Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust (17 page)

Norton watched Detective Maroney walk off and continued sipping his mineral water. So. Rod must have seen me down there with Bodene on Saturday morning and thought I was up to something. Surely he knows me better than that. As for Topaz and Barbara, Topaz I don’t know. And apart from having a shonky boyfriend, Barbara’s harmless. Anyway, despite Rod’s advice, smiled Les, a sequence of events has been put into action that is impossible to stop. Topaz is calling round my place tonight with homemade chicken
soup. And even if she’s running a terrorist network, she’s a good sort and I love homemade chicken soup. Nevertheless, concluded Norton, this whole missing bag thing is getting a bit weird. And the sooner I knock it on the head the better. Fifty grand or no fifty grand. Tarot cards or no tarot cards. But before I do, I might poke my head into one more nook and cranny. Lasjoz was there when the script went missing. There’s a chance he might have cooked up a scheme to nick Bodene’s script, and used one of his poof mates as a go-between. Les finished his mineral water, left Ravesi’s and walked down to Curlewis Street.

He followed it to Glenayr Avenue, crossed over and continued on until he came to the block of flats next to the car wash. It was a typical old Bondi block of red brick flats built in the thirties. Six in the front and six at the back, divided by an entrance and stairs on the right. A narrow driveway ran past the entrance to an uncovered parking area at the rear, and a rickety wooden fence separated the block from the car wash. There were no verandahs, and towels hung from some of the window sills facing the street; pinned across a window on the second floor was a Jamaican flag. Les stood in the driveway and stared up at the flats, wondering which one belonged to Lasjoz and how
he was going to time it so he’d be in there when Lasjoz wasn’t home. Les was pondering on this when a white Holden station wagon slowly reversed down the driveway towards him. There was a stepladder on top, mops, brooms and other cleaning equipment in the back, and behind the wheel was Gary Jackson. Les stepped aside as the station wagon drew level then tapped on the roof.

‘Jacko,’ said Les. ‘How’s things?’

Gary stopped the car and looked up. ‘Les. What’s happening mate?’

‘I’m looking for someone,’ replied Les. ‘What’s your story?’

‘I’m the caretaker here.’

‘You’re the main man,’ beamed Les. ‘Well, how about that.’

Gary winked. ‘You know the old Russian saying, Les. There’s no menial jobs. Only menial attitudes.’

‘Exactly, Gary,’ smiled Les. ‘Never swap your backbone for a wish bone. Hey, talking about Russians, Gary. I’m looking for a bloke lives here called Lasjoz. Great big bloke with black hair. You wouldn’t know which flat he lives in, would you?’

‘That’d be Lurch,’ replied Gary
.
‘He lives in number nine at the back.’

‘Lurch. That sounds like him,’ said Les.

‘That’s what I call him anyway. I’ll tell you what though,’ said Gary, ‘he’s got to be the strongest cunt I ever seen in me life.’

‘Yeah?’

‘My oath. I was out the back one day, and I asked him if he’d give me a lift with an old washing machine. Fair dinkum. He didn’t say a word. He just picked the fuckin thing up and threw it in the back of the wagon like it was a packet of Sao biscuits.’

‘Yeah. That’d be him,’ nodded Les. ‘And he lives in number nine?’

‘Yeah,’ nodded Gary. ‘He might be home. I’m not sure.’

‘Okay,’ said Les. ‘Thanks, Gary.’

‘No worries,’ replied Gary. ‘Hey, and thanks again for that tip, Les. Shit, we’re still counting the money.’

‘Any time, mate,’ smiled Les. ‘Oh, and tell Irish John I went round to that house in Brassie Street. But it was burnt down.’

‘Yeah,’ said Gary
.
‘It was a bloody drug lab or something. Strike me hooray. What’s Bondi coming to?’

‘Yeah. It’s got me stuffed,’ said Les.

‘Mate. I got to go,’ said Gary. ‘I got a heap of work on today.’

Les stepped aside. ‘Go for your life, Gary,’ he said. ‘Get out there and taste that sweet smell of success.’

‘You got it. Either lead, follow or get out of me fuckin road. Hey, what happened to your eye Les?’

‘Occupational hazard, Jacko,’ smiled Les.

‘Say no more. Say no more.’ Gary bipped the horn and drove off.

Well, there you go, smiled Les, as he started walking away. Lurch lives in flat nine. I could get my zinger and come back. But I might leave it for the time being. Best I put my Bugs Bunny hat on and do some very heavy concentrationing on this. If Lasjoz can throw a washing machine in the back of a station wagon, if he sprung me in his flat he’d throw me straight out the window. And number nine ain’t on the ground floor. Les turned right into Glenayr Avenue and continued home.

