Read Online Prime Cut by Alan Carter - Free Book Online

decided to teach us a lesson. “Civilising the natives” – that’s what they call it.’
    Greg knew all about that stuff, he told Tess, having been raised in Pinjarra, another famous massacre site, just south of Perth. His mum had warned him about taking the job down here.
    ‘She said, “This country is just too sad, Gregory. Auntie Daisy’s mob don’t go there now and if they do they don’t stop. They wind up the car windows, hold their noses, and keep driving to the other side.” ’
    Tess looked at her young colleague. His family stories were filled with stuff she would never fathom.
    ‘So how come you’re here then?’
    Greg lifted one hand from the wheel in a ‘that’s life’ gesture. An early country posting was part of serving your time to get where you wanted to be and quicker, he said. Even with his fair skin he still knew he was up against the tinted glass ceiling so he had to learn to play the game.
    ‘Look at Detective Kwong, he’s up there.’
    Apparently it had been Kwong’s face staring out at him from the recruitment posters at the Careers Expo that encouraged him to sign up.
    ‘Anyway if this country gets too hard to handle I’ll just have to hold my breath like Auntie Daisy and shoot on through.’
    Tess had been feeling vaguely sympathetic and more respectful of her baby-faced colleague until he cited Cato Kwong as his inspiration. Not good timing. She grunted. One look at her face told Greg to save the rest of the history lesson for another day.
    One of the construction workers held up a red stop sign as a grader pulled out into the unsealed road ahead, sending up a choking dust cloud. Greg did as he was told. He recognised the stop-sign man, Travis Grant, a fellow member of the Hopetoun Southerners footy team, the Sharks. Travis had on the same fluoro overalls that just about everyone was wearing in town these days,and reflector surfie sunnies. His blond tinted hair was spiked, unruly, and matted in dust. He had a big wide smile; he was the spitting image of legendary leg-spinner Shane Warne, give or take a few kilos. He nodded through the open window, acknowledged Tess’s presence and grinned at Fisher.
    ‘Greg, how’s it hanging?’
    ‘Travis, good mate, how’s the knee?’
    ‘Getting there. Should be good for next season. Where you off to?’
    ‘Just taking a run down to Mason’s and Starvo.’ Greg gestured towards the pipe. ‘Looks like you’re nearly there.’
    ‘Yeah, another month maybe then it’s the big switch-on. Just need these idle bastards to pull their fingers out.’ Travis Grant thumbed over his shoulder at the vague human outlines in the dust cloud behind him. ‘So what’s up? Kane been doing doughnuts in the Starvo car park again? Or is it the mysterious case of the missing surf ski?’
    Greg sat taller in his seat. ‘Get fucked Trav. Serious business today, didn’t you hear about the body?’
    No, Travis said he hadn’t heard about the body. ‘Been camped out here since Sunday. What happened?’
    ‘Washed up yesterday. Looks like sharks but we’re keeping an open mind.’
    Tess shot him a warning look. Too much information to the punters, too early. She nodded vaguely south across the landscape towards Mason Bay.
    ‘Noticed anything unusual or suspicious the last few days, Travis?’
    ‘Like what?’
    ‘Strangers, boats coming and going at unusual times, anything strange or unusual, that’s all.’
    Travis squinted back over his shoulder to the ghostly shadows hovering in the dust.
    ‘Most of these bastards are strange and unusual. Don’t know most of them. Can’t understand them. And they do lots of weird shit. You can round the whole fucken lot up if you like. Once the job’sfinished that is.’
    ‘Thanks Travis, very helpful.’ Tess was quickly tiring of the highpissing Mr Grant.
    Travis glanced casually over at the reversing grader. ‘So what’s Starvo and Mason’s got to do with it?’
    Greg Fisher redeemed himself with a