Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker (20 page)

The bed was soft, the two Panadols started to cut in and Les closed his eyes. I wonder what breakfast will be like tomorrow? It should be okay. Hope they've got grits and hash browns on the menu. Before long Les was snoring peacefully once more.

The booze, the dancing, the sex, and especially the fight in the lift, had taken its toll on Norton, in both body and soul. If it hadn't been for the phone ringing around seven-thirty Les probably would have slept till lunchtime. He blinked his eyes open, looked around for a moment then reached across and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello,' he said thickly.

‘Hey, Les. How're you doin'? It's Mick.'

‘Oh. G'day, Mick. How's things?'

‘All right. Did I get you out of bed?'

‘Sort of. I ended up having a few drinks last night.' ‘Yeah? I ended up getting away about two. So I got some sleep. But I'm doing a doubler this afternoon. So what's doing? Are we still seeing the lovely Andriana Hazlewood this morning?'

‘Yeah. Nine o'clock at the… Kalahani.'

Mick kind of chuckled over the phone. ‘I still can't believe how you've done this. I tried to ring you a couple of times. I left a message. Where've you been?'

‘I was over the North Shore most of yesterday and I got on the piss last night.'

‘Right. So do you want me to come round and pick you up?'

‘Yeah, righto.'

‘Okay. Well, I'll see you down the main entrance at, say, eight forty-five.

‘All right, Mick. I'll see you down the front.'

‘See you then, Les.'

Norton yawned and looked at his watch. Well, I suppose I'd better get my finger out. Les rolled out of bed ready to spring into life. Not quite. His back felt worse, his knuckles were sore and there were lumps all over the top of his head. He rolled his head around, stretched his arms and stared out the window at the ocean. Jesus, getting drunk, getting into fights and rooting sheilas is good fun. I must do it more often. Outside, the day reflected Norton's mood — windy, it had rained through the night with more around, and there were flickers of lightning out to sea. He did a few more stretches then absently switched on the radio and couldn't quite believe it when he got Buddy Holly hiccuping his way through ‘Raining In My Heart'. It was almost as bad as getting ‘My Boyfriend's Back' just before Mitzi gave him the salmon the night before. But it was no good standing around like the proverbial ‘stale bottle of', feeling sorry for yourself. Les cleaned himself up, got into his old gear and went downstairs for a swim.

Despite it not being much of a day, the traffic was fairly heavy and there were joggers everywhere, obviously taking advantage of the cooler weather. Again there was no one in the pool and the water was a bit on the fresh side; Les managed six laps, each one more punishing than the last. What he needed more than
exercise was a good massage and a trip to the chiropractor. However, after a cold shower and a few more stretches by the pool, followed by a hot shower back in his room, Norton felt better and was starting to see the funny side of things again. He climbed into a clean pair of jeans and a green Stüssy T-shirt, then, after sipping several purple people eaters while he mulled a few things over in his head with the radio playing, it was time to go downstairs. Mick was waiting in the car, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a matching Hawaiian shirt. Despite his eyes being a little grainy from overwork, he smiled warmly as Les climbed in the front seat.

‘Hey. How's it goin'… mate?'

‘All right — mate,' said Les, clicking the seat belt around him.

‘Well, I have to admit you've got me fucked, Les. This sheila hates my guts and treats me like a leper. You're in town five minutes, and it's let's do breakfast at the Kalahani. Buggered if I know.'

Les gave Mick a good-natured slap on the thigh. ‘I'm just a natural-born diplomat. I'm nice. Not some mongrel-headed copper running around harassing people.' Norton laughed at the look on Mick's face. ‘No, you won't believe this, but she's an old girlfriend of mine. I used to take her out back in Australia.'

The traffic was still heavy, due to roadwork and preparations for all the joggers, so Les told Mick about his relationship with Andrea and their meeting. Even though there was no real need to lie to Mick, Les did hold a few things back Andrea had told him, though he did mention the day with Mitzi and the night at the Green
Giraffe, figuring Mick would know her from when she identified the bodies, and Mitzi had mentioned Mick in a good light.

Mick was shaking his head. ‘Shit! You're not bad, Norton. Coffee and cakes with the madam. Cocktails and dinner with the accountant. You're oilier than a kerosene lamp.'

