Page 31

Romy giggled, and it was the sweetest sound. ‘I agree.’

‘Oi!’ Stone tried to frown, yet couldn’t stop mirroring her smile.

‘She’s a good sort. You can come in, girlie, leave this ratbag out ‘ere.’

‘I’m here for a reason, old man.’

Romy’s eyes combed the area, no doubt wondering if she needed a tetanus shot to stay on board. ‘Who are you?’

‘This is the king of the crocodiles, the original crocodile hunter of three states and a bunch of local islands, the land-lubbing pirate of poor manners, Chook.’

‘Chook?’

‘Yeah, just Chook.’ Again, the old man’s many wrinkles deepened as he squinted at Romy. ‘You got a problem with that?’

‘No. Not at all.’ Romy gallantly held out her hand to Chook. ‘Pleased to meet you, Chook. I’m Romy. You’re my first crocodile hunter and pirate.’

‘Well, hell…’ Stone pushed back the brim of his hat and nodded at Romy with approval. That was a big tick in his books. ‘Don’t be rude, old man, shake the lady’s hand.’

‘It’s been a while.’ Chook repeatedly wiped his hand over his shirt. ‘If I’d known I was having visitors, I might’ve had a rub-a-dub-dub.’

‘That’s a bath, right?’ Romy asked.

Chook’s light blue eyes lit up. ‘I like this one. You can go, Stone, leave the lady here.’

Romy faltered to look up at him with trepidation.

‘I’m her pilot, not yours. But I need a favour.’

‘Another one? I just did you one already.’

‘So you’ve met Raven?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And…’

‘I put her down the back creek. Don’t worry, she’ll be safe there. Got a good well for water and lean-to for shade. Why did you make me play landlord to The Vegan? She in trouble?’

‘Saltscale had a break-in.’

‘Malcolm Rowntree’s place?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Much taken?’

‘98 saltwater crocodile eggs and 45 juveniles.’

‘Struth. Malcolm would be gunning for heads to roll. Mongrel of a man he is, especially with the women.’ Chook shook his head, rummaging through his outdoor fridge to retrieve a beer, and offered them one, but they both declined.

‘I don’t know how Celeste puts up with him and his mongrel moods, but he was a good crocodile hunter in his prime. ’

‘Are you saying you didn’t know about the break-in?’

‘Of course I did. It’s the talk of the river.

And that Raven wouldn’t shut up about it when I showed her where to camp.

’ Chook winced at Stone, his upper lip curling into a sneer, like he was deflecting sunlight off his weathered face.

‘So, did she do it? That’s why you’ve got The Vegan camping out here?

I’ll have to charge her double if she’s a fugitive, you know. Lyin’ to coppers costs extra.’

Stone shook his head. ‘The thieves were trying to set Raven up as a suspect.’

‘And…’ Chook popped the lid of his beer, took a guzzle while eyeing Stone. ‘Tell me the rest of it. There’s always more than one point with your actions.’

‘Some locals were harassing Raven, dumping stuff to tempt the crocs to come up the banks. It wouldn’t take long for some sneaky saltie to intrude on her camp, especially when the water rises with the rains.’

‘Where was she camping before you sent her here?’

‘East of Saltscale, on that parcel of Crown land there, just a few clicks along that side creek to the river.’

‘Big crocs through there. And pigs.’

‘I know. Thank you for giving her a place, Chook.’ It meant Raven was safe.

‘Hey, you—girl!’ There was a thud on the deck, then a slide as Chook turned to face Romy.

‘It’s Romy,’ she replied.

Chook took a step closer to her. ‘You from Rome?’

‘No.’

‘What kind of name is Romy? Didn’t your parents like you? Is it short for Romia or Rosemary?’

‘No. Just Romy.’

‘What kind of name is that? Is it for a boy?’

‘It’s a girl’s name that means dew of the sea.’

‘Aww…’ The old salty dog plonked down on his stool and gazed at the woman. ‘Well, in that case, you can fish for dinner. Set ‘er up, Stone. Go on, she can look busy while we yak.’

‘Good idea. This way.’ Stone led Romy along the far side of the houseboat, where the view of the river was putting on quite a show. ‘The croc grass is still long, Chook. Are you fertilising it?’

‘What is croc grass?’ Romy asked.

‘That stuff.’ He pointed to the lush thick green grass that brushed the sides of the houseboat. ‘Crocodiles like to nest in it.’

‘Are you saying that grass is growing in water, like a reed?’ She went to peer over the side.

‘Please don’t lean over like that. Do I have to do the whole safety speech about always keeping fingers and toes inside, again ?’

She straightened up. ‘No. I forget, that’s all. What are we doing now?’

‘You, shortcake, will be fishing.’ Stone picked up the fishing rod that rested against the side wall, near a bucket of live bait and a wooden stool.

