Mele Kalikimaka Mr Walker Read Free

time,’ winked Warren. ‘Hawaii’s a good spot.’
    â€˜It couldn’t be any worse than bloody Florida.’
    Warren explained one or two things, like the procedure with the tickets, the name of the hotel Les would be staying in and how they would be flying out at ten-thirty the coming Sunday morning. He didn’t elaborate on where he’d be going or who he’d be staying with.
    â€˜So what’s doing tonight?’
    â€˜Tonight, Woz? I might go down to the Diggers and get into a bit of Harlem Shuffle. I still reckon they do the best version of “Great Balls of Fire” in recorded history.’
    â€˜You goin’ on your own?’
    â€˜Yes. And on foot.’
    â€˜Annie’s coming back later. She’s got a girlfriend dead set fancies you. I reckon you’d be a walk-up start.’ ‘Thank you, Warren. But at the moment I need another root like Australia needs more blowflies.’
    â€˜Yes,’ nodded Warren. ‘I noticed DD didn’t take any prisoners during her short stay here. She was certainly some woman.’
    â€˜You can say that again, Woz,’ Les nodded back. ‘You can say that again.’
    The afternoon went smoothly, as did the evening at the Diggers. The Shuffle pumped and Les boogied around by the bar with different blokes, their wives and girlfriends. There were a few overs but Norton was content to get horrifyingly drunk and get into the music. He also got a few laughs when he said he was off to Hawaii the following Sunday. Tony Nathan, the surf photographer, happened to be there and also happened to overhear that Les was off to Honolulu. So he arranged for Les to take a camera case over for a journalist who was over in Hawaii covering the Triple Crown surfing contest on the North Shore. He’d pick the camera case up at Norton’s hotel. Les agreed, before staggering off into the night and home to bed.
    The week at the club went as smoothly as usual, with nothing even remotely resembling a drama. The only thing Les had to put up with was George Brennan slinging off now and again that Les had turned into a jetsetting yuppie — Florida and Jamaica one minute, Hawaii the next. However, Les assured George, Price and anyone else interested that if the trips hadn’t beenfreebies he wouldn’t be going within a bull’s roar of Kingsford Smith Airport. In fact, Les was adamant his one trip away only made him realise that Australia was the best country in the world, despite the idiots running it. But Norton also added that anyone who would knock back a free a la carte trip to Hawaii would be an even bigger mug than George Brennan, hard as that was to imagine.
    Before Les knew it, Saturday night, a few late drinks, and the week was over. He’d rung Mick, got everything he needed packed, and it was Sunday morning, and he and Warren were wearing jeans and T-shirts and in a taxi running a little late to catch Qantas F4 to Honolulu.
    Naturally there was a slight glitch when they got there. A computer had thrown a wobbly, along with the baggage conveyor belt, so the bags were delayed going onto all the aircraft. But after changing some money they still had to wait on the plane, where they sat around like stale bottles of piss for an hour along with all the other passengers. However, after Les’s last trip, upstairs in Business Class with plenty of room, no cigarette smoke and two obliging stewards to take care of you, was a breeze. Les read the Sunday papers, drank orange juice and chit-chatted now and again to Warren sitting alongside him, when, before he knew it, it was chocks away and they were soaring off into the wild blue yonder.
    All up the eight- or so hour trip was a breeze. Les had a couple of cold beers to follow the hot towels then it was time for lunch: grilled fillet of scarlet perch. Warren opted for the lamb short loin with minted cucumbers. Then it was settle back, read a magazine or two before a