Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (6 page)

‘Tah-mait-oh is a separate order,' said the waitress.

‘Good. Then bring me a whole plate of tah-mait-oh,' said Norton.

It turned out Kia was a schoolteacher. She and Mick lived together and were getting married in April. She also couldn't stay long when they'd finished breakfast because she had private classes starting at twelve-thirty teaching Japanese students English. Les was a little curious how Mick came to be in the police force. Mick said when he got his green card it was either that, the fire brigade, or the council, and he fancied doing the physical for the police force where he blitzed the field —
then found he truly enjoyed the work, although Les thought he heard him mutter ‘sort of' to Kia, who gave him what seemed like an understanding smile and squeezed his arm.

The food arrived and Les was surprised the way Kia tore in for a fairly small girl. Her omelette was already drowning under about two metres of gravy, but she still added around half a bottle of every sauce on the table, mopping up what was left with toast. Mick wasn't far behind. Norton's sausages were just okay but the eggs ran into the hash browns like a big, greasy, yellow puddle. He just picked here and there, mainly eating his tomato and toast and drinking his coffee. It was still quite pleasant chit-chatting away about not much in particular. Kia was a nice girl with a slightly cynical sense of humour, which she needed because Mick still had plenty of Bondi in him. Yet despite the pleasantries Les still felt Mick seemed a little strained at times and it wasn't just from working the night before.

They finished the last of the toast and jam and Kia had to get going. Norton said he'd pay the bill and Mick could leave the customary tip. Outside they walked across to the park where Kia had left her car — a white Toyota.

‘Well, it was truly nice meeting you, Kia,' said Norton.

‘You too, Les. And thanks for the breakfast.'

‘My pleasure. We might do it again before I go back.'

‘So where are you off to now, Mick?'

‘I gotta go pick up my pay. What time'll you be home?'

‘Around five. I got two big classes this afternoon.' Kia pointed a finger at Mick. ‘And don't forget, we have to do some Christmas shopping tonight.'

‘I'll be there.'

‘Goodbye, Les.'

‘Mele Kalikimaka,' winked Norton.

Kia's smile was dazzling. ‘Hey, you too, Les.'

Les watched her drive off then turned to Mick. He was completely expressionless and Les decided to put it straight on him. ‘Hey, Mick, have you got something on your mind?'

Mick seemed to think for a moment. ‘You noticed?'

‘Noticed? Mate, you're miles away half the fuckin' time. Nothing like when you stayed at my place.'

The policeman's face was taut. ‘What are you doing now, Les?'

‘Not much,' shrugged Norton.

‘Okay. Let's take a walk by the park. We can work the meal off and I'll tell you what's going on.'

‘All right. Suits me.'

They crossed Kalakau and began walking amongst the other strollers and joggers along the promenade. A few cloudbanks had drifted over but it was still quite sunny and the offshore breeze refreshing. Mick had his hands stuffed in his pockets as if deep in troubled thought. After they'd walked a dozen or so metres he spoke.

‘Les, I've been tossed what they call in America a curved ball.'

‘You mean someone's bowled you a googly?'

‘Exactly.' Mick caught Norton's eye. ‘Have the boys back home told you anything about me?'

‘I know about the Lionheart Reinhardt thing.'

‘Yeah, right. You see, I've just got that much energy at times I can't help myself. And that's what happened
when I joined the cops. I made that many arrests they almost had to build another gaol. Fair dinkum, Les, I had charge sheets longer than the dead sea scrolls.'

‘A regular Dick Tracy.'

‘Hah! I made him look like a Bow Street runner.' Mick smiled openly now, obviously glad to be getting something off his chest to someone he knew from home. ‘Well, I had nothing else to do and that's what they were paying me for. Plus I thought I was making a good impression. So I just charged in, guns blazing, more or less. Fair dinkum, I arrested hookers, pimps, clients, dope dealers, revheads, jaywalkers. Fishing without a licence, whistling in the pictures. Anything.'

‘Square dancing in a roundhouse?'

‘Mate, I even arrested a dwarf for growing up. But you see, there's a few little pricks whose fathers are high up in the HPD, and they play on it. You know — my daddy's Captain or Major so and so.'

