“ You’re in luck, Knighthorse,” said Warden Fossil, stepping off the bridged. He moved easily, his knees somehow accounting for the rising and falling boat, similar to how an expert horseman moves seamlessly moves with his mount.
Me, not so much. I felt each choppy wave. Each nauseating drop into each deep trough. Every sway, roll, and heave of the ship.
Speaking of heave. If I wasn’t such a stubborn cuss, I would have launched my breakfast burrito far and wide. But I kept it in.
At least until I was alone. Then all bets were off.
Fossil handed me a pair of binoculars and pointed to a small fishing vessel a mile or so south. Ignoring the gurgling and rumbling in my stomach, I adjusted the field glasses and settled onto the boat. Definitely a small fishing vessel. They were even using old-school rod and reel. A small group of men-Hispanics, from what I could tell-were huddled around something big.
Something big and undulating.
“ My guess is it’s a hammerhead. Big one, too.”
We throttled down and were currently adrift. Water splashed the hull. The sun beat down, and I did my best to steady the binoculars.
“ One of them has a knife,” I said. “A big knife.”
“ Usually a machete,” said Fossil. He was standing by my side.
Seagulls circled above. Other fish seemed to be churning the waters around the fishing vessel.
“ Why aren’t we fucking doing anything?” I said.
“ They’re in Mexican waters. We can’t.”
“ They’re going to kill it.”
Fossil said nothing, and I leaned over the hull, out of the water, trying to get a better look. Two or three of the guys were pinning the shark down. I only caught glimpses of the creature. Its gray hide shimmered dully. The knife shimmered, too. Before it flashed down.
The men fought the creature. I couldn’t see what was happening. Five minutes later, the man with the machete handed something flat and triangular over to someone else. The person he handed it to was grinning. He was a thick guy, as far as I could tell. The part down the center of his head was so prominent that I could see it even from here. He looked out towards us…and gave us the finger.
“ They just cut off its dorsal fin,” I said.
“ We see this too often.”
“ We need to stop them.”
“ It’s too late, my friend. And we can’t cross into a sovereign nation’s waters.”
“ There’s blood everywhere,” I said, feeling sick all over again. And there was, too. Flowing out of the boat. The pieces of shit had just cut off the creature’s tail fin. The animal was flapping a bloody stump. Still alive. In untold agony.
“ Why don’t they kill it?” I asked. My hands were gripped too tight around the binoculars; I could hear myself breathing. I had completely forgotten about my stomach.
“ Why waste the bullet?” said Fossil.
“ Fuck them,” I said. “We have any way of identifying their boat?”
“ We got its name. It’s called La Bonita. No doubt it hails from Ensenada where shark finning has become popular.”
“ Is shark finning illegal in Mexico?”
“ In theory. Unfortunately, there are many black markets where fins are sold.”
I continued to watch the man with the machete go to work. He next removed each pectoral fin, carefully stepping around the massive creature. His machete gleamed with blood.
“ I can’t believe we’re just sitting here.”
“ I’m sorry, Jim.”
I next watched as the entire group pushed the shark over the open railing. I caught sight of its beautiful, hammer-shaped head with its oddly human mouth convulsing in what had to be agony. The creature landed with a huge splash, and sank almost immediately. Still alive. Unable to swim. Unable to defend itself.
Blood immediately bubbled to the surface.
The fisherman who gave me the finger waved the pectoral fins at us, high-fived a friend, and then the boat chugged south.
The seagulls circled, squawking loudly.
And as they left, turning their vessel away from us, I caught sight of something that would doom them. Or doom me.
I saw cages on the deck. Wire mesh cages.
What was in the cages, I didn’t know.
But I could guess.