Page 10 of Lawless (Dauntless Island #2)

“You need to come and visit the museum,” he said, eyes shining behind his glasses. “It sounds like you need a crash course on Dauntless. By the way, Joe is like their king.”

Red Joe winced. “Not a king.”

“You keep saying that,” Eddie said, “but everyone listens to you.” He looked at me and smiled. “So when Joe says the islanders will come around eventually, that’s because he’ll make sure they do.”

Red Joe shoved his hands in the pockets of his high vis pants and sighed. “It’s not really like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” Eddie said. “I saw Agnes Barnes give you the last piece of her passionfruit sponge cake.”

“You think kings get the last piece of cake?” Red Joe asked, his forehead creased. “You think cake is a measure of kingship?”

“The Nesmith name means something here, Joe,” Eddie said, “and you’re not doing Dominic any favours by playing that down. Dominic, you’ll see, trust me.”

I did trust him, as weird as it sounded.

Because, like he’d said yesterday, Josiah Nesmith’s legacy had been important enough for someone to kill over.

But it clearly wasn’t something Red Joe wanted to discuss with me, so I said, instead, “I understand you’re also the guy to talk to in a SAR event. ”

“Mostly because I’ve got the marine radio,” Red Joe said, relaxing slightly, “but you’ll have one of your own once your guys set up your comms properly.”

“And I’ll be the one in charge because I’m the police officer,” I agreed.

“But just because I’ve done the course and I can read a map, doesn’t mean I’m dumb enough to think that I know more about search and rescue than someone who’s lived here their whole life.

I’d appreciate working together whenever we get a call. ”

Red Joe was silent for a moment, and I got the impression that he was assessing me. Then he dipped his chin in a nod and smiled. “Yeah, working together would be good.”

I had no real idea how things worked on Dauntless Island, but I felt like winning Red Joe Nesmith’s approval was a big step in the right direction.

* * *

I t took most of the afternoon for the tech guys to set up the station’s computers and radios.

They also brought a couple of blokes from the communications group to check out the lighthouse to see what changes adding the rumoured new phone tower might make to the array that was already there, and how that would either improve or totally fuck up my radio comms. Who knew which?

“Wow, this a bloody sweet view,” said one of the computer guys, hands on his hips as he gazed out the window at the harbour and the glittering ocean beyond.

“It sure is,” I said, but instead of staring out the front of the house, my gaze flicked to the back.

Not that I could see anything from inside, but I could hear the thwock-thwock-thwock of Natty and his cousin laying into the tangle of trees and bushes out there.

I wondered if Natty was working without his shirt today like yesterday.

And then I pretended that the only reason I was wondering about his shirt was because Australia had one of the highest rates of melanoma in the world. Sun safety was so important.

When the technicians cleared out before dusk, they left me with a working station, a sink full of dirty coffee cups, and a dirt bike.

The bike was a yellow Suzuki with police livery over the tank. It’d be pretty useless if I actually had to arrest someone, but at least it’d get me around the island in a hurry if I needed it. It also meant that I’d be able to do regular patrols of everything outside the village.

I wheeled the bike around the back of the house, hoping that Natty and his cousin had cleared a path to the little shed in the back corner.

“Holy shit!” Natty’s cousin, the guy with the wild dark hair, popped out from behind a stack of branches. “That’s so cool! Natty, come and check this out! The copper’s got a dirt bike!”

“The copper’s got a name too,” I said. “It’s Dominic, or Dom, if you want. I don’t think we were introduced yesterday?”

“Button John,” the guy said, all of yesterday’s coldness vanished in a heartbeat as he dropped down on his haunches beside the bike and ran a grimy finger over the fuel tank. His eyes lit up. “Wow. Can I have a ride?”

“No!” Natty exclaimed before I could. He was hanging back, but he looked almost unwilling about it, and I figured he wanted to check the bike out too. He glared at me. “Don’t let him. He’s clumsy.”

And also probably unlicensed.

“Yeah, I wasn’t going to,” I said. “Sorry, mate.”

Button John—how was that even a name?—gave a long, loud sigh of disappointment and caressed the fuel tank lovingly.

“You think I can fit it in the shed?” I asked.

