The Salmon Shack - Indecent dealings

It was an uncomfortable deranged kind of scene which had a foul odour that lingered long after the joke tasted sour. Down near the beach perched precariously amongst a tall stand of peppermints stood an old decrepit shack, red orca in colour and dilapidated by sight.. Some old broken cars which were parked out front had hidden the windows, and the untamed tree’s blocked out the rest. The door, a broken flywire and lockless gig was located at the side of the house, under a rusty, dainty, two column carport which ever threatened to fall away.. We would hang off the perlin’s to test its strength “This isn’t too bad” I would protest in its defence, “could lift a motor off’a here”, pointing to the centre truss as if to direct the nearest fool to set up a block and tackle in anticipation. Inside there was always a bunch of seedy degenerate drunken types, tattoos, big dreams, swollen heads and little, if any, motivation. They sat up against the wretched free couches which when you sat against the armrest it would stick to your skin like a strong napalm concoction, locking you in for a hell of a ride, we joked amongst ourselves when the girls weren’t present. Who cared we all thought, and we didn’t. We didn’t care for much really except for just maybe, cheap booze and that distinguished unforgettable stench of even cheaper women. It was always like this. “Welcome to the Salmon Shack” I would cheerfully announce through my wine stained teeth, “I hope you enjoy your stay, I know we will” concluding, as if by suggesting a more sinister outcome. I knew this was the Salmon Shack, everyone did. It was written on the back of an old beer carton box and hung loosely across the door. Salmon Hunters!!

Sunday mornings were useless as long as I could care to remember, and today wasn’t any different. I woke with that instant intangible feeling my head was still bouncing to the beat to the music from the night before, long after it had been switched off.. Swiftly and accurately, as if practised many times before, I reached over grudgingly hoping to scoff another handful of pills. The packet of painkillers was empty, just my f*$king luck I thought. Under the bed I rattled through some empty beer bottles from weeks before, clashing and clanging amongst each other infuriating my lousy head until eventually I found what I was looking for, an old green tinged plastic water container full of stale content. It did little for the pain as I brought it firmly against my lips chugging its tasteless fluid. Large drops spilled down across my chest, caught first by last nights stained white button up shirt which I still wore, then dripped carelessly down onto my uncovered mattress. I gasped for some air and then fell back, head against my yellow marked pillow and lonely double bed. I felt weaker now and fell back into another shallow sleep.

It took some time before things came to life but by midday our festivities were in full swing, the hustle of woken disgruntle drunkards carrying on about some fight and strong fists. I could hear the sound of unfamiliar voices calling down the short corridor which wasn't all that unusual, and I shrugged it off as if to get another minute or two of rest. I remember one time when I was drunk and alone on a dark and cold night, casually stumbling home from the Pub I approached the top corner of the street. In the darkness of the night I made out four figures huddled against each other, sitting on the kerb and I greeted them in a chirpy voice which broke the sullen silence. I never thought it be a good idea to ignore someone in the dead of the night, especially when you’re alone. Nothing worse then fearfully looking over your shoulder suspiciously as you had rudely walked on past, not knowing if they had a clenched fist or something worse, prepping to let go of some twisted fear and dreaded anger, cracking on the back of your weak skull for no good reason.. No I’d prefer to know what I’m dealing with even if it’s a crazed goon coming at you full of drink and compounded hate. Anyway tonight was much different, it was three girls and a boy.. Young, I presumed by there story but couldn’t quite make them out in the darkness. “We were getting drunk on the beach, when we were robbed by some guys with a car”. I laughed. They went on telling me about how they couldn’t go home, an intricate lie meant the parent’s house was closed. “Come back” I said, “You can stay at mine for the night”. A little scared I noticed they hesitantly but took up my offer and followed me down the hill then up the steep drive and under the terribly gloomy peppermints. “Don’t worry I’m not a freak” I reassured, but it just made the feeling worse. They stopped in the dark and whispered amongst themselves. I heard one say.. “Should we really be doing this”. Unfortunately I knew they didn’t have much choice and a few moments later they followed me to the door. They came in across the dirty stained brown carpet and sat in the filthy sticky couches. “It’s not much” I assured as I searched though some scattered disc’s which were lying on the floor, “but its better then sleeping on the beach hey”, “Would you guys like a drink”, I put a inappropriate Guttermouth track into the cheap DVD player, then went over to the fridge, stepping through the puddle in the kitchen were it had leaked and pulled out some beer. “No thanks” the boy whispered cowardly, as if answering for them all. “Suit yourself, but there in the fridge if you change your mind” and I opened one, drew hard at the cold firm glass lip then turned back to face them. At first they said little, but soon warmed to me and one of the girls showed some interest in the music. “Do you mind if I change the CD”, “Yeah sure I have some more in the room” And came back with a bag. She was sitting on the floor sieving through the ones already in the room. We got talking, and I drunk some more, and then some more until a tidy stack of bottles were lying on the floor, my eye’s were blurred and I started on some evangelical speech about drink. “You guys shouldn’t be drinking” I enforced loudly with my hazy drunken voice, “How old are you guys anyway?”.. I slurred my way through some serious parenting and bad speech. They nodded in agreement but didn’t say much, they were frozen in bewilderment as some sad delusional degenerate stood up on an old broken soap box dictating some unlearnt message. And I looked back at them, makeup ran down from there scared little faces and they crossed there legs tightly covering up thin cotton underwear which showed beneath short lousy Supre skirts. It turned out they were only fourteen, and I went to bed, grumbling something about wasted booze..

