Jaws (25 page)

"Why was that?" said Brody.

"Mr. Meadows conveniently forgot to tell me about the attack on Christine Watkins. But he didn't forget to tell his readers."

"Must have slipped my mind," said Meadows.

"What can we do for you?" said Brody.

"I was wondering," said Whitman, "if you're sure this is the same fish that killed

the others."

Brody gestured toward Hooper, who said, "I can't be positive. I never saw the fish

that killed the others, and I didn't really get a look at the one today. All I saw was a flash,

sort of silvery gray. I know what it was, but I couldn't compare it to anything else. All file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (90 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

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have to go on is probability, and in all probability it's the same fish. It's too far-fetched --for me, anyway --to believe that there are two big man-eating sharks off southern Long Island at the same time."

Whitman said to Brody, "What are you going to do, Chief'? I mean, beyond closing the beaches, which I gather has already been done."

"I don't know. What can we do? Christ, I'd rather have a hurricane. Or even an earthquake. At least after they happen, they're over and done with. You can look around and see what's been done and what has to be done. They're events, something you can handle. They have beginnings and ends. This is crazy. It's as if there was a maniac running around loose, killing people whenever he felt like it. You know who he is, but you can't catch him and you can't stop him. And what makes it worse, you don't know why he's doing it."

Meadows said, "Remember Minnie Eldridge."

"Yeah," said Brody. "I'm beginning to think she may have something, after all."

"Who's that?" said Whitman.

"Nobody. Just some nut."

For a moment there was silence, an exhausted silence, as if everything that needed

to be said had been said. Then Whitman said, "Well?"

"Well what?" said Brody.

"There must be someplace to go from here, something to do."

"I'd be happy to hear any suggestions. Personally, I think we're fucked. We're going to be lucky if there's a town left after this summer."

"Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?"

"I don't think so. Do you, Harry?"

"Not really," said Meadows. "The town survives on its summer people, Mr. Whitman. Call it parasitic, if you will, but that's the way it is. The host animal comes every summer, and Amity feeds on it furiously, pulling every bit of sustenance it can before the host leaves again after Labor Day. Take away the host animal, and we're like dog ticks with no dog to feed on. We starve. At the least --the very least --next winter is

going to be the worst in the history of this town. We're going to have so many people on the dole that Amity will look like Harlem." He chuckled. "Harlem-by-the-Sea."

"What I'd give my ass to know," said Brody, "is why us? Why Amity? Why not East Hampton or Southampton or Quogue?"

"That," said Hooper, "is something we'll never know."

"Why?" said Whitman.

"I don't want to sound like I'm making excuses for misjudging that fish," said Hooper, "but the line between the natural and the preternatural is very cloudy. Natural things occur, and for most of them there's a logical explanation. But for a whole lot of things there's just no good or sensible answer. Say two people are swimming, one in front of the other, and a shark comes up from behind, passes right beside the guy in the rear, and attacks the guy in front. Why? Maybe they smelled different. Maybe the one in front was swimming in a more provocative way. Say the guy in back, the one who wasn't attacked, goes to help the one who was attacked. The shark may not touch him --may actually avoid him --while he keeps banging away at the guy he did hit. White sharks are supposed to prefer colder water. So why does one turn up off the coast of Mexico, strangled by a human corpse that he couldn't quite swallow? In a way, sharks are like tornadoes. They touch down here, but not there. They wipe out this house but suddenly veer away and miss the house next door. The guy in the house that's wiped out says, 'Why me?' The guy in the house that's missed says, 'Thank God.'"

"All right," said Whitman. "But what I still don't get is why the shark can't be caught."

"Maybe it can be," said Hooper. "But I don't think by us. At least not with the equipment we have here. I suppose we could try chumming again."

"Yeah," said Brody. "Ben Gardner can tell us all about chumming."

"Do you know anything about some fellow named Quint?" said Whitman.

"I've heard the name," Brody said. "Did you ever look into the guy, Harry?"

"I read what little there was. As far as I know, he's never done anything file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (91 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt illegal."

"Well," said Brody, "maybe it's worth a call."

"You're joking," said Hooper. "You'd really do business with this guy?"

"I'll tell you what, Hooper. At this point, if someone came in here and said he was

Superman and he could piss that shark away from here, I'd say fine and dandy. I'd even hold his dick for him."

"Yeah, but..."

Brody cut him off. "What do you say, Harry? You think he's in the phone book?"

"You really are serious," said Hooper.

"You bet your sweet ass. You got any better ideas?"

"No, it's just... I don't know. How do we know the guy isn't a phony or a drunk or

something?"

"We'll never know till we try." Brody took a phone book from the top drawer of his desk and opened it to the Qs. He ran his finger down the page. "Here it is. 'Quint.'

That's all it says. No first name. But it's the only one on the page. Must be him." He dialed the number.

"Quint," said a voice.

"Mr. Quint, this is Martin Brody. I'm the chief of police over in Amity. We have a

problem."

"I've heard."

"The shark was around again today."

"Anybody get et?"

"No, but one boy almost did."

"Fish that big needs a lot of food," said Quint.

"Have you seen the fish?"