‘Yeah, same as home,' nodded Les.

‘But that made no difference to Sheriff Reinhardt. The other blokes are a bit laid back, but if anything it made me even keener.'

‘I'm proud of you, Mick. Even if you'd have tried the same caper back home we'd have probably had you shot or your legs broken, I'm still proud of you.'

‘Thanks. Anyway, I nicked this little dropkick whose old man's right up in the HPD. The little shithouse, though. He's stealing cars, breaking into houses, he belted an old lady over in Niu Valley. And the last time I collared him he pulled a fuckin' switchblade on me.'

‘All he probably needed was a bit of counselling?' suggested Les dryly.

‘Yeah, I gave him counselling. I broke his arm, four of his ribs and got him three years in the slam. Then pinched his fuckin' mates, whose fathers are local big shots too, and got them a year each.'

‘Good on you.'

‘Yeah.' Mick gritted his teeth. ‘Doing the right fuckin' thing. So anyway, the powers that be decided Bondi's answer to Wyatt Earp needed cooling off. So they gave me a new beat and a new assignment. Around Diamond Head.'

Les pointed to the mountain in front of them. ‘You don't have to climb the bloody thing every day, do you?'

‘I wouldn't want to. They also gave me a partner who should be in a nursing home. In fact, he's off right now with his prostate and heart trouble. Now I've got this beat and right in the middle of it is a sheila making a squillion running high-class hookers through travelling brothels and I can't bloody pinch her.'

‘Why fuckin' bother? Christ! Just do what any self-respecting cop back in Australia would do. Put a gun to her head and say, “Give me my whack, you fuckin' moll, or you're off.” And get her to put it straight in a bank account under a bodgie name. That's a bonus, Mick. You've killed 'em.'

Mick gave Les a thin smile. ‘It doesn't quite work like that over here, Les.'

‘It doesn't?' Norton was genuinely surprised.

‘No!'

They walked past the old shutdown swimming pool, and then under some metal scaffolding that had been formed into a canopy of thick vines by several trees growing along the side of the promenade. They paused
for a moment to let a group of Japanese joggers sweat and pant their way past.

‘You see, not only is this rotten bloody sheila nicknamed “the Madam to the Stars”, she's also a fuckin' Australian.'

‘An Aussie?' Norton felt like cheering. ‘Unreal.'

‘Yeah. She tries to kid everyone she's a pommy, but she's as Australian as Four'n Twenty pies. Plus she's a real cheeky bastard and I'd give me left nut to nick her.'

‘An Aussie tart running a trap in Hawaii?' Norton grinned. ‘This is great, Mick. Tell me more.'

‘Hah! That's not even half of it.'

Norton didn't know whether to feel sorry for Mick or what. What he'd just told him didn't exactly sound like the end of the world and the thought of a true-blue Aussie woman running brothels in Hawaii appealed to the big Queenslander's sense of humour. For the sake of diplomacy, however, he decided to sympathise with Mick a little. Plus, all up, Mick was just a good cop trying to do his job.

‘So what do you mean when you say you can't pinch her?'

‘When I said she was called the Madam to the Stars, nearly all her clientele are film directors, producers, movie stars, politicians, publishers. The odd senator and governor.'

‘Any judges, or the “odd” high-ranking police officer?'

Mick gave another thin smile. ‘What do you think? And the bitch has got a little black book with all their names in it. And a big box full of photos.'

‘Ooohh.'

‘Yeah. So if I do nick her all this shit's gonna come down on me. They'd literally have me shot. And when I do make an attempt just to get a case going or bring her in for questioning, I get fucked over all along the line. And she knows it too. Which shits me, Les, because I'm straight up. I just want to do my job.'

‘That little black book isn't helping things though.'

‘Then if I do say, “Ahh, fuck it” and don't bother, and the FBI stick their head in — which is looming up on the horizon — and they finally pinch her, knowing the feds they'll say I was covering up for her because she's an Australian. She's only got to say, “Yes, I was paying him off”, and, bingo! I'm up shit creek without a paddle.'

‘And a hole in your boat.'