Back at Chez Norton, Les placed his phone on the kitchen table and had another glass of water. He was still revved up and bouncing around from all the coffee and wondering what to do with himself. He knew he couldn’t do anything strenuous. But he had to do something. I know what I’ll do, thought Les.
I’ll go for another walk in Centennial Park. Les changed back into his old grey tracksuit and was about to leave the house when his mobile rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello my friend,’ rasped the voice at the other end.

Norton’s eyes narrowed. ‘Deep Throat. How are you, mate.’

‘I am good.’ Suddenly Deep throat sneezed violently. ‘Oh. Maybe not so good. Shit.’

‘Gesundheit,’ said Les cheerfully.

‘Yeah. Whatever. So tell me, my friend,’ continued Deep Throat. ‘How did you go yesterday?’

‘At that place in Lamrock Avenue?’ said Les.

‘Yes. That one. What happened?’

‘I found the bag,’ said Les.

There was silence at the other end for a moment. ‘Say again, please.’

‘I found the green bag with the eagle on the side,’ lied Les. ‘And everything else.’

‘You found it?’

‘That’s right—my friend. And I got you to thank.’

‘But. Well, that is good, my friend. Very good. And it was in the house?’

‘Sure was,’ said Les. ‘The front door was unlocked. I walked straight in. And bingo! There it was. Sitting on the lounge. In. Out. Five minutes.’

‘That is amazing,’ said Deep Throat.

‘It sure is,’ said Les. ‘Now seeing as I’m going to get a reward out of this, I think you and I should meet up, so I can throw a bit your way.’

‘No, no. That is quite impossible. I cannot meet you.’

‘Why not?’ said Les. ‘Come on. Let’s get together. I want to shake your hand and thank you personally. You sound like a good bloke.’

‘No. I am sorry my friend. I cannot do this.’ Suddenly Deep Throat sneezed again.

‘Yes you can,’ said Les. ‘Come on. I’m dying to meet you.’

‘No. You have the bag,’ sniffled Deep Throat. ‘Everything is good. Now I must go.’

‘No. Don’t go,’ said Les.

‘Goodbye my friend.’

‘Hey, don’t go. Hello? Hello? You there?’ The phone went dead in Norton’s hand. ‘Fuck you! You dopey fuckin wog cunt!’ Les shouted into the phone.

Les clicked off and tossed his phone back on the kitchen table. Bugger it, he fumed. I certainly
blew that. I should have strung the prick along a bit more. Too bloody late now. Les drummed his fingers irritably on the table. Shit! I’d love to know who it was. Les calmed down, had a glass of water then locked the house and drove down to Centennial Park.

Ambling along, taking his time and thinking about this and that, Les walked for almost two hours. The sky had clouded over, cooling the afternoon down, so he hardly raised a sweat and it was a leisurely way to spend the end of the day. When he’d finished, Les drove home, had a Promite special sandwich and a cup of tea, then filled the bath and had another soak.

You know, thought Les as he sat in the bath, gingerly shaving away the stubble while he held a hand mirror, life ain’t too bad. Okay, I might be a bit battered and bruised. But there’s ten thousand bucks sitting in my wardrobe that I didn’t have to raise a finger to earn. I got a good sort coming round later with some food. And I don’t have to get up and catch a bus to work tomorrow. Besides that, smiled Les, when I dry off and get changed, I’m going to drop some more of those little white pills and things will get better again. I don’t know whether Topaz is keen for a root, but I’m not. Imagine if I went for a face full of ted and she
ripped all the stitches out. Ouch! Les placed the mirror and razor on the side of the bath and stared out the bathroom window at the darkening sky. Yes. I suppose we have our differences now and again, boss. But all up, we don’t get on too bad. Thanks, mate. Les pulled the plug, dabbed on a little Tabac, then dried off, gave his dark blue tracksuit another run and went out to the kitchen.

Norton’s two packets of mother’s little helpers were still sitting on the table. Les smiled, poured a stiff delicious, and washed down two from each packet. Right, he told himself, rubbing his hands together. I’ve got about half an hour before I turn into a blancmange. What will I do? Leave the front door ajar, so I don’t have to get up off my big fat arse when Topaz gets here and open it. And make sure there’s something nice for her to drink. There’s enough booze in the bar to supply a cruise liner with Long Island Teas. But I imagine like most women, Topaz would enjoy a glass of chilled white wine. Les checked the back of the fridge and smiled. Warren had left two bottles of Cullen Margaret River Chardonnay behind the meat cabinet. That should suffice admirably, smiled Les. He closed the fridge, half opened the front door then slipped a CD on and
settled back to await Topaz’s arrival. Down to the Bone were halfway through ‘It’s A Long Way To Brooklyn’ and Les had hit the wall when there was a knock on the front door.

