A Croc Called Capone by Barry Jonsberg

quickly towards me. They didn’t seem thrilled.
    I had three chances, I thought, of getting out of this. One, their limbs might suddenly start to drop off. Two, a snake could bite them. Three, a croc could eat them.
    When they stopped in front of me I had to admit that these had all been very long shots. So I tried a bright and cheery smile instead.
    â€˜Hi guys,’ I said. ‘Surprise! Just thought I’d drop in and see how you’re going.’

One of the men scrunched up his fist in my T-shirt and pulled me close. I was terrified but determined not to show it.
    â€˜My mum ironed this shirt this morning,’ I said. ‘She is not going to be happy with you if it comes back creased.’
    â€˜Let him go, Mick,’ said Murray. His voice was soft.
    â€˜He’s been spying on us,’ snarled Mick. His beard was very impressive in close-up. Not so his teeth, which were chipped and yellow. His eyes were simply hard. ‘Taking photographs.’
    â€˜I said let him go, Mick.’ Murray hadn’t raised his voice, but it had authority. It reminded me of parents. They didn’t yell, but you just knew you’d better do as instructed. Mick let go.
    â€˜Finish up in the ute,’ Murray continued. ‘I’ll deal with this.’
    The others slunk off, grumbling. Occasionally they looked back at me, as if imagining what they’d like to do if Murray wasn’t around. I made a mental note not to invite them to my next birthday party. If I lived to enjoy it.
    Murray crouched in front of me. I put the camera behind my back and added another name to my birthday party exclusion list.
    â€˜No one’s going to hurt you, Marcus,’ he said. ‘It is Marcus, isn’t it?’ I didn’t reply. ‘In fact, I’ll take you back to the resort myself. But … you do understand, don’t you? I can’t let you keep the pictures in that camera. I simply can’t allow it.’
    â€˜Sorry,’ I replied. I was pleased to note my voice sounded strong and confident. ‘But this is my camera and my pictures. If you’re going to take them, then I guess you will have to hurt me.’
    Murray sighed and rubbed a hand across the top of his head.
    â€˜I don’t want to do that.’
    â€˜But you’re good at it,’ I said. I nodded towards the ute where the bearded thugs were tying down what remained of the croc. ‘Isn’t that part of the fun? Hurting things weaker than you? Hey, I’m eleven years old and a twentieth your size. Should be easy.’
    â€˜That crocodile is not weaker than me,’ said Murray.
    â€˜In a swimming pool, that would be true,’ I replied. ‘But you had a gun. I’m guessing the croc didn’t. Under those circumstances, I reckon you were in a slightly stronger position.’
    Murray fixed me with his piercing blue eyes.
    â€˜You don’t understand,’ he said.
    â€˜That’s true. I don’t.’
    â€˜Marcus, I just want to delete those photographs. Then you get the camera back and I take you home. End of story.’
    â€˜I’ll tell everyone what I’ve seen.’
    â€˜Fair enough. And maybe some might take the word of an eleven-year-old kid against a forty-year-old doctor who’s spent his life healing children. But you won’t have evidence and that’s the only thing of importance to me.’ He smiled. This time I didn’t like his smile. ‘Come on, mate. You can’t win this. Just hand over the camera, like a good boy.’
    And suddenly another voice – one in my head – also told me to be a good boy. It explained why. Now I smiled. I took my hand from behind my back and held out the camera to Murray. His eyes softened as he reached out to take it.
    I knew Blacky could move quickly. I’d seen his spectacular disappearing acts. But this time he outdid himself. He was a dirty-white streak as he launched himself