As part of the arrangement.'

‘Yeah. Righto,'replied Les vaguely. ‘Eleven-thirty'll… be okay.'

‘Thank you, Mr Norton.'

Les looked at the receiver in his hand for a moment then put it back. What the fuck was that all about? What the fuck's Warren up to? The shifty, lying little bludger. Shaking his head, Norton looked at the red message button he'd forgotten about still flashing merrily away on the panel. He picked up the receiver and pressed it.

The first message was from Mick, saying he'd ring back again and if Les wasn't there he'd ring back at eight o'clock on Wednesday morning. The next one was the waxheads. Beauty, Les. Thanks for the favour and they'd call for him Tuesday night. If he wasn't there they'd meet him at Cadillacs near Ala Moana. Shit! What a shame I missed you fellahs. I had a cunt of a night. The next was a lot more urgent, not as polite, and from Warren sounding excitable bordering on hysterical.

‘Les, it's Warren. Now listen. We're flying out on Wednesday night at eleven-thirty. You got that? I've cancelled the room. I can't get to a phone easily, but I'll ring you eleven-thirty on Wednesday morning. You got that? Eleven-thirty I ring you. Eleven-thirty we fly out. Make sure you're bloody there.'

Well, that was to the point, thought Les. I'm still buggered if I know what's going on. This is bloody crazy. Still spinning, Les looked at his watch. Five minutes to eleven-thirty. It must be fair dinkum though. For the life of him, Les still couldn't figure out what in hell was going on. He turned the radio on and another golden oldie oozed out as he stared vacantly at his gear, wondering if he should start packing. It was weird. The whole bloody thing was weird. Then the phone rang.

It was Warren, sounding like he had his bowels in a knot. ‘Where the fuck have you been, you big goose? The bloody lines are down and I'm on a mobile with about five minutes of fuckin' battery left.'

‘Warren, what the bloody hell are you going on about? The lines are down? You're on a mobile? And what's with this — “we're flying out tonight”?'

‘Haven't you read the papers or listened to the radio or watched TV? The bloody volcano's erupted. Kilauea's gone off. The first time in ten fuckin' years and I'm right in the fuckin' middle of it. I'm lucky I'm alive.'

‘Ohh yeah,' drawled Les. ‘I saw something about volcanoes on TV. But I thought they were documentaries for the
National Geographic
or something.'

‘Ohh, you bloody wombat. I don't believe it. Hang on. Yes I do. Shit! Anyway, that's it. The holiday's over. We're out of here tonight. Qantas is putting on a special flight, so pack your gear.'

Norton gazed towards the window. ‘I dunno, Woz. We only just got here and I've been having a pretty good time. What if I don't want to go?'

‘Don't then. Book yourself into another room at two hundred dollars US a night. And then it's another two
thousand dollars US one-way Business Class going back. If you can get a flight.'

Norton almost had time for a half blink. ‘What do you want me to do? Meet you at the airport?'