Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker

by Robert G. Barrett

  ‘Hey, Les. What’s the story? You’re leaving tonight?’

  ‘Mick. I got your message. I was just about to ring you. I must have SPC. Yeah, the whole thing’s fucked up and we’re out of here tonight.’ Les told Mick what was going on and how he had to leave at such short notice.

  ‘Ah shit! What a bummer. I was looking forward to getting on the piss with you.’

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ answered Les.

  ‘I’m stuck here in the office till seven-thirty. Then I’m straight over to Diamond Head, flat out again. My partner’s still off.’ Mick paused for a second. ‘But if you’re not leaving the hotel till around ten, I might be able to call in for a minute. But I don’t like my chances.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Les. ‘I’ll catch up with you next time I’m in town. Listen, Mick, I’ve been in touch with a cop in Australia — the one you gave me that cap for. And I reckon I might be able to help you with this Mr Walker thing.’

  ‘You? How?’

  ‘It’s a bit hard to explain over the phone, and you’d probably laugh at me. But I reckon I’m onto something.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Mick sounded sceptical. ‘I don’t know. But I’ll take your word for it. You haven’t been bad so far.’

  ‘Trust me, Mick. I’m telling you. Now, you’ve got access to a computer there, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m staring into one right now.’

  ‘Right. Well, I want you to look something up for me. Was a priest murdered on a bridge around here somewhere, not too far from Diamond Head? All I know is his first name was James and it wouldn’t have been any more than two years ago.’

  ‘James? James?’ Mick pondered for a few seconds. ‘Shit! I think I know this one. Hang on, I’ll zap it up on the screen.’

  Les could hear Mick clicking away at the keyboard while he waited patiently on the phone.

  ‘Yeah,’ Mick’s voice came back. ‘Father James Guthrie Conesceau. Male Hawaiian. They buried him with his family on the big island. Aged thirty-seven, et cetera, et cetera. Some nut stabbed him in Ala Moana Park. But hold on, Les. This has nothing to do with Mr Walker. It was a religious nut got him, hearing voices in his head. He’s in the funny farm now. In fact, it was Honesto made the bust. He was in the park looking for a flasher when this whacko pulls out a knife and starts letting all sorts of air into this priest. Poor bastard. He was only standing there feeding the fish.’

  ‘Where was the bridge?’

  ‘It wasn’t a bridge. All it says here is that it was a “concrete arch facing a bus stop on Ala Moana Boulevard”.’

  ‘And when did the murder happen, Mick?’

  ‘When?’ Mick peered at the screen. ‘Shit! It happened today, actually. Just before Christmas.’

  ‘But when exactly? Day, night, what?’

  ‘It was… 9.10 pm, to be exact’

  ‘Mick, what sort of moon is it tonight?’

  ‘Moon? Shit! Be lucky if there is one tonight. It was raining and thundering when I came to work.’ Mick flicked a page on his desk calendar with a biro. ‘But if there is, it’d be a full one.’

  Norton could feel this sense of urgency starting to rise in him. ‘Mick, this is serious. Where will you be around nine o’clock tonight?’

  ‘Tonight? Like I told you, around Diamond Head. Looking for a burglar. And I couldn’t give a stuff about Andrea’s travelling bloody brothels.’

  ‘Mate, do you reckon you could be out at that bridge in Ala Moana tonight around nine? And don’t let anybody see you.’

  ‘Go out there at nine? Why? I mean, it’s not even anywhere near my area.’

  ‘I just reckon that’s where Andrea’s going to be tonight. And I reckon there’s a good chance Mr Walker’ll be there stalking her.’

  ‘Les, come on. Get real.’

  ‘I am real, Mick. A hundred per cent real.’

  ‘And what makes you “reckon” Andrea and this Mr Walker dude are gonna be out there tonight?’

  ‘I… I just got this strong feeling.’

  ‘You just got this strong feeling. Well, I got a strong feeling this burglar’s going to be out at Diamond Head tonight. And I got an even stronger feeling, if I’m not there when he is, I’ll get an extremely strong kick up the butt from the HPD.’

  ‘Yeah, I s’pose you’re right,’ sighed Les.

