Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Oh hello, Les. How are you?’

  ‘I’m in a spot of bother actually.’

  ‘Is it an emergency, Les?’

  ‘Yeah. I cut my head open and I’m bleeding all over the place.’

  ‘All right, Les,’ said Anjuska. ‘Come straight over. There’s a few waiting, but Greg will be with you as soon as he can.’

  ‘Thanks, Anjuska. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  Les hung up then changed the towel around his head along with his blood-soaked clothes and into a clean black T-shirt and black cargoes to hide any blood. He got his wallet, then left the house and headed for Dr Kenneth’s surgery opposite the golf links in Old South Head Road. As he drove there, Les reflected on Dr Gregory Kenneth.

  Greg was an old GPS boy and he and his Russian-born wife, Anjuska, were Eastern Suburbs royalty. He dressed immaculately and was an old mate of Price’s, and he’d been looking after the team at the Kelly Club for years; Les had just been there to get treatment for his flu. Dr Kenneth wouldn’t do anything illegal, like remove bullets; Eddie had an old medic mate from Vietnam who did that. But Greg knew what their line of work involved and was always available to tend their various wounds, patch them up and get them on their way. Greg was losing his hair and always got around with a world-weary smile on his face. But he had such a soothing, reassuring manner, it almost made being sick a pleasure. That, however, was Greg’s good side. There were plenty of times the boys could have easily choked Dr Kenneth with his stethoscope.

  As well as his soothing manner, Dr Kenneth had a bestial, dry sense of humour and liked nothing better than to guilefully sucker the boys into an irrelevant conversation, then hit them with a vicious pun at the end that left them feeling like complete dills. And he rarely missed.

  Les found a parking spot at the end of Blair Street, walked round to the surgery, through the gate out front and pushed open the glass door. The surgery was like most doctors’ practices: a waiting room on the left, a corridor with the consulting rooms in the middle and the reception on the right. There was a smattering of people seated round the waiting room, Anjuska was behind the desk in a white dress with her dark hair perfectly coiffured, and standing next to her was Lin, their Malaysian nurse, in a starched blue uniform.

  ‘Oh dear, Les,’ said Anjuska as Les walked up to the desk. ‘You have been in the wars, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve seen better days,’ agreed Les.

  ‘You were only up here last week.’

  ‘Yeah. I can’t keep away from the place. It’s Greg’s bedside manner.’

  Anjuska turned to the nurse. ‘Lin. Take Les into the first room and prep him till Greg’s available.’

  ‘All right, Mrs Kenneth,’ replied the nurse. ‘This way, Mr Norton.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Holding the towel round his head, Les followed Lin into the first consulting room where she got him to lie down on the rubber bench and removed the towel. She put a pair of latex gloves on and rinsed the two cuts in Norton’s head, then told him to keep the towel on till Greg was ready. Les did as he was told and settled back to peer at the posters and other odds and ends in the consulting room. After all the excitement he was starting to relax when Greg walked in wearing a pair of dark blue trousers, a light blue shirt and a lemon cashmere cardigan. Lin was behind him.

  ‘Hello, Les,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘How are you, mate?’

  Les removed the towel. ‘How do I look, Greg?’

  ‘Best I’ve seen you looking for ages,’ said Dr Kenneth, examining the cuts. ‘How did all this happen?’

  That was another thing the boys hated about Greg. You could never lie to him. ‘I got jumped by a couple of giant drag queens,’ said Les. ‘One kicked me in the face. The other broke a vase over my head.’

  ‘You weren’t trying to steal their handbags, were you, Les?’

  Les closed his eyes. ‘Funny you should say that, Greg. But indirectly, that had something to do with it.’

  ‘There’s some other lacerations, too,’ noticed Dr Kenneth. ‘Smaller ones. Where did they come from?’

  ‘Three crazy women attacked me with broomsticks,’ answered Les.

  ‘Three crazy women attacked you with broomsticks. What were you trying to steal from them?’

  ‘Indirectly again, Greg. The same handbag.’

  ‘The same handbag,’ repeated Dr Kenneth. ‘That’s very good, Les. All right, Lin. Shave the hair around the cut on Mr Norton’s scone. Then give him a local. Do you want a local Les?’ Dr Kenneth asked.

  ‘Yes please,’ replied Norton. ‘And plenty of it.’

  ‘Get the big needle, Lin. Clean the rust off with a bit of steel wool.’

