Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker by Robert G. Barrett

into the windswept ocean. The whole area smelled of money, comfort and style and if Honolulu had a Vaucluse this was it. There was a white, double wrought-iron gate across the driveway, solid enough to stop a Panzer Division. Norton got his bag from the car and walked over. The gate was built to keep out noseyparkers, but peering through the grilles, Les could see a man in white trousers and a blue floral shirt running a hose over a bronze Mercedes. The bloke was black and an absolute monster. Six feet four, twenty stone at least, a barrel chest with a paunch underneath and arms like two cedar logs. He had a flattened nose and the ear on one side of his head would have looked all right sitting on a plate with corned beef and white sauce. Les tipped him to be either a wrestler or an ex gridiron player. He caught Norton’s eye and stopped what he was doing for a second.
    â€˜Hey, mate!’ Les called out. ‘Can I see you for a minute?’
    The monster dropped the hose and ambled over. When he got to the gate he almost took up one side. ‘You want something, buddy?’ he asked, in a deep, growly voice that was almost expressionless.
    â€˜Yes,’ smiled Norton. ‘Could you tell Andriana Hazlewood there’s a Mr Les Norton over from Australia would like to see her.’
    The monster shook his monster head once. ‘No.’
    â€˜No?’
    â€˜That’s what I said, friend. Miss Hazlewood ain’t seeing no one today. This week. Ever.’
    â€˜But I’m a good friend of hers from Australia. I gotta see her.’
    â€˜I don’t care if you’re the Lord Jesus Christ selling five-dollar shoes. Miss Hazlewood ain’t seein’ no one. And she particularly mentioned Australians.’
    â€˜She did?’
    The monster nodded his head again. ‘That was the lady’s exact words.’
    â€˜Shit!’
    â€˜Right on, brother. And that’s what you gonna be in if you don’t get the fuck out of here and stop wasting my time.’
    â€˜Shit!’ Les looked at the monster again, who wasn’t smiling one little bit. There was no way of getting through the gate and if you did the monster waiting on the other side would probably tear you apart then eat you. Plus, if Norton wasn’t wrong, underneath the blue floral shirt he was carrying a rather large gun. Maybe it was the look on Norton’s face, maybe it was his aftershave. Maybe the monster was hoping Les wouldn’t go away so he could come outside and rip his spleen out. But the big man seemed to hesitate for a moment.
    â€˜All right, fair enough,’ said Les quickly. ‘But could you do me just one favour?’ The monster didn’t move. ‘You’ve got an intercom over there. Get a message to Miss Hazlewood. Say to tell Fenwick it’s the Tripeman. Hang on, I’ll write it down for you.’ Before the big man had time to think too much, Les had whipped out a biro, written it down on a piece of paper and handed it to him through the gate.
    The monster blinked at the message then blinked up at Les. ‘Okay, I’ll see she gets the message. But if it comes back nil vibes, I’m coming out there and you’re gonna eat it. Plus the rag top on that shitty little convertible you got out of.’
    Norton nodded his head and stood his ground. ‘Okay, mate, fair enough.’ If Andriana Hazlewood was who he thought she was that message would get through. If she wasn’t, and the monster came back out smoking, Les could bolt for the car, get it going and run over him. The monster walked off.
    Les paced up and down the front for a few minutes, then he thought he saw the bloke walking back across the driveway. Next thing the gate swung open about a metre and the monster nodded for him to come inside.
    â€˜Don’t know who you are, Tripeman, but you sure must know something.’ He closed the gate behind Les with a clang and locked the bolt.