Read Online Les Norton and the Case of the Talking Pie Crust by Robert G. Barrett - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert G. Barrett
Tags: Fiction
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cautious. If someone took his number as hedrove off and the police were able to connect him to four deaths in a drug lab, he’d be in very deep shit. And from a callous perspective, the unexpected fire was a good thing. It destroyed any evidence of him being there. As for Irish John and Jacko, if they did mention anything to him, he would simply say, yes, he drove round there. But the place had burnt down. What a bummer. Say no more. Say no more.
When he got to the coffee shop, Les opened their Otto bin and dropped the plastic bag inside, covering it with other rubbish. Convinced his arse was totally covered, Les brushed his hands and after a cursory look around, headed home to settle down in front of the TV with another delicious.
When he picked up the TV guide, Les rolled his eyes in disbelief. The Saturday night movie was Speed, with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. Yeah, that’d be right. Les couldn’t be bothered checking out Foxtel. So he went to a pile of DVDs Warren had brought home from the advertising agency and chose Walk the Line with Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon.
Les enjoyed it immensely and couldn’t believe Joaquin Phoenix did all his own singing. He was great. So was Reese Witherspoon and the blokewho played Jerry Lee Lewis. Les also had to choke back a tear when Johnny Cash proposed to June Carter on stage and she said yes. By golly, sniffed Les, when the movie finished and he put the DVD away. You can’t beat a feel-good movie. I might even buy the soundtrack.
By now Les was bone tired and drained. It’s not every day you beat death by a whisker and have to fight a gang of nutters, after just getting over the flu. He switched off the lights, cleaned his teeth and climbed into bed. Tomorrow he would wake up happy and shiny to another delightful day in beautiful downtown Bondi; and make some more new friends. Les scrunched his head into the pillows, yawned once and nodded off.
L es woke up in reasonably good shape on Sunday morning to find it was cooler and cloudier than Saturday. He climbed out of bed, stretched out a couple of yawns, then went to the bathroom. There was no missing his fat lip and the mouse under his right eye. But compared to what could have happened, it was nothing. After finishing inthe bathroom, Les went to the kitchen and put the jug on, then without bothering to get changed, climbed into his trainers and walked down to get the papers.
Back in the kitchen, Les made a pot of tea and decided what he’d have for breakfast. When everything was ready, he sat down relaxed and opened the Telegraph.
A nasty plane crash in Indonesia took up the first two pages. But on page three was a photo and the heading BONDI DRUG LAB EXPLODES IN FLAMES. FOUR BODIES FOUND. Les read avidly over his smoked salmon and scrambled eggs.
The story had come in late, and although the photo was dramatic and the journo had managed to beat the story up as best he could, it still didn’t say any more than Les had surmised. A gun was found in the house. A burnt-out car was in the driveway. Police still hadn’t identified the bodies. And despite Bondi Fire Station being just round the corner, the blaze was so intense, firefighters couldn’t save the house and were pleased they managed to contain the fire to the immediate premises. Police said this was typical of the danger drug labs and other clandestine operations of this nature held for the public. Etc., etc., etc. One sentence made Norton laugh outloud over his scrambled eggs. Up until the explosions started, neighbours hadn’t heard anything. Yeah, that’d be right, nodded Les. I almost kicked a screaming speed freak to death in the hallway. I fought two other blokes through a drug lab, knocking shit all over the place. A bloke fires a shotgun at me. Cars pull up. Doors are slammed. Blokes are yelling out at the tops of their voices. And the neighbours don’t hear a thing. If someone had been in there smoking a joint and listening to Pink
When he got to the coffee shop, Les opened their Otto bin and dropped the plastic bag inside, covering it with other rubbish. Convinced his arse was totally covered, Les brushed his hands and after a cursory look around, headed home to settle down in front of the TV with another delicious.
When he picked up the TV guide, Les rolled his eyes in disbelief. The Saturday night movie was Speed, with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. Yeah, that’d be right. Les couldn’t be bothered checking out Foxtel. So he went to a pile of DVDs Warren had brought home from the advertising agency and chose Walk the Line with Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon.
Les enjoyed it immensely and couldn’t believe Joaquin Phoenix did all his own singing. He was great. So was Reese Witherspoon and the blokewho played Jerry Lee Lewis. Les also had to choke back a tear when Johnny Cash proposed to June Carter on stage and she said yes. By golly, sniffed Les, when the movie finished and he put the DVD away. You can’t beat a feel-good movie. I might even buy the soundtrack.
By now Les was bone tired and drained. It’s not every day you beat death by a whisker and have to fight a gang of nutters, after just getting over the flu. He switched off the lights, cleaned his teeth and climbed into bed. Tomorrow he would wake up happy and shiny to another delightful day in beautiful downtown Bondi; and make some more new friends. Les scrunched his head into the pillows, yawned once and nodded off.
L es woke up in reasonably good shape on Sunday morning to find it was cooler and cloudier than Saturday. He climbed out of bed, stretched out a couple of yawns, then went to the bathroom. There was no missing his fat lip and the mouse under his right eye. But compared to what could have happened, it was nothing. After finishing inthe bathroom, Les went to the kitchen and put the jug on, then without bothering to get changed, climbed into his trainers and walked down to get the papers.
Back in the kitchen, Les made a pot of tea and decided what he’d have for breakfast. When everything was ready, he sat down relaxed and opened the Telegraph.
A nasty plane crash in Indonesia took up the first two pages. But on page three was a photo and the heading BONDI DRUG LAB EXPLODES IN FLAMES. FOUR BODIES FOUND. Les read avidly over his smoked salmon and scrambled eggs.
The story had come in late, and although the photo was dramatic and the journo had managed to beat the story up as best he could, it still didn’t say any more than Les had surmised. A gun was found in the house. A burnt-out car was in the driveway. Police still hadn’t identified the bodies. And despite Bondi Fire Station being just round the corner, the blaze was so intense, firefighters couldn’t save the house and were pleased they managed to contain the fire to the immediate premises. Police said this was typical of the danger drug labs and other clandestine operations of this nature held for the public. Etc., etc., etc. One sentence made Norton laugh outloud over his scrambled eggs. Up until the explosions started, neighbours hadn’t heard anything. Yeah, that’d be right, nodded Les. I almost kicked a screaming speed freak to death in the hallway. I fought two other blokes through a drug lab, knocking shit all over the place. A bloke fires a shotgun at me. Cars pull up. Doors are slammed. Blokes are yelling out at the tops of their voices. And the neighbours don’t hear a thing. If someone had been in there smoking a joint and listening to Pink
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