Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (9 page)

Maybe it was a sixth sense, or just his instinct from working at the Kelly Club and noting people's mannerisms, but Norton soon got the feeling he was being watched. He didn't let on, but Norton's antennae went up about two metres and a small squirt of adrenalin
sluiced round in his stomach. The thought of seeing the two marines he'd arse-upped the night before had occurred to Les so it wasn't like he wasn't expecting something. He just didn't think they'd bring half the regiment with them. There was a mirror in a column almost in front of him. Les snuck a quick glance and there they were at the bar. There was no mistaking their dweeby heads — especially the one who had been wearing the green sports coat and who was now sporting not quite a matching fat lip. Haven't I seen you in my dreams? mused Norton. He took another quick glance at green coat's team. Game bastards, you and your dopey-looking mate, though. Aren't youse?

Norton realised he was up shit creek. Forget the heroics, there were just too many of them, plus they were fit, knew plenty of tricks and were mad keen to have an easy victory kicking the shit out of one poor sucker. Les might snot a couple on the way to the door, but the rest would soon overpower him and it would only take them about five minutes, if that, to turn Norton's holiday in Hawaii into a week in hospital on a drip. Retreat was the order of the day and forget about coming back for a square-up; the jarheads could have this part of town. In the meantime, though, the band was still pumping, the beer was still cold, no need not to keep enjoying yourself.

Norton stood up and boogied boozily around his table, smiling down at the young couple, who smiled back. He boogied over to the bar, with his drink still in his hand, shaking the bottle in time to the music, seemingly oblivious to the marines watching him intently. Just near the bar, Les stopped and offered the nearest jarhead
on his left a drink. The marine, thinking Les was a bigger goose than ever, smirked to his friends around him and took Norton's proffered bottle. As he did, Les took his thumb out of the neck, after having shaken it solidly on the way over, and it burst all over the jarhead and his mate next to him, covering them in white froth. They cursed with surprise, then it was exit stage right for Les. He bolted for the door, but as he did the girl on the counter appeared out of nowhere, bumping into Les hard enough to send her sailing over the till and Les sprawling in a heap out the front. Les stared up at the doorman and knew he'd get no help out of him. Cursing loudly for losing his momentum and his flying start, Les scrambled to his feet and took off right towards Kuhio, which ran parallel to Kalakau, and into the street where his hotel was. It would be no good running down the main street; if the jarheads didn't catch him in the crowds, the cops would probably shoot him, thinking he was a thief. Plus, with a bit of luck, there'd be plenty of darkened doorways and parking lots he could hide in. Les skidded right again into Kuhio and hoped the guards at the hotel had guns and that one of these nutters chasing him wasn't Mr Walker. As he sprinted across an intersection Les could hear the marines shouting and their shoes hitting the footpath perilously close behind him.

Les heard a voice behind him call for the others to fan out and surround him. Shit, isn't this good? They're going the whole army bit now. Les was belting along all right, but going on his arse out the front of the bar had lost him his edge and the half-dozen beers or so swirling around inside his stomach weren't helping things
any. It was getting to be tough going. A bit further on the street darkened a little. Les came to a low wooden wall running along the street that was part of a parking lot. There were a few cars in the lot and a sandstone wall at one end. Les vaulted over the fence, ran down one end and hid against the wall while he got some of his breath back. Norton was now feeling hot, sweaty and dirty. He was also starting to feel very angry and he was also sick of running. Righto, boys, he cursed to himself. You want to play soldier, do you? Les bent down, picked up a handful of dirt and smeared it into the sweat round his face and on his arms. Okay, he hissed, getting back up. Let's play then — Dirranbandi style.

Eddie had taught Les that in situations like this you have to blend in, make it hard for whoever it is to find you and try to reverse the situation, giving yourself the element of surprise. Then, if you're any good and you know what you're doing, the rest is up to you. At least the marines chasing him didn't have guns. Kuhio was on Norton's left and standing up against the darkened wall in his blue top and jeans with the dirt caked over his face he couldn't be seen. Les heard voices then saw two marines climb over the fence into the parking lot.

