by Jon Cleary
Kenji Nakasone and Tamezo Tajiri are back in Osaka, helping elderly corrupt politicians understand who is helping them. They have no conscience but a strict sense of duty towards the yakuza.
Hauro Okada is still in Sydney, still running the Kunishima Bank. He sits high in his office above the city and the view of the harbour and thinks now that he will retire here amongst the barbarians, certain that if he goes home, he will be out of place in what's happening to Japan. As he may be out of place here in Sydney. But, as the barbarians say, no worries, mate. It's a form of survival.
The Briskins now lead a crime-free life; they gave it up for Lent and it has just gone on. Shirlee manages a florist's shop; the bunches of flowers are arranged neatly, never a petal on the floor. Darlene works for a solicitor in the city, sometimes coordinating work with the office of Caradoc Evans; she has a boyfriend, a computer expert, but she has no intention of marrying him, at least not till her mother dies. Phoenix has recovered from his injuries, but, under his mother's instructions, walks with a limp and still draws the dole. The class action against the negligent, but rich, woman driver is scheduled for the end of the year.
Corey is the one least well-adjusted. He is back as senior mechanic for the transport company, but he has changed, his workmates say. What they don't see is his conscience. He still suffers from guilt, a non-compensatory disease, over the killing of Juanita Marcos and Constable Haywood. The local command, out of Homicide's domain, were still working on the Haywood murder, but had no leads and Corey hoped they never would. To his surprise he remembers Errol Magee almost with affection.
I-Saw went under and was buried, not with decency. Jared Cragg has moved on to another IT company. Daniela Bonicelli and Louise Cobcroft now work for the Kunishima Bank. Vassily Todorov is still pedalling furiously through life, but, seemingly, with no destination.
The forty million dollars, gathering interest at 4 per cent, is in a secret account in the Shahriver Bank in the Turks and Caicos Islands. The pass word is bungee, a leap of imagination that no one, so far, has made.
When it came time for Malone to leave Homicide, his promotion to superintendent in the Crime Agency having come through, he insisted there should be no farewell dinner. He hated fuss and functions and his staff, graciously but reluctantly, respected his wishes. On the final day there was a finger-food lunch and Clements, Phil Truach and Sheryl Dallen all said a few words and Malone replied with even fewer. Then he went into his office, sat down and wanted to cry.
Late in the afternoon it was time to leave. He had cleaned out his desk and brought in a small suitcase to cart away the memories of more years than he wanted to remember. When he walked out into the main office those still in the big room were watching a soap opera on the television set in one corner.
On the screen, in the background two women, a man and a dog, all with lots of hair, were looking towards the camera, tears in their eyes. In the foreground an elderly woman, with more hair than a yak, was crying. In the immediate foreground was a young blonde woman whose tear-irrigated face suggested it could grow rice.
“What's happened?” asked Malone.
“She's leaving,” said Truach.
“Who?”
“The dog,” said Truach and switched off the set.
It was time to go. He got to the security door, opened it with some difficulty and looked back. “Take care,” he said.
“You, too,” they all said. “Take care.”
II
And now tonight it was dinner at Level 41.
“He'll have a heart attack when you tell him,” said Claire.
“He's not paying,” said Lisa. “You and Mo and Tom are.”
“You're worse than the capitalist bosses. Screwing the workers.”
“You sound just like Grandpa Con. Russ and Romy will be there.”
“I hope Dad doesn't ask who's paying. You know what he's like.”
But Malone didn't ask. Not even when they were all shown into a private room. He even kept his composure and his pocket didn't clench when the waiter came to Lisa and said, “Champagne all round, ma'am?”
“All round,” said Lisa. “It's the Krug?”
“Yes, ma'am. Your son suggested Porphry Pearl, but we're out of it.”
Tom grinned around the table. “I heard Dad say once that that used to be the drink when he was taking girls out, before he met Mum. A dollar-ninety-five a bottle.”
“And worth every cent,” said his father, “if the girl said Yes.”
“Oh God,” said Maureen, “he's going to tell us about his bimbos!”
“He's a dead duck if he does,” said her mother.
Malone looked around the table. At Clements, Romy, Jason, his son-in-law, at Claire, Maureen, Tom and finally, the light of his life, Lisa. God, he decided, had been looking in his direction most of his life.
“Some people are born lucky,” he said and raised his glass. “I was one of them.”
Kirribilli
August 2000—April 2001
THE END
Enjoy these Jon Cleary’s novels, as both Ebooks and Audiobooks!
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Scobie Malone Series
Dragons at the Party
Now and Then, Amen
Babylon South
Murder Song
Pride’s Harvest
Dark Summer
Bleak Spring
Autumn Maze
Winter Chill
Five-Ring Circus
Dilemma
The Bear Pit
Yesterday’s Shadow
The Easy Sin
Standalone Novels
The City of Fading Light
Spearfield’s Daughter
The Faraway Drums
