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, wrappe
d 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.
Les found his goggles, got into some old gear then went downstairs and did a lazy ten laps of the outdoor pool. There weren’t many people in the pool and as he ploughed along Norton pondered whether he was doing the right thing. He was still pondering this as he got under the outdoor shower and even when he returned to his room over more orange and guava juice. He was still pondering at the counter of Ala Moana Car Rentals in the hotel foyer as he waited next to a young Japanese couple. By the time the Hawaiian attendant in the pink floral shirt served him, Les had decided he probably wasn’t.
Norton ended up hiring a Ford Mustang convertible for a week. Although he only had six days to go it worked out better that way and cost around $300 US with insurance against everything including a nuclear attack. Les paid for it with his VISA card. Next thing he was in a minibus out near the hotel driveway waiting to get driven to the car hire depot, along with the Japanese couple and several loud, fat seppos from Wis-karn-sarn. As he sat in the minibus Les looked over at the parking lot where he had belted the last two marines and noticed it was next to a fairly large white church that went down to Kalakau Avenue. Opposite were more shops belonging to the hotel complex. The driver got in and they cruised off in air-conditioned comfort, taking pretty much the same route Mick did past the Ala Wai canal; only instead of going up and over the bridge they cut down some street back into Kalakau, pulling up in the lot of Ala Moana Car Rentals. It was big and spacious and reminded Les of a car yard.
After signing some more forms in another office Les found himself back outside, looking down at a low, sleek, metallic grey convertible with a rack on the boot, trying to figure out how to get the hood down. The trick was two little clips up beside the windshield. After that it was simply push a button here, a button there, then the electric windows hissed down, the roof hummed back over the boot and the sun poured in. Even after being flogged half to death by every tourist to hit Ala Moana Car Rentals, the engine kicked straight into life and sounded good. In fact the whole little car felt okay and after his earlier experience driving in America, Norton was full of confidence as he slipped the Mustang into drive and eased in amongst the other traffic on Kalakau Avenue.
The traffic was fairly heavy and, once again, not only did the silly bloody Americans drive on the wrong side of the road, but in Hawaii they only have one set of traffic lights facing you at the intersections and they’re on the opposite side of the road. Les almost skidded into a couple of cars at one intersection then had to reverse back a few metres and sit there like a bit of a wally. However, the other drivers could probably see that he was just another dopey bloody tourist and didn’t bother to abuse him; they simply stared at him like he was an idiot. While he tried to ignore them behind his sunglasses Norton switched on the radio and couldn’t quite believe it when he got the same oldies station and blasting out of the four-way speakers came ‘At the Hop’ by Danny and the Juniors. Now Les not only felt like a dopey tourist driving a rental, he felt like an Elvis impersonator sitting in a Cadillac convertible — all he felt was missing was the wraparound sunglasses and the white, sequinned cape.
The traffic finally took off, Les eased in with it again and this time it was no sweat. The road was wide and even though the Mustang felt a little low compared with the other cars, his view was good and Les had no problems weaving in and out through the lanes. In fact, Norton was feeling quite the toff as he cruised along with the breeze in his hair and the radio going. Nothing wrong with this, he thought, as he kicked the Mustang back into second and zoomed past a taxi to take a left into Paokalani then round the block and back to the hotel. As he pulled up in the driveway Norton thought, if James Bond can do it, why can’t I? He got out of the Mustang and as the attendant in a light blue Hawaiian shirt came over handed him the keys.
‘I’d like to valet park this, please.’
‘Certainly, sir. What’s your room number?’
The attendant was around twenty with a cheeky sort of smile. He explained to Les exactly what he had to do. Les slung him a dollar, walked across to the foyer and filled in another form, then went up to his room.
What Les felt like as he pulled off his sweaty T-shirt was a nice strong cup of coffee; unfortunately, however, there was nothing in the room to make it with. Oh well, he chuckled to himself, you never know. I might get a cup up the road. He put the radio in the bathroom and whistled happily along to ‘He’s So Fine’ by the Chiffons as he climbed under the shower. This time Les gave himself a full-on detail: hot shower, close shave, the hotel shampoo and conditioner, Xeryus patted onto his face and Norsca under the arms. The works. There was an iron in the wardrobe so he pressed a pair of dark blue cotton trousers he’d thrown in plus a maroon silk shirt with a blue design and topped this off with his shiny black, Cuban heel R.M. Williams riding boots. Standing about two inches taller, Les gave himself a couple of once up and downs in the mirror. He was about to adjust the collar on his shirt and shook his head. No, mate. It doesn’t get any better than that. He sipped some more orange and guava juice, had a quick look at the contents of the mailing bag, checked the map he’d got at the car hire, then placed them all in his overnight bag, along with his camera. He had another quick look round the room to check that he had everything then turned off the radio and went back downstairs.
The young attendant gave Les a bit of a once up and down in his new clobber as Norton showed him the form from the hotel. Les then went across to the parking
lot and got the car. The hood was up, Les left it that way as he took a left onto Kalakau and wound down all the windows; it was only about a ten-minute drive to where he was going. He turned on the radio at a set of lights then when they turned green drove into Kapiolani Park going towards Diamond Head.
The park was wide and sparse and swarming with brightly coloured joggers, mainly Japanese. Les cruised along with the ocean on his right, past a smaller, but nice-looking hotel called the Kalimani, then a fountain on his left, then turned into Diamond Head Road, which soon began to climb steadily. There were initially houses on either side covered in blue bougainvillea and other colourful shrubs and flowers, then there was nothing but sparse, treeless granite cliffs on the left and a long granite wall winding up on the right with the ocean beyond that. Les drove past some sort of lighthouse station and further on a lookout area then a couple of kilometres or so further was another lookout area. The view was quite spectacular so Les pulled up, got his camera out and took some photos of several windsurfers doing some unbelievable manoeuvres in the stiff offshore winds gusting over the blue reefs. It was postcard stuff all right — the breeze, the towering cliffs, the reefs, the colours. But Les had other things on his mind. He got back in the car, checked the map again and drove on.
The road descended now, with expensive-looking houses on either side surrounded by tropical trees, till Diamond Head Road came to a park, passed it and became Kahala Avenue. Right off the park another road dipped down through more sumptuous houses built a few hundred metres back from the ocean; this was Kula-wani Place. Les drove down a couple of hundred metres or so, checking the numbers on the surrounding mansions. The one he was looking for was on a corner on the right. Les parked on the opposite side of the road, switched off the engine and checked the house out.
Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker Page 7