Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust (15 page)

‘That’s right.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I work at the Blue Adriatic Travel Agency for an associate of Bodene’s.’

‘The Blue Adriatic Travel Agency,’ smiled Les. ‘I imagine one-way tickets back to Albania would be on special there, Topaz.’

‘All the time,’ replied Topaz. ‘What kind of passport would you prefer? Irish and Canadian are very popular. New Zealand is good.’

‘No, that’s quite all right,’ said Les. ‘My good old Aussie one will do me for the time being.’

‘Well, just let me know if ever you should change your mind. I can also arrange plastic surgery in Thailand. And a good deal on American Express traveller’s cheques from Hong Kong.’

‘Thanks, Topaz. I’ll remember that. Hey, this might sound funny,’ said Les, ‘but when I saw you with Bodene on Saturday morning, I thought you might have been Lasjoz’s girlfriend.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Topaz. ‘God! Give me a break. Have you ever seen him with his shirt off? He needs a flea collar.’

‘Well, I don’t know these things,’ explained Les.

‘What about you, Les. Have you got a girlfriend?’

Les shook his head. ‘No. I haven’t even got a cat. Or a budgerigar. Not even a goldfish.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘All the time, Topaz. It’s awful. I’ve even joined
a poets’ circle. Would you like me to read you some of my works?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Topaz. ‘Are they any good?’

‘Reckon,’ said Les. ‘I’ve been told my “Ode to Epsom Salts” is very moving indeed.’

‘Wow! I’m moved already.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So how are you going with your search for Bodene’s missing film script?’ asked Topaz.

‘Sort of all right,’ answered Les. ‘I’m onto a couple of things.’

‘You get around, don’t you?’

‘Not really, Topaz. I just know a lot of the wrong kind of people from work. That’s all.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Topaz. ‘Les. What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘Thursday. Nothing really. Why?’

‘Barbara’s getting her hair done in the morning, at Bondi. And we’re going for coffee afterwards. I was wondering if you might like to join us?’

‘I’d love to, Topaz,’ replied Norton. ‘What time and whereabouts?’

‘Say ten thirty, elevenish. At Gabrielle’s and Liza’s.’

‘Ohh, even better,’ said Les. ‘I go there all the time. In fact I think I’ve seen you in there.’

‘I’ve seen you too. You like to sit on that lounge in the middle room.’

‘That’s right. Sometimes I meet up with some friends from work.’

The line went quiet for a moment. ‘Les. I have to go, the other phone’s ringing. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Okay. See you then.’

Les hung up and stared at his mobile sitting on the kitchen table. Well, how about that. What did Rose say? Expect the unexpected. Coffee tomorrow could be very interesting. Especially with Barbara Beauty Spot in the company. She is a rocket salad. Now, where was I? Planning a burglary.

Les wheeled his push-bike out onto the verandah, got a couple of things from his bedroom, then locked the front door behind him. After adjusting his sunglasses, he slipped on a pair of gloves, took his bike out the front, then spread his backside across the saddle and pedalled off.

After exiting his street, Lamrock Avenue was downhill all the way and Les soon coasted to a stop in front of the address Deep Throat had given him: a narrow semi with a red gate and a low brick fence out front, just back from Chambers Avenue.

The semi was painted off-white and kept very neat with a small verandah and two windows facing the street. On the right was a side passage with a metal security gate. Les had a quick look around, opened the front gate and wheeled his bike across the yard and left it against the security gate. Convinced no one had seen him, he walked back and knocked on the front door. After knocking twice more and getting no answer, Les removed his sunglasses and took the zinger from his pocket. There were two locks on the door; the zinger whirred twice and Les was inside.

Despite the villain inside him, Norton wasn’t used to this and it didn’t feel right being inside someone else’s home without them knowing. The sooner he got his ‘dirty deed done dirt cheap’ finished and was out of there, the better. Les wrapped a blue bandana around his face, flicked on a small torch and started looking around.

It was a basic, restored, old Bondi semi. Two bedrooms and a bathroom on the right faced a narrow, blue-carpeted hallway that ran down to a small loungeroom with a piano in one corner. There was a dining room with a small kitchen alongside and a locked and bolted door led to an enclosed verandah and a small backyard. The furnishings were tasteful and modern with a blue
velvet lounge, framed prints on the walls, plenty of bric-a-brac and several frilly lampshades. A huge panda bear sporting a pink cowboy hat sprawled in the corner of the blue velvet lounge. Les decided to take a preliminary look in the front bedroom, work his way down to the dining room and if he didn’t find the bag the first time, start again and give the place a good going over.

Creeping slowly back along the hallway, Les could swear every creaking floorboard under his feet was screaming its head off that there was an intruder in the house, till he got to the front bedroom and flicked his torch around. A double bed with a white duvet and several fluffy dolls sat between the front windows and a dressing table. A sideboard sat against another wall, next to a built-in wardrobe with mirrors across the front. On top of the sideboard were four handbags. One was crocodile skin, but none were green. Les slid the door back on the wardrobe. Amongst the dresses and tops were two men’s suits and two pairs of men’s shoes. The lady must have a gentleman visitor, smiled Les as he closed the door. He flashed the torch around then moved on to the next bedroom.