Natty met my gaze briefly, then shrugged and looked away. “You probably could, but I don’t reckon that shed’ll last one more big storm.”

“Shit,” I said, but I couldn’t bring myself to mind his pessimistic outlook too much when he was actually talking to me.

“It’ll fit in your kitchen!” Button John exclaimed.

“I don’t really want a dirt bike in my kitchen though.”

“Your loss,” he said.

“How is it my loss?”

His eyes grew wide. “Imagine the convenience !”

“The convenience of tripping over a dirt bike every time I open the fridge?” I stared at Button John like he was an idiot, and he did the same to me.

“You can get prefabricated sheds from Bunnings,” Natty said, lifting his chin, “and get them sent over on the barge. Me and Button John could put it together. You have to get a wind-rated one though, not one of the cheap ones.”

I nodded knowledgeably, as though I talked about sheds and shed construction all the time, and I hadn’t lived in units my entire adult life.

“If you get one the same size as the old one, you won’t need to pour a new foundation,” Natty said.

His gaze was intent, as though he really thought I was going to refuse and do him out of another paying job.

Like hiring someone else on the island would even be possible.

I couldn’t even buy milk from the shop, but that didn’t stop Natty from looking like he was pitching me the sale of his career.

“Me and Button John can take the old one down and put the new one up.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds good. Hey, do you guys want a drink? I’ve got coffee, water, Coke?—”

“Coke would be great!” Button John exclaimed and hurried towards the back door to the kitchen. It slammed shut behind him.

“We don’t get a lot of junk food,” Natty said, his tone softer and more cautious now Button John was presumably buried up to the chest in my fridge and he was on his own. “And it’s expensive, from Mavis’s shop.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to buy anything from Mavis’s shop,” I said, and Natty’s face flushed and he looked away. I laughed. “It’s fine! Well, it’s actually pretty weird and awkward, but Eddie and Red Joe will talk to me, at least.” I decided to press my luck. “And so will you.”

Natty ducked his head. His hair curtained his face as he stared at the ground. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“What? That you’re working for me, or that you’re talking to me?”

He shot me a look from behind his hair. “Both.”

“I won’t.” This place was fucking crazy .

We both winced as we heard the sudden clatter of aluminium cans bouncing over a stone floor.

“Oh shit!” Button John’s muffled voice came. “Sorry!”

“I guess I need to go clean that up,” I said, and Natty ducked his head again, but not before his mouth quirked in a shy, genuine smile.

* * *

“I t’s been a mixed bag,” I told the cat late that night, as I drank a dented can of Coke and pretended my office chair was the guests’ couch on a late night talk show and the cat was my host. “To be fair, the few people who haven’t wanted to murder me have been pretty nice, but I really do need to stress that they’re very much in the minority here. ”

The cat stared at me, tail flicking.

From next door, I heard a loud burst of laughter, and the sound of someone playing the fiddle.

The old church was full of people. I didn’t know what the occasion was, but I sure as shit hadn’t been invited.

So I was hiding here instead, the lights turned on at the front of the house to let people know the station was open if, I don’t know, they noticed some flying pigs or something and decided to pop in and introduce themselves.

“But, you know, Brian—” I tilted my head at the cat. “You’re not a Brian, are you? Jerry? Alex? Frank ?” I settled back in my chair. “But you know, Frank, life is all about the challenges, isn’t it?”

Frank the cat made a chirpy rasp of agreement.

“Like, when I moved to Dauntless Island, I really wasn’t prepared for the sheer animosity I’d be facing,” I said. “But pretty soon I won everyone over because I’m actually a decent guy, and I’m good at making friends.”

Frank mreeped again and, next door, the fiddler started to play something that sounded like a sea shanty, and everyone began singing.

“Because that’s what it’s really all about in the end, Frank,” I said.

“ Community . It’s about building connections, and helping each other out, because we’re all in this together, aren’t we?

And at the end of the day, the only thing that matters is how we treat one another, with kindness, and dignity, and resp—motherfucker!

” A generous and expressive flourish of my arm knocked my can to the floor, but I grabbed it before too much spilled, and set it back on my desk.

“And respect . And definitely not ogling your cute yard guy.”

My imaginary studio audience clapped even louder than the sound of the party next door, but Frank the cat had fallen asleep listening to my bullshit.