‘Let's see if the sonofabitch is in here.'

‘I hope he is, cause I'm gonna whip that sucker's ass.'

Standing perfectly still against the wall hardly breathing, Les watched them checking around the cars as they walked towards him. When they were about six feet away Les stepped out.

‘Excuse me, chaps,' he said politely, ‘can I help you at all?'

The two marines were almost in front of Les and completely taken by surprise. Les simply hit the one on his right with a murderous left hook that splattered his nose right across his face, then belted the other one with a short right that smashed his jaw like a Sao biscuit. They were both out on their feet, but before they dropped, Les grabbed them by the collar and belted their heads together a couple of times good and hard. They dropped silently onto their backs in a tangle of arms and legs; just to make sure they weren't going anywhere Les banged his heel into their groins a few times, leaving them in need of something more than a rupture belt.

Norton left them snoring and moved across to the opposite corner of the parking lot. Another two marines had come in over the far fence looking for their buddies, because Les could now hear them calling out. There was a block of condominiums on the far corner with more across the street and there was a little more light. But half walking and half crouching silently amongst the cars Les was still almost invisible. The two marines called out to their buddies again as they came towards Les. When they were just a few metres away Les stood up from behind a car.

‘Excuse me,' he said, very politely again, ‘could you help me find my keys? I seem to have dropped them somewhere.'

Unsuspectingly, the two marines walked over to Les, a little to his side. Les did much the same. He hit the first one with a withering left hook that Les knew was okay because as well as feeling the jarhead's face pulverise Les felt all the cuts on his fist open up again. The other
one went to make a move, but it was just a bit too late. He walked straight into a looping right that ripped his mouth to pieces. He gave a tiny sigh of pain and started to sag. As he did, Norton stepped back and snap-kicked him under the floating rib with his left foot then belted him across the temple with another short right just as he hit the deck. When Les turned to the other marine he was surprised to find him still half on his feet hanging onto the outside mirror of a car behind him. But not for long. The big Queenslander sunk a left rip into his chest, almost stopping his heart, then doubled up with a left uppercut that just about put the marine's nose right up through the top of his close-shaved, jar-shaped head. Satisfied these two weren't going far either, Les decided to leave the carpark and lurk in a darkened doorway. He snuck back out onto Kuhio as just a little light rain started up.

By staying low and keeping to the shadows, Les was able to sprint ahead then find concealment in the darkened doorway of a seedy tenement. Across the road he saw two marines walking past and ahead in the distance he thought he saw another two. Les peered into the gloom around him. There were the usual things: garbage tins, cartons of bottles, bundles of papers, et cetera. There was also a pile of wood. Les had a closer look to find it had once been an old table. There was a leg on top about a metre long, dowelled at one end and squared off almost like a club at the other. Les picked it up and waited. Before long two more marines walked past.

‘Where did the motherfucker go?'

‘Sonofabitch! He's gotta be round here somewhere.'

Norton let them go past a few metres then stepped
up behind them with the table leg half under his folded arms. ‘Excuse me, are you looking for someone?'

The two marines turned around and stood there for a second, long enough for Les to swing the table leg back with his right arm, fair across the right-hand marine's forehead, splitting his skull open. With almost the same movement Les swung the table leg back, across the other one's jaw. There was an awful crunching sound of wood hitting bone. The marine's jaw shattered and in the dark it wasn't hard to see several white teeth tumble out and roll on the footpath. As they hit the deck Norton belted them a few more times with the table leg across the head and kidneys; they twitched a couple of times then lay still, the blood now starting to ooze across the footpath. Satisfied they wouldn't be doing too much either, Les tossed the table leg into a garbage bin and headed for his hotel, which he knew wasn't too far away now.

