The salt water sprayed and stung Mack Morrison’s face. The veteran, though still young, crab fisherman pulled the hook back up to the side of the Eagle’s Take, rhythmically pumping his arms as fast as possible.

Mack was now firmly in his mid-20s and a key member of the crab fishing vessel’s crew. Just a few years back he was the young “greenhorn” who spent his first couple of seasons just trying to earn the respect of the other crabbers.

But earn their respect, he did. Both offshore and on it.

Whenever the boat docked back at Dutch Harbor, Mack would accompany the crew up to the local bar and command the respect of everyone in it. There had been more than one instance where Mack had put the crew of another boat in their place.

However, today, they weren’t at dock. They were in the middle of a swirling tempest with massive swells coming over the boat’s side railing. Just one misstep and he could be grabbed by one of the waves and pulled out into the cold Bering Sea.

“Mack,” said the captain’s voice over the intercom onto the boat’s deck. “You better get your ass up here.”

Mack furrowed his brow. The captain was, in fact, his dad. And he knew when his dad wasn’t happy.

As quickly as he could, Mack got inside, removed his fishing gear, and climbed the steep stairs from the galley into the boat’s wheelhouse.

Resting his large arms on the stair rails, he leaned forward with his eyebrows raised. His dad didn’t even turn his head before speaking.

“Mack, what the hell did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Mack replied in his young, gruff voice. “What’s this about?”

Mack’s dad sighed before putting his head down and shaking it.

“Alaska State Patrol, Mack. They want you.”

The news instantly put a concerned look on Mack’s face, but deep down there wasn’t confusion.

“It’s about that shit in Girdwood,” Mack answered.

“I thought you said nothing was going to come out of Girdwood,” his dad followed up.

“Those three guys had it com-”

“Enough, Mack!” yelled his dad, cutting off his strong young son. “I told you that this shit on dry land has to STOP! It endangers the family business! As soon as we’re back in Dutch, I’m driving you to the ASP office and you’re going to get this figured out!”

Mack’s dad was like volcano when he was enraged, spewing lava and rocks into the air in every direction.

“Dad-”

“Nothing else, Mack! Get your ass back out on that deck and keep crabbing! We got a quota!”

Mack instantly obeyed his father’s command and hurried back to his fishing gear. He didn’t know what was scarier; the prospect of legal issues or disappointing his father.