Something Fishy by Shane Maloney Read Free Book Online

used to boats, that’s all. No reason to be embarrassed.’
    â€˜ Embarrassed? ’ He looked like a giant orange gum-drop.
    I wedged myself into a seat and buried my face in my hands. I needed to wash out my mouth, but didn’t dare move for fear of another up-chuck. The vibrations of the engine came up through the seat, compounding the movement of the boat. Bunting and Wilson bickered. Misery enveloped me.
    We returned to the place where the shark-cat was parked when we first spotted it. Sutherland cut the engine and dropped anchor. Ian changed into a wetsuit and went over the side, snorkelled and flippered. He made a slow circuit, occasionally disappearing below the surface. When he climbed back aboard, he held up an abalone shell. The light caught its opalescent interior.
    He and Sutherland conferred in an undertone at the stern, then Sutherland stuck his head into the cabin. ‘How you feeling?’ he asked Alan Bunting.
    Bunting made a brave face. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said.
    Sutherland nodded, then handed the crusted shell to Wilson. ‘Hundreds of these down there. They were shucking them on board, probably stashing the meat in hidden compartments. Couple of grand’s worth, just here. At it since dawn, different spots. Day’s take, before we interrupted them, maybe ten thousand dollars.’
    Wilson examined the palm-sized shell gravely, as if appraising an antique.
    â€˜Pity we had to abort before we IDed them,’ said Sutherland. ‘Top it off, I’ll be carpeted for letting you lot come along.’
    Wilson tried to hand back the shell.
    â€˜Keep it,’ said Sutherland. ‘Souvenir. Best get you back to San Remo ASAP.’
    After we’d been under way for ten minutes, sipping sugary instant coffee from the launch thermos, Wilson broke our self-imposed silence. ‘When this gets around, we’ll be a laughing stock,’ he said. ‘Throwing up. Falling overboard.’
    I slowly raised my head. ‘Stuffing up a fisheries enforcement operation,’ I croaked. ‘The press are going to love it. Given any thought to your resignation letter, Mr Coastal Policy Chairman?’
    Wilson narrowed his eyes and looked me over closely. ‘This Sutherland.’ He jerked his thumb upwards. ‘You want him to lose his job?’
    â€˜The cuts you’ve got in mind,’ I said. ‘He’ll probably lose it anyway.’
    Wilson leaned forward and stuck his face in mine. For an awful moment, I could see the stream of spew flying from his rubbery gob. Worse, I could smell it. I flinched and turned away. Wilson gave a satisfied grunt and, dipping out of the cabin door, stood at the console talking to Sutherland.
    â€˜I don’t think it’s right,’ whined Alan Bunting. ‘Trying to make political capital out of a situation like this. I’ll have to resign from the panel, too. And it wasn’t my fault. If anyone’s the injured party, I am.’
    I didn’t know where to begin to answer that one, so I didn’t try. They mustn’t have offered Politics 101 at agricultural college.
    Wilson returned. ‘He wants to talk to you,’ he said.
    I found Sutherland seated at the wheel, driving towards the low-slung sun, surveying the way ahead through oversized Sunaroids. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said.
    I took a deep, stomach-settling breath of air and absorbed the view. It swept across a burnished sea from weathered sandstone cliffs at our starboard to pink-edged billows of cloud on the southern horizon. ‘Magnificent,’ I agreed.
    â€˜Like your job, Mr Whelan?’ said Sutherland. ‘Think it’s worth doing?’
    â€˜Sometimes,’ I said.
    Sutherland tilted his head back, master of all he surveyed. ‘Love mine,’ he said. ‘Pretty good at it too I reckon, all things considered. Less than fifty of us fish dogs, you know. More than seventeen hundred