  ‘Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Mick. ‘If I get a chance, I’ll take a quick cruise over there. And I’ll try and see you before you go. But like I said, don’t count on it. Listen, why don’t you take a run out to Diamond Head and I’ll see if I can meet you somewhere. Give me a bell on the mobile.’

  ‘I got to take the car back.’

  ‘Oh! Well, I don’t know what to do, mate. I guess if I don’t get a chance to see you before you go, it’s… aloha.’

  ‘Yeah, aloha. See you a chip-potater.’

  ‘Anyway, we’ll see what happens.’

  ‘All right. See you, Mick.’

  ‘Okay, Les. See you.’

  Les hung up and found himself once more staring at the phone. Yeah, I suppose Mick’s right, he sighed. He’s got better things to do than sneak around some park in the middle of the night just because some half-baked tourist has got a feeling. And the man has got a job to do. As for driving out to Diamond Head in the rain, trying to find some place on a bloody road map just to say goodbye, no thanks. Mick’s a good bloke and all that, but it’s not as if he’s my long-lost brother. But it would be nice if he could get there tonight with his .38 Smith and Wesson or whatever it is they have over here just in case I am right. Shit! Les snapped his fingers again. Talking about the car, I’ve got to take the bloody thing back. I wonder if the office is still open. America? It’d have to be. Les downed the last of his beer, got his receipts and whatever else he needed and caught the lift to the foyer.

  The office of Ala Moana Car Rentals was closed. Les cursed silently and walked round to the front desk. He made a phone call to the head office from there and got an answering service. He left a message as best he could then made arrangements at reception to leave the car in the parking lot and the keys and receipts at the front desk when he checked out. Any refunds they could send to his address in Australia. If not, stiff shit. Les thanked the girl and went back to his room.

  The TV was still flickering silently when he walked in and the radio was still pumping out golden oldies. The weather seemed to have worsened outside. Patches of light rain pattered against the window, helped by gusts of wind rattling the railing on the balcony, and there was violent storm activity out to sea. Les watched more volcano film and weather reports for a minute or two as several claps of thunder rattled above the hotel. Bad luck there was no beer left. But there was enough Bacardi and fruit juice left for a couple of drinks. Les made a delicious, put it on the table after taking a sip and started packing the stuff he had bought earlier in the afternoon, managing to cram it all into his bag somehow. All the time, though, he couldn’t stop thinking about Andrea.

  Bloody airhead sheila, he half cursed. You can bet your life that’s where she is tonight. Andrea’s words kept echoing inside his head: ‘I fall in love with a priest. James. The best bloke I ever met in my life. Some bastard stabbed him on a bridge. I got things to do tonight.’ The dopey, lovesick look on her face gave her away. She’s always been a half-baked, bleeding heart romantic. That’s where she’d be, all right — reminiscing old memories. Probably on that bridge throwing flowers or a silly bloody lei in the water. And you can bet your life she’d be dopey enough to go on her own. It’s the perfect night to be alone with your thoughts, playing Wuthering Heights. And for getting necked. Maybe one of the girls drove her out there? Terrific. But she reckons she carries a gun with her. Les shook his head. If I’m right, it wouldn’t matter if she was carrying an M16. Then again, I could be imagining things. Maybe she’s home? Maybe there’s a message. Les walked across to the phone and rang Andrea’s number; he got the maid again.

  ‘Hello. It�
��s Mr Norton again. Is Ms Hazlewood there?’

  ‘No, sorry. Ms Hazlewood not here.’

  ‘I rang earlier. Did you give her my message?’

  ‘I write down. But she in, out. Five minutes. Drive off.’

  ‘Was she on her own?’

  ‘I no see. I out back near pool.’

  Les thought for a moment. ‘Okay, thanks,’ he said, and hung up.

  Well, that’s what’s happened. She did the million things, or whatever, she had to do, got rid of Monroe, then ran out the place at a hundred miles an hour to be with her silly bloody memories. She’s probably had to go and buy flowers, then have a few gins somewhere to make her more gushy and sentimental.