‘Yeah. It’s open,’ Les called out. ‘Step right on in.’

The door closed and Les heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Next thing Topaz was standing in the loungeroom wearing a pair of crutch tight black jeans and a lacy grey top under a grey leather jacket. A vapour trail of Chanel No. 5 hung in the air behind her, cleavage was being pushed to its limits and her shining dark hair was swirling round her shoulders like freshly spun silk. Over one shoulder was a red leather handbag and in her other hand she held a large white plastic bag.

Norton’s face spread into a beautiful, friendly wide grin. ‘Hello Topaz,’ he said happily. ‘How are you? And might I say, you look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.’

‘I’m good,’ said Topaz. She looked at Les a little suspiciously. ‘You haven’t been smoking dope, have you?’

Les shook his head. ‘No. But I was in a lot of pain. So I took some prescription drugs the doctor gave me.’

‘Prescription drugs,’ said Topaz. ‘Like what?’

‘Panadeine Forte and Valium,’ smiled Les. ‘Two of each.’

‘Christ! You’re going to be a lot of company.’

‘No. I’m okay,’ grinned Les. ‘Just a little—tranquil, that’s all.’

‘Tranquillised would be more like it.’ Topaz held up the white plastic bag. ‘I hope you’re still hungry.’

‘You needn’t worry about that,’ Les assured her.

‘Hey, I like your house,’ said Topaz, taking a quick peruse. ‘Nice furniture. And those prints are great. Especially that photo of the fish.’

‘I took that,’ said Les.

‘You did?’

‘Yeah. I fluked it round the front of Bondi one morning with a disposable camera.’ Les finished his delicious and rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Would you have glass of white wine?’

‘How about some Cullen Margaret River Chardonnay?’

‘Well,’ flustered Topaz. ‘If you haven’t got anything else, I suppose that will just have to do. Won’t it?’

They went into the kitchen and Topaz placed the food on the table. After a couple of attempts,
Les was able to open a bottle of wine and pour Topaz a glass. He made himself another delicious, then they talked about different things while Les managed to bumble around and get in the way as Topaz organised some plates and warmed the container of chicken soup in the microwave. Topaz didn’t mind a cool one and the best part of a bottle was gone when they got down to eating.

‘Ohh, stop the fight,’ said Les after two mouthfuls. ‘This soup is unbelievable. And it’s almost like a casserole.’

‘Yes, Mum does a good job,’ agreed Topaz. ‘She adds a little prosciutto ham. Red and green lentils. A little mustard oil. You know what those old wog sheilas are like.’

‘Yeah. They sure got the old “je ne sais quoi” haven’t they,’ said Les.

Out of it or not, Les ripped in. Topaz had even brought a loaf of crispy white bread which Les used to wipe the bowl clean. Next came the rhubarb and banana pie. Topaz warmed it up in the microwave and they had it with scoops of ice cream. The homemade pie brought Les to his knees.

‘Ohh how good’s this?’ crooned Les. ‘I’ve never tasted anything like it.’

‘Yes. It’s got a bitter sweetness about it,’ said Topaz. ‘The rhubarb complements the banana.’

‘It hits the bloody spot, I know that,’ said Les.

They finished eating. Les said don’t worry about the dishes, he’d do them in the morning. This suited Topaz and Les opened the other bottle of Margaret River. He poured himself another delicious and offered Topaz some Valium, but she declined.

‘All right,’ smiled Les. ‘What will we do now? Watch a DVD? I got a stack of them there. Warren brings them home from work by the trunk load.’

‘No. I brought one with me,’ said Topaz. ‘I’m going to see just how much of a tough guy you are.’

‘It’s not
Million Dollar Baby,
is it?’ demanded Les.

‘No.
Very Annie Mary.
With Rachel Griffiths.’

‘Ohh cool,’ said Les. ‘She was great in
Muriel’s Wedding.
You’re terrible, Muriel,’ he joked.

‘Well, let’s see how you handle Rachel Griffiths with a Welsh accent.’ Topaz took the DVD from her bag and slipped it into Norton’s player and they settled back on the lounge with their drinks.

If
300
was one of the worst movies Les had ever seen,
Very Annie Mary
was one of the best. Rachel Griffiths was sensational as the poor simple Welsh girl with the hidden talent, who
manages to stuff everything up. Jonathan Pryce was horrible as her overbearing, would-be Pavarotti father. The Village People tribute was a crack-up. And the biggest surprise was Ioan Gruffudd—Captain Horatio Hornblower—turning up as a gay confectionery shop owner. But for all the laughs Les got, the movie also tore his heart out. When it finished, Les was sitting on the lounge mellowed out on Valium, his body racked with sobs and tears pouring down his cheeks.