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back into the sea.
    â€˜Let’s lift the last of the pots and head for home,’ Jim said. ‘It’s starting to look a bit dodgy out here.’

Chapter Nine
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    T he growing anger of the waves and weather wasn’t the only thing that worried Jim and Arnie. The lack of crayfish – often called lobster – was a real problem. And not only on this trip. The season so far had been disastrous, making Jim think that his decision to buy The Shandora had been a big mistake.
    He’d bought the cray boat from Mrs Quigley, whose husband was still in jail for his bird-poaching stint a year ago. Mr Quigley had previously owned the boat and had employed Jim as its skipper during that time. Now, because of Quigley’s forced absence, that arrangement had fallen through. As a result, the Quigley income had dried up and Mrs Quigley had been left with no choice but to sell the boat.
    Jim, who had always wanted to own his own boat, managed to raise enough cash to buy The Shandora and the cray licence that went with it. He knew he was taking a risk; meeting the payments to the bank, where he’d borrowed the money, wouldn’t be easy. They’d have to catch their quota of cray to make that happen.
    But deep down, somewhere in his soul, a voice had told him not to let the opportunity pass. Without a job and with no other prospects of employment on the horizon, buying The Shandora would solve the work problem.
    For a while he thought it had, but after a promising start to the season, for some inexplicable reason the cray had grown scarce, and most of what they did catch were undersize.
    Jim threw another craypot onto the growing pile of empties. ‘Another wasted trip, Arnie. It’s getting to be a habit.’
    Arnie frowned as he hoisted the last of the pots on board. ‘Yeah, b-boss, all too s-small. I measured them all, um, just like you told me. Th-this one hasn’t got any in it either. S-sorry b-boss.’ He undid the hauling rope and tossed the pot towards the pile as if it were a twig.
    â€˜It’s not your fault,’ Jim reassured him, ignoring Arnie’s stuttering, broken speech, an affliction thrust upon him by a brutal, belt-wielding father. ‘It’s these waters; looks like they might have been overfished.’
    â€˜Y-yeah, overfished.’ Standing over six-and-a-half feet tall, Arnie, with his bulging muscles and rugby player’s neck, had more than fulfilled Jim’s hopes for him as a deckhand. Yet, Jim knew, he was more than that – partner and friend were more like it. Mentally, Arnie had the intellect of a child. He’d never really grown up but there was one thing he was good at; he knew how to follow orders, and once undertaken, the task, whatever it was, was always carried out to the best of his ability.
    Jim had no hesitation in hiring Arnie. Bird smuggling or not, instinct had told him that he was basically a good man, that his handicaps didn’t matter. Jim’s gut feeling about the man had been proved right time and again. So, with the blessing of the law, who’d chosen not to prosecute him for his unwitting part in the crime, he’d taken him on, rescuing him from the corrupt ways of his brother and sister.
    â€˜We, er, got to find some big cray s-somewhere, don’t we, boss?’
    â€˜That’s right,’ Jim said, making for the wheelhouse and talking over his shoulder. ‘But one thing’s for sure, there ain’t none around here.’ A pity, he said to himself as he reached up to a shelf to grab a sea chart. The area looked good, plenty of reefs and broken bottom. Lots of seagrass as well. He spread the map out in front of him then yelled to Arnie, ‘We’re gonna have to find some new grounds. And do me a favour, will you?’
    â€˜Wh-what’s that boss?’ Arnie said coming into the cabin.
    â€˜Don’t call me boss. Jim’ll be just fine.’
    â€˜Um, o-okay,