  Les made another delicious, took it over to the window and stared out over the blackened ocean at the lightning in the distance. He couldn’t help but shake his head. I’ve got a plane to catch, I’m looking forward to going home while I’m relatively still in one piece, and this is none of my business. None of my fuckin’ business. But there’s fat chance of Mick getting out there, and somebody’s got to warn the stupid sheila. Les turned back towards the TV and the car keys sitting on the table next to the radio. Well, I’ve still got the Mustang for the rest of the night. And if I’m going to drive out to Ala Moana, I won’t be needing this. Norton put his drink down on the table, changed into his jeans and blue cotton jacket then caught the lift down to the foyer.

  The drive out to Ala Moana was uneventful. There wasn’t a great deal of traffic so Les was able to cruise along at a steady speed; however, he still kept a careful eye out for the other cars on the wet roads and the radio off while he mulled a couple of things over in his head. Like, what am I doing here? I should be relaxing in my hotel before I leave this prick of a joint to catch my plane. He slowed down to turn left into the gates of Ala Moana Park, and slowed down some more for the first speed humps, driving past a row of outrigger canoes arranged along the grass on his right and finally pulling up alongside a small kiosk shop. The only word to describe the scene that met Les when he got out of his car was ‘eerie’. Claps of thunder rattled overhead as the wind bent all the surrounding palm trees towards the sea, and the dull lights from the kiosk and around cast sickly, crooked shadows through the trees and along the pathways. There were only about two or three cars parked along the drive and, apart from Norton, not another soul. Les could make out the tiny, arched bridge in the murky distance and behind that Ala Moana Boulevard and the lights of the shopping centre. Norton gave a double blink. Hovering above the shopping centre was a UFO — a flying saucer. There was no mistaking the shape and the blue and green and red lights as it hovered in the air. Les took another look and it was some sort of restaurant built on a tower above the shopping centre. Shit! I don’t like this, grumbled Les. He was turning towards the bridge, when a strange movement of white made him jump. The wind had got beneath the plastic bin-liners of two mesh rubbish tins, buffeting and rattling them around like two small parachutes. Bloody hell, cursed Norton. What next?

  He started walking slowly and quietly towards the little arched bridge, keeping to the shadows, not wishing to announce his presence so he could get on the toe very smartly if things got out of hand, or if he was wrong and looked like making a dill of himself by being there. As Les drew nearer he could faintly hear the traffic hissing past, and he noticed that the tide had come in and that the shallow lagoons he’d seen on Tuesday had risen over halfway up the embankments. Quirky, jumpy shadows kept moving around Norton’s feet from the wind tossing at the trees and the thin glow from the surrounding lights washed the two arches and steps of the bridge a pallid white, giving it an almost sad, forlorn appearance where it spanned the murky waters of the lagoon. Les jammed his hands further into the pockets of his jacket and stood beneath a tree, peering at the bridge. Then he gave a double blink. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He should, but he just couldn’t quite. Standing against the railing, in the middle of the bridge, was Andrea. He hadn’t noticed her at first, but it was Andrea all right, wearing the same tracksuit she had on at breakfast, only she had a dark scarf over her head, tied under her chin, and she seemed to be wearing dark gloves. She was staring into the water facing the roadway with her hands clasped in front of her as if she was praying. Les shook his head. It was hard to believe anyone could be so stupid. Les moved his gaze to something in the water and, sure enough, there was a lei of blue and white flowers being swirled around by the breeze. Les shook his head again. Am I a bloody mind reader or what?

  Les stood perfectly still as the wind seemed to die for a moment, and in that brief instant he could appreciate Andrea’s position and the poignancy of the moment. It was tragic to lose someone you love in such a brutal, senseless manner. Les felt glad he was watching Andrea from side-on because you could bet your life ribbons of tears would be flowing down her face and dripping from her chin into the water below. A movement coming up the stairs on the other side of Andrea made Norton tense up. A figure wearing a dark grunge jacket, jeans and some kind of boots came slowly, confidently, along the path and stopped on the bridge a couple of metres away from Andrea. Andrea didn’t seem to notice at first, then, slightly startled, she looked up. Les edged a little closer to the bridge and Andrea’s voice carried over to him in the wind.

  ‘Oh, hello, Liu,’ she said. ‘What are you doing down this way?’

  Liu never moved and didn’t say a word; the wind picked up and swirled her jet black hair as she stared at Andrea. Norton froze.