  Dr Kenneth left the room. Lin got a pair of clippers and removed the hair around the cut on the top of Norton’s head. She left his eyebrow, then got a needle and loaded it up.

  ‘This might sting a little Mr Norton,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ replied Les. ‘I deserve it.’

  It stung; then everything settled down. The bleeding eased and in the peace and quiet of the surgery, Les began to chill out. Dr Kenneth returned, put on a pair of latex gloves and started suturing Norton’s scalp. He softly talked about the weather, Price’s photo in the paper, asked Les how his flu was. Five stitches later, Dr Kenneth started on Norton’s eye.

  ‘Funny you should mention drag queens,’ said the good doctor as he put the first stitch in. ‘I’m treating a lesbian from up the Cross at the moment. You might know her.’

  ‘Yeah?’ replied Les, his eyes closed, breathing deeply and totally relaxed under Dr Kenneth’s soothing manner.

  ‘She’s an exotic dancer. Calls herself Kitty Littah.’

  ‘Kitty Littah?’ said Les. ‘Can’t say I’ve heard of her.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Dr Kenneth snipped the suture. ‘I thought you might have. That’s all.’

  Norton’s curiosity was aroused. ‘What are you treating her for? Am I allowed to ask?’

  ‘Sure. Just a tiny bit of thrush. That’s all. Barely noticeable.’

  ‘Right,’ said Les, sleepily.

  ‘But I have to tell you something, Les,’ said Dr Kenneth. ‘This woman has got the cleanest vagina I have ever seen. Ever.’

  ‘A clean ted?’ said Les.

  ‘Exceptional, Les. I’ve never seen anything like it. You could eat your dinner off it. The Pope could serve holy communion on it. It’s absolutely amazing.’

  ‘Really.’

  Dr Kenneth put in another stitch. ‘When I was an intern, I was in gynaecology for a while. And I can tell you, Les, I’ve seen plenty of fannies in my time. But this one is absolutely outstanding.’

  Les stifled a yawn. ‘It must be to impress you, Greg.’

  ‘So being a doctor and into hygiene and all that,’ said Dr Kenneth, ‘I had to find out her secret. So I asked her. I said, your vagina is an absolute credit to you. How do you keep it so clean?’

  ‘And what did she say?’ asked Les.

  ‘She said she has a woman in twice a week.’

  ‘Ohh, piss off will you, Greg,’ moaned Les. ‘Can’t you see I’m in enough pain and suffering as it is?’

  ‘And you’re going to be in a lot more tonight,’ smiled the good doctor, snipping the fourth and last stitch. ‘So I’m giving you a script for some Panadeine Forte and Valium. When these kick in, you’re going to love me, Les.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it.’

  ‘All right, Lin. Bandage Mr Norton up. Escort him to the front desk and tell Anjuska to take his money.’ Dr Kenneth patted Les on the shoulder. ‘Take it easy for the time being, Les. Then I’ll see you in a week and remove the stitches.’

  ‘Okay, Greg.’ Les smiled and shook Dr Kenneth’s hand. ‘Thanks a lot, mate.’

  Lin put dressing plasters on Norton’s head and eye, then he picked his script up at the desk, produced his Visa card and paid the gap. After thanking Lin and Anjuska, Les walked back to his car and drove home, stopping
in Hall Street to pick up his medication. Half an hour later it was dark and Les was home sipping a cup of tea in the kitchen.

  Well, that was another good day fucked, moped Les, staring out the kitchen window at the house next door. I know one thing: if that rotten bloody Deep Throat rings me again, I’ll tell him to go fuck himself.

  Suddenly Norton’s eyes narrowed. No I won’t. I’ll arrange to meet the bastard somewhere. Then I’ll give him a bit of what those two Tootsies gave me. Les stared out the window a while longer. He didn’t feel hungry. What he felt like was a nice, relaxing hot bath. He finished his tea and left the mug in the sink.

  Les ran a bath, tipped in half a packet of Radox, then slowly lowered his bruised and battered body into the water. It felt divine. Soon all the aches and pains in his back eased and Les almost fell asleep from sheer bliss. After a good long soak, Les got out, had a shave then changed into a clean white T-shirt under his dark blue tracksuit and walked out to the kitchen.