‘But if you think that's good, Les, try this one.' Mick stopped and stared directly at Norton. ‘Right in the middle of all this rattle I've got a serial killer running around necking hookers. Mainly hers.'

‘You've what!?'

‘I've got some ratbag, fuckin' United States Marine, a fuckin' jarhead, running around stabbing molls with a bayonet.'

‘Bloody hell!'

‘Yeah. And they're trying to cover this one up too. It doesn't look good for the tourism industry. You know, they want happy, smiling hula girls with leis and grass skirts. Not some nut carving sheilas up with a knife. Plus the marines have just closed ranks and want to do their own investigation. They say it's a military matter and it's not one of them anyway.'

‘How many has he killed?'

‘Six. Five of hers and one street hooker.'

‘Shit! He's not fucking around.' Les suddenly flashed back to the pros avoiding him on Kalakau the previous night. He probably looked like a soldier with his shortish hair and build and the way he was striding along the footpath in search of an ale. Word would certainly be out amongst the working girls and they definitely wouldn't be taking any chances. ‘So how do you know it's a marine?'

‘The weapon. A standard issue M6 bayonet. Plus he's a strong fucker. He only stabs them the once, right in the heart. But he jams the blade up that hard he smashes and slices straight through their ribcages or sternums breaking the bones.'

Norton shook his head. ‘Bloody hell.'

‘Yeah. But apart from the other rattle, I'd like to catch this bastard. I'm not all that rapt in jarheads. And I sure as hell hate nutters running around killing women, even if they are hookers. Which is why I want to have a word with this Aussie sheila.'

‘What's her name?'

‘Andriana Hazlewood.'

Les shook his head. ‘Can't place her. What's she look like?'

‘I've got one lousy photo of her back at my office. And that was taken by a newspaper on the mainland.' Mick stared at Norton again. ‘What are you doing now, Les?'

‘Not much, I don't suppose.' As soon as he said that, Les got a feeling he should've kept his mouth shut.

‘Why don't you come back to the station with me for a while? I gotta pick up my pay. And I can show you what's going on.'

‘Yeah… righto. Why not?' There were people on the beach, the sun was out and the water looked blue and inviting. Police stations never did much for Norton at the best of times and he could think of a lot better places to spend his time on a holiday in Hawaii. Still, Mick wasn't a bad bloke; Norton still had almost a week to go and it would be something to talk about back home.

‘Come on. I'm parked just down near Bennies.'

They walked back to Mick's car, which was a blue Buick of some make and model. But it was about the same size as the taxi Les got from the airport. Mick had picked up noticeably now, obviously happy at getting a few things off his chest. When he switched on the radio Les noticed it was the same station he'd been listening to in his room. The Dixie Cups were warbling ‘Chapel of Love' as they drove along Ala Wai Boulevard, passed the canal, then crossed a small bridge heading towards the police station on Beretania Street.

For a Sunday the traffic was still fairly heavy and although Mick pointed it out, Norton almost missed it because of the trees and Xmas decorations that almost obscured the sign above the front saying Honolulu Police Department. It was a big, cream, three-storey building on the corner of Hale Makai and Beretania, with steps and green railings out the front, set into a gentle green slope with enough trees and shrubs to make a nice park. Opposite was a gallery, some other small office blocks and a long, single-storey building with a sign saying ‘Goodwill' above the door. Going by several racks of old clothes in the window Norton tipped this to be some kind of St Vincent's store or whatever. They cruised
past to where the sloping park separated the main building from an underground parking area that looked almost like a bomb shelter. Mick turned left, stopped at a boom gate, showed his ID, then drove inside, where he manoeuvred the Buick into a parking spot and switched off the engine.

‘This way, mate,' he said, opening his door.

‘Yeah, righto,' answered Norton, doing the same.

The parking area was huge and there were plenty of people driving or walking around. Now and again a huge Harley-Davidson would rumble past carrying an equally huge cop straddled across the seat all in black with a white helmet and dark sunglasses, just like in the movies. Mick seemed to know everybody and everybody seemed to know him; they'd wave and call out and Mick would do the same. Mick clipped a photo ID onto his shirt as they walked across to a solid metal door where he slipped a card into a slot. The door swung open and they stepped through.