The Man with the Shark Tattoo

Toby wheeled his hands through the water as he lay flat on his front on his surfboard and swam further out towards the rising sun, the spray on his face, dampening his sun-blonde hair, tucked behind his ears as it flowed jaggedly to his shoulders. He wore board shorts and a rash vest, despite the cool morning breeze. He could taste seawater and he smiled. He was at home on the water and today was no different. Crimson rays of light rippled over the water and the wind whipped up gentle waves across the bay. It was ideal conditions and the perfect way to start the day. He was all alone with nothing but him and the sea. He used his body to turn the board and paddled hard, placing his hands flat and pushing himself up, sliding his feet forward and moving into a crouch, before standing up and expertly catching the crest of the wave, slicing through the surf with ease.

After a few turns, Toby let himself drift towards the shore. The flax-hued sand was soft and cool as he waded out of the water and began to make his way towards the row of brightly-coloured beach huts perched on the dunes ahead of him. He strode along, taking in the increasing warmth of the sun, and approached a weathered, yellow coloured hut, opening the door and placing his board inside. Locking the door with a padlock, he turned and stood on the steps of the hut. He noticed a dark shape on the edge of the water amongst the foam. Squinting, he thought it might be a seal or another animal that had beached - perhaps he could help it. He moved closer. When he was within a dozen yards he recognised the unmistakable appearance of a human figure. Toby stepped slowly now in trepidation. The figure was that of a man, dark-haired and wearing ripped denim jeans - whether it was by style choice or from the accident that led him he couldn’t be sure - and a pale-blue t-shirt. Toby gasped in horror. The eyes were white and unblinking, the face puffy and porcelain-white. Peeking from the collar of the shirt he noticed a dark pattern on the man’s skin. Grimacing, he pulled the damp fabric down, revealing the image of a black shark wrapped in crossed chains, tattooed onto the man’s shoulder. It was an unusual design, he thought. He looked around for help and saw nobody else along the entire stretch of beach, he knew had to report the body.

Toby started running as fast as he could, his bare feet skipping over the sand. The police station was only a ten minute run away. He ran past the beach huts and over the dunes, making off down the dusty single track road.

Toby arrived at the Police Station. Inside was a Police Sergeant sitting behind a glass screen. She was middle-aged, with her hair in a greying bob. He approached and knocked frantically on the window.

“Yes? How may I help you young man?” She glanced up at his ragged appearance, barefoot and sandy.

“I… I… down on the beach… there’s a...” Toby struggled to catch his breath as he spoke.

“Hey, hey, take deep breaths, calm down, what is it?” The Sergeant craned forward, her nose almost touching the glass. Toby continued, taking a moment to compose himself. “There’s a body on the beach. Down by the beach huts, off Wilson Lane. Someone needs to come quick!”

“Wait outside, we’ll send a PC round right away - he can drive you there.”

The police car pulled up at the end of the beach road as Toby sat in his seat, anxiously peering over the dunes through the windscreen. The PC pulled the handbrake and grabbed his hat. “Let’s go check it out then.”

Toby led the PC over the dunes and past the beach huts, towards the spot he had been to only half an hour earlier. He kept walking until he reached the gentle foam of the shore, snapping his head left and right. Where was it?! He gazed across the landscape, he saw the sea, the sand, and dunes stretching towards the silhouette of the town in the distance. The sand around him was bare and empty, save for a few lonely strands of damp seaweed.

“It was right here! There was a body, a dead body, I swear!” Toby pleaded. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Son, you know it’s an offence to waste police time,” the PC sighed, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I think you should be on your way.”

He turned and walked back to his car, leaving Toby alone with his thoughts. What had happened? The tide had barely moved. Had he been dreaming? Looking at the sun getting ever higher in the sky, he realised the time. He would need to get to work soon before his boss started asking questions.

Freshly showered, in tailored shorts and a linen shirt, Toby walked along the main street of the town. He needed a boost to wake him up and he wearily pushed open the heavy glass door of the coffee shop. He joined the queue at the counter and pondered his choice. “Next please!” said the familiar high-pitched tone of a faux-happy voice that masks the monotony of customer service drudgery. The barista peered at Toby curiously through her thin-rimmed glasses. “Can I help?”

“Ah yeah hello, um… could I get a flat white please?” Toby said with a faint smile. He’d never ordered a flat white before, but his head was so riddled with questions, he couldn’t do anything straight.

At that moment, Toby saw another customer, a lady with red hair, collecting a tray of coffees. As she turned to leave, he saw a tattoo on her shoulder. A shark crossed in chains. He stared at it, transfixed. Time seemed to slow as she walked to the door. Toby looked to the counter, then back at the red-haired lady. He knew he had to act fast.

