Free And De Fun Don't Done by Robert G. Barrett

blocks of flats on both sides and beyond Les could see a gleaming white beach that ran for about four miles surrounded by more high-rises. It reminded Les a little of Surfers Paradise. To the right was a channel running past the homes built out to the water’s edge. Apart from a couple of small bays and more high- rises in the distance this reminded Les of Sydney Harbour. Only it was a bigger expanse of water. Les also noticed quite a strong current running towards them.
    â€˜We’ll swim north,’ said Hank, getting out of the car. ‘Look for snook.’
    â€˜Snook?’
    â€˜They’re big black fish. They’ll come right up to you if you dive down just out from the rocks and sit there. The goddamn state won’t let you spear them. But I’ll come back tomorrow when the tide’s right if they’re there. I know a guy with a restaurant.
    â€˜I’ll keep my eyes peeled,’ promised Les.
    They started getting changed when Hank eyed Norton’s webs and jet fins. ‘What are those stupid things?’
    â€˜I like to play Creature from the Black Lagoon,’ said Les, opening and closing the webs a few times.
    â€˜You have to use them, do you?’ Hank’s lip curled again.
    Norton was going to say something about how you do if you want to swim quicker and easier and how Hank should try moving into the twentieth century and see how he liked it, when several powerboats roared past, full of girls in bikinis and flashy-looking men all doing it in style — champagne, music, gold chains, the works. The noise of the motors almost deafened you as they howled by, leaving a wake big enough to swamp a surf-boat.
    â€˜Goddamn tourist New Yorkers,’ cursed Hank. ‘God, I hate the noisy sonsofbitches. They fuck the whole beach.’
    That’s not all they’re fucking either, Les chuckled to himself. ‘Yeah. They’re enough to give you the shits alright.’
    Hank locked the car and then clambered down across the rocks and sand; naturally Les followed. After they had washed their facemasks and got their flippers on they dived in and started swimming against the current.
    Hank wasn’t lying when he’d mentioned dirty water; you were lucky if you could see six feet and the water was that warm you could have put tea bags in it. But it was water and it was still wet and it got rid of the sweat and felt bloody good. Just what Norton needed. They plodded along against the current with Hank floundering around having to stop for air every now and again. Armed with all the new technology, Les was doing it cosy, diving up and down just having a good time. The face- mask fitted like a glove, the snorkel was almost miraculous and the fins and mini flippers made Norton feel like the creature from the black lagoon. After ten minutes of plodding along behind Hank Les felt like a Ferrari stuck in first gear in traffic. In the dirty, choppy water Hank wouldn’t know what was going on so Les decided to put his foot down; or at least his feet. The fins dug in, so did the jet fins and Norton took off like a big, red torpedo. Even against the current he was just powering. After afive minute burst, Les stopped in front of some rocks and looked back. He’d gone past a little bay and about five hundred metres back he could see Hank still floundering around towards the sheltered little bay. The burst through the water felt good and Norton’s lungs were pumping. But the strain had a noticeable effect. A ripple of pain and wind suddenly went through Norton’s abdomen. Yes, he mused. I think I’ll be saying goodbye to an old friend any tick of the clock now. He watched Hank for a couple more seconds then turned round and swam easily off into the current.
    Les kept close to the rocky shoreline; dirty, warm water, there could be something else besides snook moving around here, he mused. Still, I have to see what Captain Rats is on about. Les began