The Briny Café by Susan Duncan Page A

fuzz on the end of the broom, snuffles and pounces.
    â€œYou’re not helpin’, mate,” Sam tells the dog, using the broom head to fend off the attack. The mutt responds with a tackle and locks on with a deep-throated rumble, savage now. Sam gives a hard yank.
    â€œGive up, you mongrel,” he orders. The dog instantly drops the broom head and slinks away.
    â€œNo hard feelings, but jeez, lighten up.” He goes over to a tap and fills a dog bowl with fresh water. The mutt falls on it thirstily, drool flying in all directions.
    Sam finishes his sweeping and the rest of the day stretches emptily in front of him. There’s no cargo to pick up until the next high tide, which is late in the afternoon. No bugger has even rung up to have his mooring serviced to fill the gap. He’s free as a bird.
    He scans the Square. A pack of helmeted cyclists wearing tight black lycra and swigging water from designer bottles rest on the seawall like crows. There are a few tourists about but even though it’s sunny, the weather is too cool for crowds. He’s about to give up and head home when he spots Ettie struggling with a load of shopping bags. He sprints over and grabs them.
    â€œThanks, Sam,” she says, flexing her fingers. “The trek from the car park seems to be getting longer every day.”
    â€œYou’re still a spring chicken and the answer to every man’s dreams. Never forget it.”
    â€œIn my dreams.”
    Sam leans Ettie’s groceries against the leg of a picnic table that has the initials of three generations scratched into the wood and scatter-shot with birdshit. The mutt wanders up and stretches his back leg in a crooked arabesque.
    Ettie yelps and snatches her shopping out of range. “Who owns this mangy mongrel?”
    â€œDunno. But he’s definitely on borrowed time. How about a coffee? My shout.”
    â€œYou going to send out a warning?”
    â€œEh?”
    â€œMoth plague when you open your wallet.”
    â€œEasy on, Ettie, just tryin’ to show a bit of dash around a lovely young woman. And that joke’s older than time. Yes or no?”
    â€œWhy not? I’m game.” She flicks a look at the bike riders. “Bet every single one of them would have bought a coffee if it was even halfway drinkable. Bertie’s doing himself out of easy profit. Too pig-headed to admit his brew stinks.”
    â€œBertie’s never gonna change. Flat white, right? No sugar.”
    She nods. “It’s such a waste, though.”
    Sam’s eyes narrow as a boat flies through the moorings at high speed. “That freakin’ weasel.”
    â€œThe creep,” Ettie adds, vehemently.
    â€œKnow him?”
    â€œArrived a few weeks ago. Bought the house next to Triangle Wharf. He hasn’t quite cottoned on to the meaning of community spirit yet.”
    â€œNot sure he’s the type that ever will. Any idea what he does?”
    â€œNope. Lot of kids hang out in that fancy boatshed, though, and the whole Island is keeping an eye on him. He’s dead shonky, if you ask me. I’m just not sure exactly how shonky.”
    The wake from the boat pounds into the seawall like surf. The cyclists fly off their perch and rub their soaked backsides, looking over their shoulders to find out who’s to blame. The boat is long gone. They drift back to their bikes, grumbling loudly.
    â€œWell, he’s a load short on manners,” Sam says.
    â€œHe’s a deadset slimeball.” Ettie’s face turns red.
    â€œHe make a pass or somethin’, Ettie?” Sam teases.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. There’s something missing in him. A link to the compassion part in his brain. He’s cruel, maybe even sadistic.”
    â€œHas he hurt you in any way?”
    She smiles. “Nah. He wouldn’t be breathing. It’s just a feeling, like looking into his eyes and finding no one at home.”
    â€œWell,