Abandoning his coffee order, he followed the lady down the street. They went three blocks, turning twice and heading further downtown. As she stopped at a door, she turned and her eyes locked onto his. Suddenly, he was dragged into an alleyway and plunged into darkness. He felt the coarse friction of a sack over his head, and the sound of muffled voices. A door banged shut with a metallic thud. He felt himself being pushed onto the cold hard ground of a concrete floor.

Toby grimaced as the harsh glare of the industrial lights blinded him as the sack was removed. “Who are you?” came a gravelly voice.

Toby blinked as his vision came into focus. In front of him was a thick-set man with short brown hair and stubble, wearing a shirt that exposed a sleeve of tattoos. He was squatting, his head cocked to one side. Toby noted he also had the shark on his shoulder. The man leaned in, face-to-face with Toby.

“Why are you following us? Who sent you?”

“No-nobody sent me,” Toby stammered, “I just wanted to find out who you were.” He looked around at the vast space of an empty warehouse around him and clocked a single door at the back of the room. Around him, people were carrying wooden crates and bundles of rope. What kind of operation was going on here?

“Whatever. Who are you?” The man scoffed. “What do you…”

There was a loud crash as someone dropped a crate, and the man turned round. Toby seized his chance and ran towards the door, barging through it in his bid for freedom. As he got to the other side he froze.

The room was a hive of activity. In one corner, people stacked up scuba diving gear: wetsuits, oxygen tanks and snorkels. In another, workers were sorting piles of leaflets into boxes and packing them with tape. He saw a leaflet on the ground in front of him and picked it up. In big bold letters it said: “SAVE THE SHARKS”, with pictures of sharks being killed in numerous, grisly ways.

The man caught up with Toby and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him round to face him.

Before he could say anything Toby spoke: “Are you some kind of environmentalists? I thought you were a gang? What is this?” He motioned around with the leaflet.

The man’s gruff demeanour subsided and he looked sheepish.

“Our group is being persecuted by government agencies because of the work we do. They seem to disagree with our… methods. We don’t exactly do things by the book. They’ve sent people in the past to try and shut us down, and they aren’t afraid to use force. We even lost a man at sea yesterday thanks to those bastards. That’s who we picked up off the beach this morning. We thought you were one of them. We’re sorry about that treatment, but we have to keep ourselves safe. I’m Jack by the way.” He held out his hand and Toby shook it.

“Why do you do this?” Toby asked, impressed at the military operation around him.

“The government and companies they hire have been culling sharks off our coastlines for decades. All because they think Sharks are dangerous. What a load of rubbish. You’re more likely to get killed by a vending machine!” Jack kicked a shard of wood in frustration and it skitted across the floor.

“And the tattoos?” Toby enquired.

“They signify those in our group who are more militant than others. We call ourselves the Shark Shepherds. We go out dismantling traps, snares, and boarding fishing boats that kill their shark bycatch. They’ve killed millions of sharks, and we’re just trying to put a stop to it.

Toby digested the figure. He’d always been in love with the sea and could barely comprehend the sheer quantity of life lost. He felt a stirring of anger inside of him. “Where do I sign up?”

Jack grinned a toothy grin. “We’re going out tonight, if you wanted to join us?” He knew he had gauged Toby’s sense of adventure correctly when he nodded with enthusiasm

Under the cover of darkness, Jack, Toby, and a motley group of others, including the red-haired girl who turned out to be called Lizzy, set off from the shore in an old, black RIB. Their plan was to dismantle drumlines, which were a floating barrel which had two lines, one with an anchor attaching it to the seafloor, and the other with a large baited hook attached to it. The only objective of a drumline was to attract and kill nearby sharks. The location of the drumlines had been scouted out that day, and there was a row of at least two-dozen of them in a line across the mouth of the bay to deal with. Jack steered the boat towards the first drumline and Lizzy fished it in using a hooked pole, while the rest of the crew hauled it on board and wrapped the lines around the barrel, before moving onto the next.

The waves began to pick up and Toby could hear the distant rumble of thunder. The chop got worse as they went further out into the remote edges of the bay. Suddenly they heard the roar of a V8 engine from a boat. A spotlight flickered into life and the crew were blinded. A voice in a loudspeaker shouted. Toby saw shadowy figures standing on board coming towards them, and his eyes widened at the silhouette of an assault rifle. At that moment, Jack revved their boat’s engine hard and turned sharply in an effort to get away. Toby was thrown off the boat and the cold and darkness of the sea engulfed him.

As daylight broke, Toby felt sand in all the crevices of his face and he heard the crunch of heavy boots approaching on the shore.