Les knew there was another parking lot next to a church on the corner near his hotel. If he could make it there he was safe, even though the marines' ranks had been thinned somewhat. He found the parking lot and sure enough there were two more marines standing in the middle amongst the cars. By now Les was sick of playing soldiers, he just wanted to get to his room and get cleaned up. He charged straight up to the two jarheads to find it was the original two he'd belted in Mahias the night before. They didn't look too happy when they saw an awfully angry-looking Les Norton coming at them and realised they were standing there on their own. Before they could make a move Les kicked the one who had been wearing the green sports coat
straight in the balls. He gave a little shriek of agony, then Les hit him with two left uppercuts that just mangled his face to pulp. He plopped straight down on his backside, holding his groin, then pitched forward onto his face. He looked quite unusual the way he sat there, almost like he was in a yoga position, except for the blood pouring out from under what was left of his face. His mate must have been either still a bit sick in the stomach from the night before or too scared to move. Les walked over and kneed him in the balls hard enough to just about cripple him for life. He went to scream but Les grabbed him by the front of his shirt and crunched two solid headbutts into his face, moving his nose up near his left eye. There was nothing more needed doing. Les dropped him next to his mate. Goodnight, girls, and sweet dreams, Les muttered to himself.

There was no one much around and the caretaker had dozed off in his booth. Norton strolled briskly across the street to his hotel and left the night behind him. In the foyer it was a bit quiet and he hardly got a second look anyway. Most of the blood had soaked into his dark blue polo shirt and the rest on his jeans and face was covered by the rain. He made it to the elevators okay and went straight to his room.

This is getting to be a bit of a habit, thought Les, as he stripped off, filled the bath, then tossed his clothes in and watched the blood start staining the water. When the bath had filled a little he got under the shower and washed the rest of the dirt and mud from his face and body. He left his jeans and shirt to soak a little longer, dried off, wrapped a towel around him and poured himself a rather stiff delicious. Wasn't that a lot of fun?
he laughed grimly to himself as he washed the cuts — old and new — on his knuckles with Bacardi and sucked his breath in over his teeth as he liberally applied the iodine. In a way I'm bloody lucky to be here — another couple of seconds outside the bar and those cunts would have had me. Dopey bloody bitch. Where did she come from? Outside, Les suddenly heard the wailing of sirens echoing up through the surrounding highrises. He raised his glass in their general direction and grinned. Sorry, boys, but you're gonna have to tap-dance just a little quicker than that to catch this little digger. Fuckin' American Marines. Good thing I was too young for Vietnam. I know who I'd've been shooting over there.

He switched on the radio and got ‘Lightning Strikes Again' by Lou Christie, then sipped some more of his drink, looked at the mailer sitting on the desk and had a think. There wasn't a great deal to think about except that Mahias and Bison Jacksons were off-limits for the rest of the week. He took another sip. The week in Hawaii wasn't quite turning out as Les had envisaged — fights, madams, dead hookers, serial killers. Blood and vomit all over the place. Oh well. He took another swallow. It's not as if it's been boring. And I may as well follow up that other rattle.

Now that he'd settled down and his nerves and adrenalin had stopped racing Les started to feel quite tired. He finished his drink then went into the bathroom, cleaned the purple Grape Crush out of his teeth and hung his clothes up. A few minutes later he'd turned off the radio and the lights and was in bed with just a sheet over him. His last thought before he dozed off was that he hoped he didn't get woken up by chattering machine guns and Japanese Zeros again. Before long Norton was snoring soundly.

Norton woke up around eight in the morning, feeling pretty good, to find it was another fairly nice day outside, with a few clouds being pushed around by the same wind. His clothes had cleaned up all right, so he got tidied up, had a bit of cereal and also found that by mixing orange and guava juice together it goes a funny purple colour and tastes very good. He sipped several glasses of this out on the balcony, while the golden oldies station dished out ‘Mashed Potato Time' by Dee Dee Sharp, looked at where his view of Diamond Head was blocked by the highrise across the street and figured out what to do. He had another look at the contents of the mailing bag; there were definitely things to be done. In the meantime, however, a bit of exercise wouldn't go astray. But who wants to go jogging with thirty thousand other people in the heat? A nice long swim would be the go.