  ‘Liu, it’s me, Andriana. What’s the matter? Don’t you recognise me?’

  Liu still didn’t reply. She just stared at Andrea. Norton burst out from the trees and screamed at Andrea.

  ‘Andrea! Get the fuck away from her! Come over here! Now!’

  Andrea jumped. She spun around towards Les, back to Liu, then back to Norton again. ‘Les? What the—’

  ‘Andrea, get away from her!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘That’s the killer! That’s Mr Walker!’

  ‘What!?’

  The look on Norton’s face and the urgency in his voice seemed to spark something in Andrea. She took another look at Liu then began moving towards Les. Les ran across the path and up the stairs, grabbed Andrea roughly by the arm and yanked her back down. Liu came across to the top of the stairs and stared at them. Her face was contorted and her entire body seemed to quiver. Les and Andrea started edging back along the pathway when another movement to their right stopped them momentarily and stopped Liu at the top of the stairs also. It was Officer Mick Reinhardt of the HPD, looking all very policeman in his black uniform, cap and gun, just like in the movies. He came walking almost nonchalantly out of the shadows and onto the pathway.

  ‘I got here, Les,’ he said. ‘What’s going on? Hello, Andrea.’ Mick turned to Liu standing on the bridge. ‘Who’s the girl on top of the…’

  Liu’s entire body shook and her face twisted into this horrible mask of pure rage — eyes bulging, flecks of foam forming round her lips. Watching from the pathway, she reminded Les of one of those old black-and-white horror movies where the moon comes out and Lon Chaney or whoever starts changing into a werewolf. Norton would not have been the least bit surprised if hair had started growing all over Liu’s face and fangs had formed in her mouth. Before Mick could say another word she took a breath, skipped forward a step and did this giant somersault over the stairs, landing as surefooted as a cat right in front of Mick. Les had never seen anything like it. Neither had anybody else. She snap-kicked Mick in the solar plexus with her right foot, making him double up and grunt with pain and shock as his lungs almost collapsed. Liu followed this with a short, jarring right to the jaw. Mick’s legs gave way, his cap fell off and he tumbled sideways into the stairs, banging his head with a horrible, flat thump against one of the pylons. If Liu’s one-two didn’t flatten Mick, that certainly did. He slid down the pylon onto his backside, eyes still half open, but deeply concussed and out like a light. Shit, there goes the cavalry to the rescue,
thought Les. I hope Andrea’s got her gun with her and I hope it’s a big one.

  Liu raised her left arm and pointed both at Les and Andrea, then moved her head and shoulders around, something like Bruce Lee would do before he’d go off and start to demolish the nearest half-dozen Asian heavies. She banged the heels of her boots together and two steel blades sprang out from the toes of her Colorado Montis. They weren’t bayonets, but stainless steel replicas, and they both glinted menacingly and deadly in the night.

  Liu started circling to her right, keeping her back to the lagoon, probably deciding to take Les out first then finish the others. Les was still trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. One minute Liu was on top of the stairs, the next she’d taken out Mick, and now she was shaped up in front of him, knives sticking out from her boots, frothing at the mouth, and above her, this flying saucer hovering in the distance. It was the weirdest, horriblest thing Norton had seen in a while. But it was no good gawking. If he didn’t make a move, and soon, he’d be dead. This wasn’t just some punch-up, get into it street fight. This was the real thing. Win or die. But what could he do? Liu was that fast, if he threw a punch or lunged at her, she’d have one of those blades jammed in his chest before he’d even see it coming. Even if he tried to tackle her she’d sidestep him and land one in his ribs. No matter what Les did, he was going to cop one of those blades, hopefully only in the arm or leg, before he could grab her and maybe choke her or something. However, Liu wasn’t just some woman. She was as strong and fit as any man her size and you could bet she’d know every martial arts trick in the book as well. Norton started to sweat in the moonlight, and his adrenalin was pumping furiously when another movement to his right made him look away from Liu for a split second. It was Andrea. In the confusion Les had forgotten all about her. In fact, Les had forgotten about everything. The only thing on his mind at the moment was self-preservation. Andrea was now standing on the pathway, holding Mick’s .38 Police Special in a combat stance — eyes sighted along the barrel, the hammer back, ready to go.