Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker by Robert G. Barrett Read Free Book Online

ocean. It was quite crowded with more overweight Americans stuffing themselves with anything that could be drowned in maple syrup, gravy, or some kind of sauce guaranteed to bung on calories. The only difference Les could notice between the vegetables seated at Bennies and the ones at McDonald’s was that the Bennies lot weren’t quite as noisy and they seemed to be dressed a little better. At a table near the balcony and to their right a girl waved.
    â€˜There she is,’ said Mick. Les followed him over.
    Mick’s girl was Hawaiian and quite pretty with long black hair and dazzling white teeth emphasised by her smooth brown skin. She was wearing a green and white floral dress and a touch of blue mascara round her walnut eyes; resting on the table next to her handbag were a pair of tiny hands tinged with red nail polish.
    â€˜Les, this is Kia.’
    â€˜Hello, Kia,’ said Norton, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. ‘Nice to meet you.’
    â€˜You too, Les,’ smiled Kia, giving Norton a quick once up and down. ‘So you’re the Aussie guy Mick stayed with in Australia? The bouncer?’
    Les noticed Mick smile a little self-consciously. Les just smiled. ‘“Crowd behavioural supervisor” is the politically correct term, Kia.’
    Kia nodded, letting her eyes rest on Norton’s iodine-stained knuckles. ‘You still look like a bouncer.’
    â€˜Anyway, grab a seat,’ said Mick, rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m starving.’
    â€˜Yeah, righto.’ Les sat down on Kia’s left with Mick on her right closest to the balcony.
    The waitress arrived with the menus, ice water and a percolator of coffee. The menu was a full-on, glossy reproduction of the usual American breakfast nosh. Pancakes, bistro steaks, Portuguese sausage, hash browns, et cetera. Norton gave it the once-over then looked at the vegetables stuffing themselves around him and suddenly didn’t feel all that hungry. What he did fancy was a bowl of Weetbix, muesli and chopped-up mango and banana with a little bit of raw sugar. But if he ordered that in here they’d probably have him terminated by the CIA as a pinko, commie subversive. It made no difference to Mick and Kia. They ordered bacon, sausage, omelettes, pancakes, more eggs, the works. Oh well, mused Les. When in Rome. He ordered Portuguese sausages, eggs over easy, hash browns, tomato and extra toast.
    â€˜Tah-mait-oh is a separate order,’ said the waitress.
    â€˜Good. Then bring me a whole plate of tah-mait-oh,’ said Norton.
    It turned out Kia was a schoolteacher. She and Mick lived together and were getting married in April. She also couldn’t stay long when they’d finished breakfast because she had private classes starting at twelve-thirty teaching Japanese students English. Les was a little curious how Mick came to be in the police force. Mick said when he got his green card it was either that, the fire brigade, or the council, and he fancied doing the physical for the police force where he blitzed the field —then found he truly enjoyed the work, although Les thought he heard him mutter ‘sort of’ to Kia, who gave him what seemed like an understanding smile and squeezed his arm.
    The food arrived and Les was surprised the way Kia tore in for a fairly small girl. Her omelette was already drowning under about two metres of gravy, but she still added around half a bottle of every sauce on the table, mopping up what was left with toast. Mick wasn’t far behind. Norton’s sausages were just okay but the eggs ran into the hash browns like a big, greasy, yellow puddle. He just picked here and there, mainly eating his tomato and toast and drinking his coffee. It was still quite pleasant chit-chatting away about not much in particular. Kia was a nice girl with a slightly cynical sense of humour, which she needed because Mick still had plenty of Bondi in him. Yet despite the