Читать книгу Cops, Crocs & Leopard-Skin Jocks - Bob Magor - Страница 17

Next morning the wind had sprung up. Roy was pacing around like a caged bear. He explained it would be impossible to pull pots because although the river looked okay, the waves would be three-to-four feet high in the open sea. It might blow out this afternoon so in the meantime we could take the crabs to borroloola.

‘The crab truck will be there tomorrow so we might as well have a night in town and wait. Allan can pull my pots if the weather improves.’

The crates of sleepy crabs were loaded into the tray of the Toyota and covered with a tarp. Into the front went the large frame of Roy, then Lenice and Kimberley and all her gear and somewhere in the middle my own bulk. It was going to be a friendly trip.

‘I guess you didn’t get held up by wind on the Mary River?’ I ventured as we hit the dirt.

‘Wind was the least of our worries,’ Roy laughed as he wrestled with the steering wheel. ‘Our only trouble was people with uniforms. Same shit!

‘Once we’d “obtained” our nets Johnny Bell and I started doing quite well at poaching. We were netting big mobs of fish and had plenty of outlets around Darwin where we could off-load barramundi fillets for cash. The fish and chip shops and restaurants couldn’t get enough. Our fish was fresh, and because it was all we were doing, we could provide a constant supply. There were a few others poaching at that time but let’s just say … we very quickly became the main players.’ Roy gave a sly smile.

‘One of the few problems we had was with the Fisheries inspectors. While there weren’t a lot of them, it was their job to stop illegal fishing. There had always been barramundi poachers but they were only small time operators, so the amount of fish they took was bugger all. The inspectors really had a cushy job as they drove around putting in a presence as a deterrent. This was probably fair enough because actually catching people in the act of poaching was almost impossible in the amount of bush they had to cover.

‘As we found more fishing spots our catches grew quite dramatically. As the months passed we spent more time fishing and I became friendly with a few of the inspectors. They would find us out on the Mary and would want to know how we were doing. We’d just say that we were only wetting a line to feed our families and a few mates. We’d always have our nets hidden somewhere in the scrub so when we ran into them we’d only have handlines and lures, which were perfectly legal. We did all our netting at night. They only came around in the daylight so they were never going to catch us with illegal fish. Even so it was still a risky business, and it was always in the back of our minds that one day we could get sprung.

‘Quite often we would meet an inspector in the street in Darwin and it was quite natural to stop and have a talk. I would slowly work the conversation around to fishing and laugh about how we would catch a lot more fish if we could net in the freshwater systems. One day I mentioned to one bloke that if he looked the other way I was willing to pay well for the privilege. That statement didn’t meet with any resentment and soon we had an agreement. A couple of others came on board and with my help they doubled their income. Johnny and I had almost open slather. We were in heaven, and I was God.

‘From then on “our” inspectors didn’t go on patrol where we were fishing. All their patrols were organised around my movements. I handed over some very large amounts of money during this period. If these business partners were having a party and wanted meat we’d just drop a beast in the scrub on our way back from fishing and deliver it all cut up on their doorstep. It really was win-win for everybody.

‘I did have a few problems after a couple of years because of increasing numbers of recreational fishermen heading into our areas. A lot of these people knew my vehicle and started dobbing me in to Fisheries. My mates in Fisheries told these dobbers that they’d look into these reports, but of course they never did. They did tell me though and recommended that I should change the colour of my vehicle so that it wasn’t so easily recognised. With this in mind I painted it a new colour every few weeks. It got that way I couldn’t find it in the street myself. I had to stop and think, “What colour is it this week?” But it was a sweet set-up and everyone was happy. Well, nearly everyone.

‘Johnny Bell eventually moved on. He decided to go full-time pet-meating and go reasonably straight. We’d both done well and we parted as good mates. I employed another couple of chaps to help me and continued to fish.’

We’d reached the main street of Borroloola and headed up to where Roy had a house and sheds. I helped unload the crates of crabs to their new cool abode and headed into Roy’s house in civilisation. Even in town Roy left his unique stamp on life. A professionally painted sign on his front door stated:

That would be a reasonable deterrent, I reckoned.

Roy looked thoughtful.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘Allan can keep the home fires burning and I’m due for a bit of time off. How about we leave Lenice and Kimberley to have a bit of fun here in the big smoke and we take a bit of a road trip for a few days. I’ve got a couple of blokes I’d like you to meet. They can fill you in on my barra days in Darwin.’

‘Sounds good,’ I said. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘You’ll see,’ grinned Roy and got into earnest conversation discussing the new plan with Lenice.

Food was purchased for his family and Allan received his instructions over the phone. Next morning, after the crab truck had departed, we fuelled up and started to head out of town. A police wagon coming from the other direction flashed its lights. Roy pulled up on the road and yelled, ‘I saw you bloody tax collectors coming and I took my seatbelt off so you could catch me. I knew you’d be too bloody useless to get your quota of fines this week so I thought I’d help you out!’ The two young policemen grinned and ignored him.

‘We’re not after you, Roy,’ one said.’ We’ve got a warrant for one of the boys in your camp.’

‘Well take it out to him,’ Roy laughed. ‘Since when have I been working for bloody coppers? Anyway, I won’t be back for a few days. See you later, dickheads.’

The two lads grinned as Roy started to move and one yelled,

‘Roy!’

‘Yes! What now?’

The policeman continued to grin. ‘Roy, your seat-belt!’

But the request fell on deaf ears as we drove off heading for Three Ways and the unknown.