  His back felt better. But his head was aching and the stitches hurt if he made any sudden movements. An uncomfortable thought suddenly occurred to Les. What was he going to tell Price and the rest of them? They were expecting him back at the club next week. Les noticed his pills sitting where he’d left them on the kitchen table. He made himself a delicious then washed down two Valium and two Panadeine Forte and checked the TV guide. There was a half good show on SBS about ancient Rome. Les settled down in front of the TV and sipped his delicious.

  Another delicious and around thirty minutes into the show, the pills kicked in and Les turned into a big, happy, smiling beach ball. There was no pain. There was no nothing. If the Radox bath was bliss, this was bliss immaculate. Les didn’t give a stuff about anything. If a UFO landed in the backyard and an alien walked into the loungeroom, Les wouldn’t have moved. He would simply have smiled and said, ‘Hello, little green man. Nice to see you. Have a few Vs dude.’ Les dissolved into the lounge and gazed vacantly at the giant-screen TV. He was gazing away when the ad for Lotus Flower soap came on. Les stared at the TV, then closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. No, he told himself, that can’t possibly be right. I’m seeing things. Through Norton’s sedated eyes, the two big drag queens in the commercial were the same ones who gave him the serve earlier. Chontelle and Lola. Even the voices sounded the same. Les stared at the TV in disbelief right up until Chontelle uttered her line outside the toilet. No, Les told himself. It’s the Valium.

  By the time the show ended, Les was almost out to it on the lounge. He left his glass where it was, turned off the TV and the lights and drifted to his room through a beautiful fog of peaceful, tranquil, all-embracing nothingess. He managed to knot a bandana around his head, then smiling blankly round his room, doused the lights and crawled into his soft, warm bed. Les was asleep before he could pull the duvet up under his chin.

  When Norton woke up the next morning, the pills had worn off and the big Queenslander was back to the real world. His head was sore and he could feel the stitches where they tightened on his scalp and above his eye. When he swung his legs out of bed and stood up, Les could also feel where every kick and punch had landed on his body. There would be no running or hitting the heavy bag today. He went to the bathroom, removed the bandana and stared at himself in the mirror. If his head looked rough before, now he could add another, much bigger black eye and more bruising. And I’ve got to meet Topaz and Barbara later, mused Les. That’s going to be nice. The only small consolation was, when he ran a finger round inside his mouth, the chips in his teeth weren’t as bad as he first thought.

  ‘So how are you going there, tough guy?’ Les asked the reflection smiling mirthlessly back at him in the mirror. ‘What did you say? You got beaten up by three old sheilas with broomsticks and two drag queens. Shit! You are a tough guy, aren’t you. You fuckin moron.’

  After finishing in the bathroom, Les walked out to the kitchen. He’d had a good night’s sleep and apart from some stiffness he didn’t feel lethargic. He still wasn’t that hungry. But he had to eat something. Les put the kettle on and sorted out some poached eggs on toast.

  A light breakfast perked Les up even more. He would have enjoyed some exercise. But he’d only tear the stitches. Outside it was quite a nice day, cool and sunny with a light westerly. A nice long walk where no one could see him would be ideal. Les climbed into his old grey tracksuit and trainers, got his sunglasses and drove down to Centennial Park.

  Les walked for well over an hour, not thinking about much, mostly taking in the surroundings, nodding to a few joggers, other walkers and any rangers on horseback. It was quite enjoyable out in the sun, amongst the trees and flowers with the birds swooping about or paddling around in the ponds. A couple of things entered his mind about Bodene’s missing script that could be worth looking into. Like the mysterious gay bloke ringing Bodene. Les pondered who that might be. And who was bloody Deep Throat? Could it possibly be one of the three men seated with Bodene the day before? It was all getting a little weird. Les was also thinking of giving the whole idea a complete miss. It certainly hadn’t brought him much joy so far. But fifty grand was fifty grand. And Rose the tarot lady said he’d be rewarded, and she’d been pretty much on the money so far.

  When he’d finished walking, Les drove home and managed to have a shower without getting the stitches wet. As he was towelling off, he could feel the walk had taken a lot of the stiffness out of his back and legs. After several glasses of water, Les changed into his blue cargoes, a white T-shirt he had bought in Hawaii, and a black baseball cap. By now he was ready to kill for a cup of coffee. He wiped his sunglasses, shrugged indifferently at the battered face looking back at him in the bedroom mirror, threw his blue tracksuit top over his shoulder, locked the house and walked down to Gabrielle’s and Liza’s.

