Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust Read Free Page A

away.’
    Les wrote down the phone number then read it back to Warren. ‘Okay Woz. That sounds kosher. And he’s down there waiting for me?’
    ‘Yep. He’ll probably be with his girlfriend.’
    ‘Barbara Beauty Spot? Are they still an item?’
    ‘He was with her last night.’
    ‘Ain’t love grand. So what’s your story, Woz?’ Les asked.
    ‘I’ll be home later to pick up some clothes,’ replied Warren. ‘Then I’m off to Surfers Paradise to shoot a promo for the Grand Prix. I’m taking Beatrice and we probably won’t be back till Friday.’
    ‘Okay. You want a lift to the airport?’
    ‘No. It’s all arranged.’ Warren blew into a hanky at the other end of the line. ‘Shit! I just hope I’m not coming down with that same wog you had.’
    ‘I doubt if you got if off me, Woz,’ said Les. ‘I’ve been quarantined in my room all week.’
    ‘I doubt it, too,’ answered Warren. ‘You wouldn’t even give that away, you miserable arse. All right, Horrible. I might see you this arvo.’
    ‘Okay mate. See you then.’
    Les put the phone down then walked back outside and turned off the ghetto blaster. After a quick glance at his watch, he strolled into thekitchen, poured himself a glass of mineral water from the fridge, then took it into the loungeroom and sat down to have a think about Bodene Menjou.
    Like a lot of other shifties around the Eastern Suburbs, Les knew him from the Kelly Club. A good card player who seemed to win more times than he lost, Menjou was a beefy, black-haired man around forty, who wore thick-rimmed glasses and always reminded Les and Billy of Ronnie Kray, one of the notorious London gangsters the Kray Twins. The resemblance was that close, the boys would often take the piss when he showed up at the club and put on cockney accents. Like Ronnie Kray, Bodene didn’t waste any smiles and was always in the company of one or two equally dour heavies. But if Menny had links to the Albanian Mafia, they were the most ruthless, violent criminals in the world. Even the Italian Mafia and the Chinese Triads based in London feared them and did nothing when they encroached into their rackets. They were into drug dealing and such, but their main sources of illegal income were prostitution and people smuggling, from which they made millions. Les wasn’t quite sure what Menny’s rort was. But not far from Norton’s house in Bondi,Menny ran a pizza shop called the Lushnje 33, situated amongst a small cluster of shops on the way to Bellevue Hill. Les pulled up to sample the pizzas late one afternoon and noticed a bloke walk out of Menny’s shop with two takeaway coffees, which he casually tossed to a friend waiting in a car outside, who just as casually tossed them onto the back seat. Les figured the coffee either came in a new, completely spill-proof type of container, or it was as thick as tar, and decided to get a pizza somewhere else.
    Bodene owned an immaculate old British racing green MG that got stolen around Christmas one year, sending the Albanian gangster slightly ballistic. Bodene loved his vintage MG and one night at the club he told Les of his bad luck, and if Les, who knew a lot of people, happened upon the perpetrators of this foul deed, there was a nice drink in it for him. Les wasn’t all that interested. But said he’d see what he could do.
    Not long afterwards, Les was having a solo jog around the back streets of Bondi, burning up a lazy hour before lunch. He was jogging down Glenayr Lane, not far from Azulejos, when he noticed a garage with the roller door partially open. MGs are built close to the ground and Les got a glimpse of green. He knelt down to take alook under the shutter and sure enough, there was Menny’s vintage MG. Later that day Les strolled up to the Lushnje 33 and gave Bodene an enthralling line of bullshit, about how at great expense and after a lengthy investigation that involved asking people from everywhere and all walks of life, he’d managed to