‘I told you, Mick,' said Les, ‘I'm just a nice bloke all round. A lovable guy. Is that what they say over here?' Mick continued to shake his head, then a kind of smile flickered round his eyes. ‘So how did you go with Mitzi baby anyway?'

‘What do you mean?' replied Les, with an affected naivety.

‘I mean, did you get your hand on Mitzi Moonkiss's little minge.'

‘Get out. She's Andrea's accountant. We just had a few dances and a few drinks and I met some of her girlfriends at that nightclub.'

‘Just as well you didn't.'

‘Why? She got the jack or something?'

‘No. Her boyfriend runs a Tae-Kwon-Do academy over in Palama.'

‘He does?'

‘Yeah. Actually Roh's not a bad guy. Just a bit wild. I pinched him for a bad assault once. He was a goner. But the four guys he put in hospital were assholes and the bar he wrecked was a dump. So let's just say the case didn't quite make it to court.'

‘Oh. To tell you the truth, Mitzi did mention your name. She said you were an all right guy. Those were her words.'

‘Yeah? That was nice of her.' Mick gave a little chuckle. ‘Roh's not so nice though when he gets stirred up. But you needn't worry. He's over in Hollywood at the moment, doing the fight scenes for some martial arts movie. So he won't find out you tried to get into his girlfriend's pants.'

Les just nodded. ‘I wouldn't mind, though. She's a bloody good sort. So are all her girlfriends.'

‘Yeah,' agreed Mick. ‘Are they what.'

Yes. Well, there you go, thought Norton. Mitzi needn't worry herself one little bit over me skiting about throwing her in the air. Or vice versa. That's all I need the way I feel right now — some nutty Hawaiian Bruce Lee wanting to pounce all over me in a fit of jealousy. Les twisted around uncomfortably where the seat belt was cutting into one of the bruises on his ribs.

‘What happened to you anyway?' asked Mick. ‘You look a bit sore. Mitzi really jump your bones did she?'

‘I did it surfing at Waimea Bay and Sunset,' answered Les.

‘You
what!!?'

Les told Mick he'd hurt his back getting dumped in the shore break at Waimea Bay then skinned his hands on the reefs when he went for a swim with Mitzi at Sunset Beach. It wasn't Norton's best day and Mick was right, he wasn't cut out to be a surfie. They joked about one or two other things, although Mick seemed a little apprehensive, which was understandable. Then the traffic eased, they drove past the old swimming pool Les had noticed with Mick on the Sunday, and the Kalahani Hotel loomed up in front of them.

Les had first noticed the hotel when he drove by it
on the way to Andrea's house. It was yellow concrete and not all that big, built right onto the beach where the park ended and surrounded by palm trees swaying noticeably in the stiff breeze gusting across the reefs in front. A hairdresser's, a small food store and several other boutique-type shops edged around the park side of the hotel, behind a low concrete wall thick with bougainvillea and other lush, tropical flowers, giving the hotel an ambience and class that could have been the old Hawaii. Les tipped it to be very upmarket and classy inside and right out of range for your average tourist or backpacker; exactly the kind of place where a madam to the stars would come for breakfast. There was a small parking area a few metres in front of the shops, where Les noticed Monroe standing alongside the same bronze Mercedes he'd seen at Andrea's home. Next to the Mercedes was a vacant spot Andrea's minder had been saving. He seemed to notice them coming and made a gesture, Les pointed for Mick, who pulled in next to the Mercedes and turned off the motor. They got out of the car to where Monroe was standing at the back of the Mercedes looking very big and very businesslike, wearing neat brown trousers and a yellow Hawaiian shirt. In his right hand was a portable metal detector like they use at airports.

‘Good morning, Mick,' he said, slowly and politely.

‘Hello, Monroe. How are you?' replied Mick, just a little stiffly.

‘I'm fine. Good morning, Les.'

‘G'day, Monroe,' answered Les cheerfully. ‘How are you, mate?'

‘I'm fine, thank you.' The giant black man held up
the metal detector, looking mainly at Mick. ‘You know Ms Hazlewood has obliged you with this meeting today.' Mick nodded. ‘And it's strictly off the record and cards on the table.' Mick nodded again. ‘Okay.' Monroe ran the metal detector over Mick then patted him down just for good measure. Mick stood there without saying a word. ‘You too, Les.'

‘Sure.' Les held his arms up and Monroe did the same to him.

