Cato got the call just after 6 a.m. It was from Kenneth, Mandy was too upset. Little Bao had gone for one of his early morning wanders and tried to do a ‘boo scare’ on Pops. But Pops wouldn’t wake up. Kenneth, an orthodontist, had some basic medical training, enough to confirm the obvious. The GP had been summoned to do the official business of pronouncement. Younger sister Susan was also on her way and Mandy was steeling herself for the day to come. Would Cato like to join them and say his farewells?
Yes.
Old Jack. Gone.
He showered and called Jane and they agreed Jake was probably best off staying with her for the weekend. The big father–son talk could wait.
‘If he wants to say his goodbyes to Pops I can take him over if you like. Or we could all meet up?’ Jane’s voice cracked. Cato recalled she’d got on well with her father-in-law in the good days. The old man was an incurable flirt and she enjoyed his silly jokes and the twinkle in his eye.
‘Sure,’ said Cato. ‘We’ll play it by ear.’
When he arrived at his sister’s house, the doctor was just leaving.
‘Heart failure. He died in his sleep.’ The doc zapped the locks on her Prius. ‘I hope I go the same way when the time comes.’ An empathetic half-smile and she was gone.
Had last night’s antarctic stroll on the South Perth foreshore killed the old man off? Cato went inside. He did the hugs and kisses. Mandy had come over slightly regal, the undisputed matriarch now. Susan had a cry into his shoulder. Kenneth put the kettle on again. The kids, even little Bao, were watching Video Hits with the sound respectfully low. Gangstas strutted and their harems twerked while the grown-ups discussed funeral arrangements. Cato went down the hallway to look in on the old man.
In death Jack Kwong seemed slightly grey and caved in. Cato kissed him on the forehead and laid a hand on his chest. His eyes blurred.
Just Jack, that’s me.
Cato sat with his father for a while. It was peaceful in there, the room dimmed by the drawn curtains, the murmurs from the kitchen. A sudden jolt. Was the recording device still in place? Was someone, even now, listening in to the discussions of the funeral arrangements or had the bugging the other night been a one-off done by remote? He hadn’t told Mandy about it and he didn’t fancy the idea now. Sweeping the house for bugs, at a time like this. It could wait. If the bastards wanted to play today back to him in the small hours they could. He was coming after them.
He tried to recapture the serenity of the moment but it had flown. His final communion with his dad had been poisoned.
The rest of the weekend would be a numb blur of phone calls and arrangements, hugs and tears, endless pots of tea and coffee, and memories, some shared, others private. At some point the wine came out and Mandy got maudlin.
‘I didn’t mean it about hoping he’d catch his death,’ she sobbed. ‘You know that, don’t you, Pip?’
‘I hadn’t realised you and Ken were in such a hurry for the inheritance. Kids school fees gone up again?’
She giggled through her tears and punched Cato’s arm. They toasted the old man once again.
The funeral was set for Wednesday morning at Karrakatta and the wake would be held at Mandy’s. Jane and Jake had called round later on Saturday to pay their respects. Cato was pleased to see his son turn on the charm and respect for the rellies and for the occasion. It was a good sign that the kid had enough social skills to still take others into consideration and reserve the shittiness just for his folks. That was fine. It was the kids who failed to moderate their behaviour for anyone that were the worry.
On that same Saturday, David Mundine was released from hospital, appeared briefly before a magistrate, and was then remanded to Hakea Prison ahead of a further court appearance on Tuesday. At Hakea he was put into the hospital block to continue monitoring of his burnt ear and possible concussion. His Legal Aid brief had been useless. A stuttering nervous limp-dick fresh out of uni. The tosser had failed to argue the case for bail, had been playing constant catch-up on his notes and his case load, trying to give all of his weekend clients the full benefit of his two-minute consultations. The prick had failed to realise that Mundine was the most important and that all the other low-life losers could get fucked. David knew now he should have refused to go to Legal Aid. All they did was shunt you along the conveyor belt. It wasn’t as if he was short on cash, Mr H.’s money was still pretty much untouched.
So here he was. Hakea. A con. Just like his mum. The hell with that.
He needed to get himself a proper lawyer. One who would see him released at that next court session on Tuesday. He had some unfinished business to attend to.