Fisheries Raid

Two-face deckies embedded at the caravan park. A month long operation comes to a head on a Saturday with almost sirens and headlights. They check each freezer for bodies or just severed legs frozen into twig piles. All the ballasts are opened on the boats. All the cars’ trunks popped. Who the fuck do youse think you are, loud across the town. If there’s something in a car it’s towed, if there’s one too many on a boat it’s dry-docked. Everywhere the sound of phones as neighbours check neighbours for loss. $25k at number 30, 5k at 24. Somehow 12 has escaped with a slap on the wrist. Something not right there mate. Even Skinny trading hobby cray for tinnies been handed $500 and had his license taken. That’s what it’s come to? A mate can’t help a mate out. Since the raid it’s only them by the jetty been making any money. Pricks. I wouldn’t want to stay in town tonight if I were them. Wouldn’t want to wake up to a shotto through the windscreen. And where would they stay, anyway, the motel? Something not right there. That bloke he’s a creep. That bloke can’t even thread a line in no wind and what’ll happen now there’s nothing left, I’m done, we’re all done in, can’t even get the dollars for petrol to get out of town.

Caitlin Maling