‘Okay, gentlemen. That's fine.'

Monroe placed the metal detector on the roof of the Mercedes and opened the back door. Like the queen alighting from the royal carriage, Andrea stepped out of the Mercedes wearing a dark blue silk tracksuit with Japanese motifs in white running down the sleeves and unzipped in the front just enough to show her boobs thrusting against a pale blue T-shirt with Natalie Cole on the front. Her hair was bobbed and perfect and she wore just the right amount of gold jewellery to go with her gold Piaget watch.

‘Good morning, Detective Reinhardt,' she said syrupily, and offered her hand.

‘Good morning, Ms Hazlewood,' he replied, giving her hand a brief squeeze.

‘Good morning, Les,' she smiled again.

‘G'day, Andrea,' said Norton. ‘How's things?'

‘Very well. Very well indeed.' Andrea gave Mick a hideous once up and down, along with a slow, deliberate blink. ‘Now, if you'd like to follow me, Detective Reinhardt, Monroe will lead us into the hotel. I have a table waiting.' With Monroe by her side, Andrea turned and headed towards the hotel.

Well how about this, mused Les, as they all fell into step behind her. Does my old mate Fenwick know how to set a scene or what? Alexis Carrington couldn't have done it better than that. He glanced at Mick, whose face was registering a kind of incensed apprehension. Andrea had put him in his place from the word go and the Kalahani was definitely not the place your average honest cop would be seen having breakfast. And definitely not with the richest brothel owner in Hawaii.

The foyer was all shiny beige tiles, soft lights, and plush furniture with expensive tablelamps sitting on equally expensive coffee tables. As soon as they stepped inside, the duty manager and various uniformed flunkies with Liberace smiles seemed to come from everywhere. Monroe waited in the foyer and, like Cleopatra entering Rome, Andrea and her small entourage were led down into an open courtyard which was sitting against the beach and walled off with a white, concrete balustrade. There were colourful flowers and exotic plants everywhere, and two short, thick trees spread a lovely canopy of lush green leaves over the white wrought-iron chairs and tables topped with smoked glass and as dainty as lace. The tablecloths were starched a dazzling white, emphasising a small flower arrangement on each table, and had a white umbrella above. The whole place reeked of opulence and style and as the flunkies sat them down at Andrea's table, secluded in the corner, right on the beach and away from the other diners, Les was wishing he'd never opened his big mouth and offered to pay the bill. Bennie's back at Waikiki it definitely wasn't.

The menus were large and glossy and didn't bother with the prices. There were four types of bacon, five
types of sausage, breakfast steaks, eggs any way you wanted, along with fruits from all over the world, and instead of daggy hash browns, the hotel did Devilled Potatoes Kalahani. Oh well, why not? thought Norton. It still wasn't much of a day outside so he ordered up big. So did the others. Apart from giving their orders, no one had said anything so far. Mick was still looking apprehensive, Norton just copped it sweet and Andrea kept this demure look on her face like a Cheshire cat that had just drunk all the cream. Three tall glasses of fresh orange juice arrived, complete with ice and a wedge of pineapple stabbed with a cherry on a tiny plastic sword.

Andrea raised her glass to Mick. ‘Well, shitbags,' she said sweetly, ‘here's to the biggest, boofheaded, mug copper in Hawaii. How's things in the wallopers, Dick Tracy? Still pinching cripples in wheelchairs for having too much air in their tyres — you prick?'

Mick raised his orange juice also, scarcely blinking an eye. ‘Yeah, I am actually. And here's to the fattest, ugliest old fart of a brothel keeper this side of Hotel Street. Still running those slaggy, low molls all around Diamond Head — you cheesy, bargearsed frump?'

Andrea gave a double blink. ‘How dare you refer to those girls as slaggy low molls? I'll have you know they're models.'

‘Yeah?' replied Mick. ‘What do they model? Plasticine? Don't give me the shits, you miserable-looking old razorback.'

Norton's jaw dropped for a moment then went back into place. ‘Hey, hang on a second. Whoa,' he protested.
‘I thought this was supposed to be a friendly get-together?'

‘Friendly get fucked together,' said Andrea. ‘Rotten low mug, trying to put the squeeze on me and my poor girls.'

‘Put the squeeze on your girls?' glared Mick. ‘I'd like to put the squeeze round your rotten, fat neck.'