Finally the noise became too much and got out of bed wearily, Craig was resting on the futon at the other end of my room. “Hey man,” and I walked out towards the toilet. It was a small shack and from the hall I could see right into the lounge. Some naked female was busily looking around for her clothes. A sleeping bag pulled up and hung across her beasts. The Parasite was sleeping on the pull out bed beside her, I came out of the toilet without washing my hands, “You should probably see a doctor” I helpfully interjected, and smiled a rotten toothy smile. Twon sniggered from in the kitchen. She was still looking for her underwear with a pained and twisted expression. She hinted a weak smile, a kindly jest. I knew she wouldn’t find her clothes and we’d all sit around and enjoy her feeble efforts. It was The Parasites little game. I taunted her with some more helpful innuendo’s, no time to waste with pleasantries and idol conversation. This girl knew the score when she opted to take a “walk” with The Parasite, and hell, anyway she’d be leaving soon enough. Sometimes they would handed me a number on a scrunched piece of paper to pass on to the Parasite who pretended to be asleep. Other times they just left.

The parasite laughed as he reminisced about the night before. “Oh man, I rooted some fat salmon in the disabled toilets last night! I asked her for a root and she said she would f*^k me for a drink. It cost me a Jacks and coke, what a slut!!..” His voice in a flurry of excitement, “So then I cracked onto the chick behind the counter” Pointing to the now empty space on the couch which was occupied only minutes before.. “Ohhh.. wow.. hoof.., And man did you do a job on her this morning, did you hear her saying that s&%t about me being the joke, all discussed and defensive like she was playing me, And you told her to go see a doctor because you were pretty sure she just got infected with the clap. Ho, f*%k, I was stuffing my face into the pillow trying not to laugh!, Ha, lets head down the beach and go look for some chicks”.. Then he drew a deep breathe, leaping out on the bed naked. The Parasite was full of energy, thin framed, muscular, blonde hair, blue eyes and one serious weapon against the opposite sex.

He is THE Salmon Hunter.


Quite soon we heard the tireless grumble of a V8 coming up the drive. "Oh wait until Daisy hears about this!” he exclaimed all excited, and crashed through the flimsy door. He’d now had a moment to perfect his story, and he was going to lay it on thick. Daisy knew this, as it was the purpose of his early morning visits. Usually he would bound in through the door looking for some remnants of last night’s activities. He was always excitable and energetic in the morning, impatiently waiting for tales of indecent self indulgence and depravity. He was just about to get married, and would joke about living through our eyes. He was the sensible one and he never hung around the shack long.

Later in the afternoon after a tasty feed of indo-me noodles we shambled down the road off towards the beach. Luxury homes loomed up hard against the verge longing for attention from its foreign owners. The foot ball flu wildly through the air bouncing off one of the windows with a terribly loud crack then came hurtling back into the street, and with another quick fumble, it careered off again further down the street hitting a letter box this time flicking up sand everywhere as it came crashing against the road. Bourbon always tasted sweet on a Sunday, I thought to myself. The beach was pretty empty, even for a nice warm summer day and we splashed in the water and threw the ball around waiting for some activity, Parasite, a keen watchman made sure we wouldn’t miss a beat. We didn’t wait long before three slim fit looking girls came along and set up there long colourful beach towels just a couple of hundred metres from where we stood. “Oh it’s on” Parasite blurted “Go long” just like in the movie he ran out over the water off towards to where they sat. I hitched a huge kick and let it loose through the warm stagnate air.. It was a perfect well practised drop punt which landed dead centre amongst them and Parasite was already within a few metres. He quickly started a conversation and I wondered what he always said in times like these, because what ever it was it worked like a charm. It was stupid actually, I remember one time after a few weeks of steroid’s he once walked up to a girl and asked “Who’s muscles are bigger”, a bigot pretender, they blushed bright red and made some move to test it with there hands grabbing at his biceps. These girls had warm radiant skin which drew from the crisp white beach sand, with flimsy coverings of cloth concealed the spoils of our fascination. They smiled at us as we approached and one moved to take off her tight denim short shorts revealing a small delicate pair of red bikinis. I gasped, kinda loudly “Don’t worry about him, he hasn’t had sex in a while” Parasite shot off, and now it was my turn to blush. They invited us to sit down with them and I offered up a drink. Accepting willingly I passed a popular cheap vodka mix, one which none of us drunk but had brought in sly anticipation. They giggled as they took the drink from my hand, we smiled and the sun warming our backs.. “We have some more drinks back at the shack” Parasite later announced when the esky ran dry, “we’ll play some drinking games?”..

2006...