‘Why do you call me shortcake? I’m not short. Is that because my skin looked like a strawberry from the hives?’

‘No…’ Well, hell, did he make up some story, or tell the truth? ‘Sometimes when your hair catches the light, and the way it’s so compact and fuss-free reminds me of a lemon shortcake crust.’ And her vibrant lemony perfume or body cream she wore just added to the idea.

‘I only know of the strawberry shortcake but never had it.’

‘You’ve never had the culinary classic?’ He gasped in faux horror, hand to his chest and everything.

‘You must have.’

‘It was my favourite dessert growing up. It was a sign of spring when the lemon-berry shortcakes graced the table. You’ve never had one?’

She shook her head.

‘They’re like a sweet, crumbly scone with cream. You can put this down for a bit.’ He plucked the camera from around her neck and swapped it for a fishing rod. ‘You might not have tasted the fine flavours of a decent shortcake, but please tell me you know how to fish.’

‘I’ve filmed plenty of people fishing. I’ve never done it myself.’ Romy looked positively lost holding a fishing rod instead of a camera.

‘It’s easy.’ He rested her camera on the open windowsill, then loaded up her hook with some live bait from the nearby bucket. ‘Now throw your line out.’

‘Where?’

‘Out there.’

‘You do it.’ She pushed the rod into his hands. ‘I don’t want to lose Chook’s rod. I was never a sporty person.’

‘I bet you were the type to take photos from the sidelines at school events.’

‘That’s true.’ But she observed like she did—except without a camera—as he cast the fishing line out across the river. ‘Now what?’

‘You sit there and hold the line.’ He dragged the stool closer, then pushed on her shoulders, making her sit.

‘Don’t forget to tell her the road rules for fishing in the NT,’ called out Chook from his stool at the back of the boat.

‘Is Chook making that up like some pirate’s joke about fishing rules?’

Stone grinned at her sarcasm. ‘There are size and bag limits on the number of fish you can catch and keep. But Chook is talking about the houseboat rules, which are: do not put your arm over the sides ever . No leaning over the side-rails,’ he said, giving the sunburnt, wooden rail a tap.

‘And at no time do you ever put your hand in the water.’

‘You just did the safety speech on limbs again, like you give on the helicopter.’

‘And I’ll keep saying it if it means you get to keep your fingers and toes.’ Stone playfully tapped the tip of her nose, her laugh tinkling so light over the water.

‘But if I get a fish?’

‘You have to land it. And there begins the challenge of the sport.’

‘The trick is,’ said Chook, jumping off his stool, his wooden leg thudding along the deck. ‘You’ve gotta beat that mob of mongrels first.’ He pointed across the river where a bask of crocodiles lay on the opposite riverbank. Six of them, each easily over three metres long, were just watching them.

Romy gasped, gripping the splintery wooden rail, it creaked beneath her as she started to lean closer.

‘Uh-huh.’ Stone pulled her back by the shoulders. ‘Fingers and toes, shortcake.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She stepped back, yet strained her neck to look closer. ‘Can I have my camera?’

‘After you’ve finished fishing.’

‘But they’re just there.’

‘No doubt sizing you up, wondering how you’ll taste.’

‘Oh…’ Timidly, she pressed her back against the wall. ‘Are we safe here?’

‘As long as you don’t lean overboard.’ Stone peered over the simple wooden railing to check the depth, noting the side mesh was gone in patches.

Of course, shortcake had to shadow him, with her reflection next to his. ‘What did I just say about keeping your limbs in?’ He grabbed her by the hips and carried her over to sit her on the stool, well away from the edge to keep her safe, then patted her head. ‘Stay. Sit. And happy fishing.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To speak with Chook.’

‘I know we’ve been seeing juveniles all day, but those out there are the wild ones. The savage ones. Right?’ She gripped the fishing rod as her only tool against the adult crocodiles, watching her from the far side of the river. ‘Is it safe?’

‘Roman—’

‘It’s Romy.’

‘So ya reckon,’ mumbled Chook, leaning his shoulder against the wall. ‘I’ve been camping on this spot for over fifty-five years. Those old dogs know not to mess with me. They just sit there to taunt me.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I used to hunt them.’ Chook pushed open a large window to the lounge room that was full of assorted crocodile memorabilia.

There were large skulls, leathers, hats, boots, even a full-sized stuffed crocodile stretched over the indoor bar, and lots and lots of photos of Chook with crocodiles.

‘No wonder Stone called this the crocodile museum. Impressive.’ Romy went to move from her stool, only to pause, remembering she was meant to sit and fish. How long would that last before she swapped the fishing rod for her camera?

‘And those blighters on that riverbank, especially that dark-skinned one,’ said Chook, pointing to the other side of the river, ‘he got away from me and my croc traps. But they know not to get too close, or I’ll feed them a belly full of lead.’

‘Isn’t it illegal to hunt them now?’