  The staff and the owner gave Les an inquisitive greeting when he walked in. Topaz and Barbara were seated at the lounge in the middle room where Les liked to sit, both wearing lots of freshly ironed denim and tasteful bling. Barbara’s blonde hair was combed down with tiny blue tips here and there and looked extra good. Which didn’t stop Les as he smiled and walked up to their table.

  ‘Shit! What happened, Barbara?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were getting your hair done. Were they closed?’

  Barbara ignored Les as she and Topaz stared at him. ‘Les,’ said Barbara. ‘Take your sunglasses off.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Both Topaz and Barbara gave a little gasp. ‘Good lord,’ said Topaz. ‘Who gave you that?’

  Les took his cap off and bent his head down. ‘The same people that gave me this.’

  ‘My God,’ said Barbara.

  Les put his cap back on and sat down next to Barbara. ‘Well. What’s up?’ he asked as the two girls continued to stare at him. ‘Haven’t you ever seen a bloke with two black eyes and stitches in his head before?’

  ‘Not one I’ve arranged to meet for coffee,’ said Topaz.

  ‘Would you like to see some more?’ said Les. He lifted up his T-shirt and showed the girls some of the bruises around his chest and ribs. ‘You like the pattern?’

  ‘Holy cow,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Actually,’ said Les. ‘I got this sticking up for you, Beauty Spot.’

  ‘For me?’ said Barbara.

  ‘Yeah. I bumped into some blokes last night. And one of them reckoned you weren’t fit to live in a shit house.’

  ‘What? Who said this?’ demanded Barbara.

  ‘Some bloke,’ shrugged Les. ‘Anyway. I reckoned you were. And it sort of carried on from there.’

  ‘Les,’ said Barbara. ‘I might be dumb. But I’m not stupid. What really happened? Christ! When I was working up the club, you were Captain Invincible.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, Captain Invincible met Kommandant Kryptonite and his offsider.’ The waiter came over and Les ordered a latte. ‘You girls right for coffee?’ Les asked.

  ‘I’ll have another flat white,’ said Barbara.

  ‘Yes. Me
too,’ said Topaz.

  ‘Make that one latte and two flat whites, thanks.’

  ‘No problem,’ said the waiter.

  ‘So what really happened, Les?’ asked Topaz. ‘Is it okay to ask?’

  Les drummed his fingers on the table. ‘What I tell you stays between the three of us. Okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ nodded Barbara.

  ‘I got this looking for Bodene’s film script.’

  While they waited for the coffees, Les gave the girls a watered-down version of what happened. He didn’t mention the zinger or his trip up to the Central Coast. The coffees arrived, Les sugared his and took an appreciative sip. ‘So that’s about it, ladies,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘You have your good days and you have your bad days. And that was one of them.’

  ‘Cripes. Was it what,’ said Topaz.

  ‘My God!’ laughed Barbara. ‘Les Norton, getting beaten up by drag queens and old ladies with broomsticks. Where will it all end?’

  ‘Who knows, Barbara,’ said Les, taking a sip of coffee. ‘Anyway. Let’s change the subject. How are you and Bodene getting along?’

  ‘Good,’ nodded Barbara. ‘Sometimes I think I might have made a wrong mistake going out with him. But he looks after me.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Les. ‘I just hope a solid citizen like Menny doesn’t find out about your previous indiscretions in London, Barbara.’

  Barbara fluttered her eyelids at Norton. ‘Les,’ she insisted. ‘I did not commit a crime in London. I simply failed to comply with the law. That’s all.’

  ‘Menny a solid citizen?’ said Topaz. ‘Christ! Him and his friends are that crooked, if they ate nails, they’d shit corkscews.’

  ‘I don’t think he’d like to hear you saying that, Topaz,’ smiled Les.

  ‘No,’ said Barbara. ‘Bodene’s got a wonderful expression: dead fish don’t swim against the current.’

  ‘Eddie hasn’t got a bad one either,’ said Les. ‘In order for three people to keep a secret, two have got to be dead.’

  More coffees arrived, Les ordered a piece of cheesecake and they chit chatted about different things. It turned out Topaz lived at Rose Bay with her Maltese mother. She was an old SCEGGS girl, had a degree in pharmacy from Sydney University and was a fully qualified chemist. But she could earn more money working for Bodene’s Albanian friends in the travel agency.