It too had built-in wardrobes and a dressing table and a sideboard. But only a single bed stood
beneath a window opening onto the side passage. Like the front room, several handbags sat on the sideboard; however, not a green one in sight. There were also men’s clothes hanging up in the wardrobe amongst the dresses and slacks. Shit, thought Les. The boyfriend must get a bit cramped spending the night in a single bed. He left the bedroom and proceeded on to the loungeroom, stopping for a quick look in the bathroom.

The bathroom was neat and fairly tidy, with a white plastic shower screen covered in coloured ducks and a pair of scales under the sink covered in talcum powder. Sitting amongst the toothbrushes and soap, on a glass shelf above the sink, were two plastic men’s razors and two electric ones. Plus two bottles of expensive men’s aftershave amongst the women’s perfume. Looks like the boyfriends have certainly settled in, mused Les. Half their luck. Les left the bathroom and stepped out into the hallway, where his stomach suddenly turned to ice. The front door opened and two people stepped inside.

‘Well, how would I know whose bike it is, Lola?’ said one voice. ‘It’s certainly not mine, or anyone I know.’

‘It’s a man’s bike, too, Chontelle,’ said the other voice.

‘Somebody must have…’

The door closed, Les turned towards it and his torch picked up two of the biggest women Les had ever seen in his life. The first one, Chontelle, had braided blonde hair stacked around a face with a wheelbarrow of make-up caked on it and she was wearing a black dress, high heels and fishnet stockings. Lola had a thick black Afro, the same amount of make-up, plus a huge pair of false eyelashes and looked quite tidy in a maroon slack suit and matching Doc Marten shoes. The two women stared down the hallway, turned to each other then glared daggers at Les.

‘And just who the hell are you?’ demanded Chontelle.

Les gestured helplessly. ‘Ladies,’ he tried to explain. ‘It’s not quite what you think.’ ‘It’s a bloody burglar,’ howled Lola.

‘Get him, Lola. The thieving bastard,’ hissed Chontelle. ‘He’ll be sorry he broke into our house.’

‘Look girls. Will you just let me…’

It was too late. Chontelle kicked off her high heels and the two women tore down the hallway and crash-tackled Les with a hit as hard as any he’d felt playing first grade rugby league. Les yelped as the torch went up in the air and he was swept off his feet and sent flying back into the
loungeroom, banging his head on a chair hard enough to make him see stars. Next thing Les knew, he was being punched and kicked all round the loungeroom floor with frightening ferocity. One well-aimed kick from Lola’s Doc Martens caught him above the left eye, tearing open the flesh. As his eye filled with blood, Les felt a vase get smashed over the top of his head and he saw more stars. Shit, sweated Les, I got to do something here or I’m going to finish up topside fuckin mince.

Chontelle was standing over him, so Les shoved his hand up her dress to grab her pubic hairs and start yanking on them. But instead of getting a fist full of ted, Les was shocked to find his hand wrapped round a huge pair of balls and fairly decent length of pipe. Despite his initial horror, Les yanked on everything anyway. Chontelle screamed and bent down to grab Norton’s hand, accidentally elbowing Lola in the face and temporarily stopping her from bashing into Les. This was all the breathing space Norton needed. He forced himself up between the two huge drag queens, grabbed Lola by her Afro and Chontelle by her braids and banged their heads together; once, twice and a third time for luck.

The two drag queens had big, hard heads and it wasn’t enough to knock them out. But it gave
Les time to break free. Up on his feet, he could have started punching and kicking into the two stunned drag queens and gained the upper hand. But Les knew he was in the wrong and they were entitled to give him a good hiding after catching him inside their house. Les left them and sped off down the hallway, tearing open the front door before slamming it shut behind him. After a quick look around, Les quickly re-tied the bandana across his forehead to stop the blood running into his eyes, then got on his push-bike and went for his life back up Lamrock Avenue, standing up on the pedals and wrenching the handlebars towards him like he was overtaking the field in the Tour de France.

Mrs Curtin was pottering about in her small garden across the road and didn’t see Les when he pulled up in front of his house. He ran up the stairs, dumped his bike on the verandah and quickly opened the front door. Once inside, Les hurried straight to the bathroom.

‘Oh, fuck me dead,’ Les wailed when he removed the blood-soaked bandana and looked at himself in the mirror. ‘What next?’

Norton was a mess. His hair was full of blood from the cut he got when the vase was broken over his head, blood was running down his face
from the cut above his eye, his face had been pummelled and his teeth were chipped. Besides that, his back felt like he’d just woken up after spending the night sleeping on a pile of blue metal. This time he needed medical attention. Les threw his bandana in the shower, filled the sink full of warm water and washed most of the blood away. He then wrapped a towel round his head, walked out to the phone in the loungeroom and dialled.

‘Hello. Dr Kenneth’s surgery.’

‘Hello Anjuska. It’s Les Norton.’

‘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.