Read The Day of the Gecko for Free Online Page A

might not be too prudent with the landlady in the room. Finally Susie got off the blower.
    â€˜I gotta meet that bloke at the airport.’ She looked at Les. ‘So how’s things?’
    â€˜Good,’ said Les. ‘I’m stoked having somewhere nice to stay while all that rattle’s going on round my place. Plus it’s good I can do an old china plate a favour at the same time.’
    â€˜Does Warren know you’re staying here?’
    Les nodded happily. ‘Yeah, I left him a message in the kitchen.’
    â€˜Good.’ Susie got up, sat on the lounge next to Les and gave him a bit of a cuddle. Norton had to smile. ‘Now, no bringing any low molls back here. And no parties.’
    â€˜I was thinking of ringing this Albanian I know in the Cross and shooting a couple of pom videos while you’re away. Is that okay?’
    â€˜Just as long as there’s something in the whack for me.’ Susie gave Les a bit of a clip over the ear. ‘No. I trust you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We got a bit of time. You feel like a coffee or something?’
    â€˜Not so much a coffee,’ answered Les.
    â€˜Okay then. How about a nice cup of lime tea?’
    â€˜Sounds . . .’
    Les was about to finish when Susie pushed him to his feet. ‘Hey, Les,’ she said, moving him over to thesliding glass door. ‘That’s those two Russian blokes I was telling you about.’ Les got a quick glimpse of two men walking slowly along the footpath. ‘Quick, into the kitchen.’
    Les followed Susie into the kitchen and they looked through the thin curtain, half drawn back on the kitchen window. In a moment, two men in grey tracksuits, carrying fishing rods, came crunching up the pathway. One was taller and older than the other, very jowly and thick-chested — a bit like Boris Yeltsin but with scrubbier, slightly darker hair. Les tipped him to be around fifty. The other man was younger, around thirty, same dark hair with a lean, brooding face that seemed to match a lean, fit-looking body. He appeared to move and walk with a brisk, almost military style. The older man fumbled for the key to the front door, said something in Russian to the younger man, then they let themselves in and tromped up the stairs.
    Susie turned away from the window. ‘That’s them,’ she almost whispered.
    â€˜So what?’ shrugged Norton. ‘They just look like two blokes gone fishing to me. What’s the big deal?’
    â€˜Wait till you see old Maca out the front. He’ll tell you about them.’
    â€˜Old Maca?’
    â€˜Yeah. Macabee. He’s an old Russian Jew sits out the front. Likes to keep an eye on things. He spits and curses at them. When they’ve gone past, of course. He told me they were nogoodniks.’
    â€˜All right,’ conceded Les, ‘I’ll keep an eye on them. If they get out of line, I’ll shoot the both of them. If they’ve got any fish, I’ll put them in the deep freeze.’
    â€˜Do that, Les. And put your big boofhead in there as well. We’d hate to have what’s left of your brain overheat.’ Susie smiled up at Les and rubbed her hands together. ‘Now, how about that cup of lime tea?’
    â€˜Sounds good to me.’ Les sat in the kitchen and watched as Susie got the kettle and things together, while the same CD played in the lounge.
    â€˜Hey, that’s not a bad CD playing, Susie,’ he said. ‘Who’s that?’
    â€˜The Rippingtons. “Kilimanjaro”. It’s not bad is it?’
    â€˜Yeah. It’s kind of boppy cool. I like it.’
    â€˜There’s another three there besides that.’
    â€˜I’ll tape them for sure.’
    The lime tea sitting in his cup looked exactly like piss and didn’t taste much better; kind of bitter-sweet and almost undrinkable, even with a dollop of honey. Les wished he’d had coffee, although