He was still groggy from the beer, although the buffalo wings had helped steady his spinning head. The pontoons bobbed around enough, however, to make him careful of his step. Although he knew he’d pay for it with a headache later, the Rhino figured on getting some shut-eye before chasing down Hughie for his pay. If they’d scored well at the fish markets, he might even have enough to buy into an honest poker game he knew of back in New Town.

Perhaps that’s all he needed. One good break, a decent score, and he could set himself up with something a little more substantial than casual deckhand work. Maybe even enough to buy a shrimping sub-licence from one of the Chinese combines, or enough to lease a fast boat to make a few undeclared runs out to the fishing grounds off Papua. Their patrols were a lot less trouble to avoid than the Aussie Navy and Customs guys.

The Gueros were at home, cooking fish on a grill made from a collection of 55-gallon drums. He made his way down the last turn into his row, at the farthest reach of the floating dock, sizing up his chances. The scent of sizzling garlic and lemon set his stomach to grumbling again, in spite of the food he’d picked up at Blue Smoke. Although, to be fair, even the much-reinforced cone of chicken wings was grossly inadequate fare when it came to feeding a hungry Rhino.

He didn’t much fancy getting caught chewing the fat with Carlos Guero, and Lord knew there was no such thing as a quick chat with the man. That said, Carlos was a generous soul, as generous with his grill as he was with his conversation, and the Rhino did feel as though just a little more eatin’ might set him up well for his afternoon siesta. All the better to sharpen mind and body for an evening out in New Town.

‘Buenos tardes, Señor Carlos, Señora Juanita,’ he called out, very much aware of how tipsy he felt, and thinking he must look like a staggering drunk as he veered back and forth with the rocking of the pontoons. ‘Permission to come aboard?’

‘Ah, Mr Ross. Come, come, we have barramundi fish – a large one. Come, and I shall make you a fish sandwich.’

‘Mighty kind of you, neighbour,’ he called back. Saliva squirted into his mouth as a sluggish breeze off the bay carried the smell of Guero’s grill to him.