"Nope. Looked for him a couple times, but I couldn't spend too much time looking. My people don't spend their money for looking. They want action."

"How did you know how big it is?"

"I hear tell. Sort of averaged out the estimates and took off about eight feet. That's

still a piece of fish you got there."

"I know. What I'm wondering is whether you can help us."

"I know. I thought you might call."

"Can you?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On how much you're willing to spend, for one thing."

"We'll pay whatever the going rate is. Whatever you charge by the day. We'll pay you by the day until we kill the thing."

"I don't think so," said Quint. "I think this is a premium job."

"What does that mean?"

"My everyday rate's two hundred a day. But this is special. I think you'll pay double."

"Not a chance."

"Good-by."

"Wait a minute! Come on, man. Why are you holding me up?"

"You got no place else to go."

"There are other fishermen."

Brody heard Quint laugh --a short, derisive bark.

"Sure there are," said Quint. "You already sent one. Send another one. Send half a

dozen more. Then when you come back to me again, maybe you'll even pay triple. I got nothing to lose by waiting."

"I'm not asking for any favors," Brody said. "I know you've got a living to make. But this fish is killing people. I want to stop it. I want to save lives. I want your help.

Can't you at least treat me the way you treat regular clients?"

"You're breaking my heart," said Quint. "You got a fish needs killing, I'll try file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (92 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

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kill it for you. No guarantees, but I'll do my best. And my best is worth four hundred dollars a day."

Brody sighed. "I don't know that the selectmen will give me the money."

"You'll find it somewhere."

"How long do you think it'll take to catch the fish?"

"A day, a week, a month. Who knows? We may never find him. He may go away."

"Don't I wish," said Brody. He paused. "Okay," he said finally. "I guess we don't have any choice."

"No, you don't."

"Can you start tomorrow?"

"Nope. Monday's the earliest. I got a party tomorrow."

"A party? What do you mean, a dinner party?" Quint laughed again, the same piercing bark. "A charter party," he said. "You don't do much fishing."

Brody blushed. "No, that's right. Can't you cancel them? If we're paying all that money, it seems to me we deserve a little special service."

"Nope. They're regular customers. I couldn't do that to them or I'd lose their business. You're just a one-shot deal."

"Suppose you run into the big fish tomorrow. Will you try to catch him?"

"That would save you a lot of money, wouldn't it? We won't see your fish. We're going due east. Terrific fishing due east. You oughta try it sometime."

"You had it all figured out, right?"

"There's one more thing," said Quint. "I'm gonna need a man with me. I lost my mate, and I wouldn't feel comfortable taking on that big a fish without an extra pair of hands."

"Lost your mate? What, overboard?"

"No, he quit. He got nerves. Happens to most people after a while in this work. They get to thinking too much."

"But it doesn't happen to you."

"No. I know I'm smarter 'n the fish."

"And that's enough, just being smarter?"

"Has been so far. I'm still alive. What about it? You got a man for me?"

"You can't find another mate?"

"Not this quick, and not for this kind of work."

"Who are you going to use tomorrow?"

"Some kid. But I won't take him out after a big white."

"I can understand that," said Brody, beginning to doubt the wisdom of approaching Quint for help. He added casually, "I'll be there, you know." He was shocked by the words as soon as he said them, appalled at what he had committed himself to do.

"You? Ha!"

Brody smarted under Quint's derision. "I can handle myself," he said.

"Maybe. I don't know you. But you can't handle a big fish if you don't know nothing about fishing. Can you swim?"

"Of course. What has that got to do with anything?"

"People fall overboard, and sometimes it takes a while to swing around and get to

'em."

"Don't worry about me."

"Whatever you say. But I still need a man who knows something about fishing. Or at least about boats."

Brody looked across his desk at Hooper. The last thing he wanted was to spend days on a boat with Hooper, especially in a situation in which Hooper would outrank him in knowledge, if not authority. He could send Hooper alone and stay ashore himself. But that, he felt, would be capitulating, admitting finally and irrevocably his inability to face

and conquer the strange enemy that was waging war on his town. Besides, maybe --over the course of a long day on a boat --Hooper might make a slip that would reveal what he had been doing last Wednesday, the day it rained. Brody was becoming obsessed with finding out where Hooper was that day, for whenever he allowed himself to consider the various alternatives, the one on which his mind always file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (93 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt settled was the one he most dreaded. He wanted to know that Hooper was at the movies, or playing backgammon at the Field Club, or smoking dope with some hippie, or laying some Girl Scout. He didn't care what it was, as long as he could know that Hooper had not been with Ellen. Or that he had been. In that case... ? The thought was still too wretched to cope with.

He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and said to Hooper, "Do you want to come along? He needs a mate."

"He doesn't even have a mate? What a half-assed operation."

"Never mind that. Do you want to come or not?"

"Yes," said Hooper. "I'll probably live to regret it, but yes. I want to see that fish,

and I guess this is my only chance." Brody said to Quint, "Okay, I've got your man."

"Does he know boats?"

"He knows boats."

"Monday morning, six o'clock. Bring whatever you want to eat. You know how to get here?"

"Route 27 to the turnoff for Promised Land, right?"

"Yeah. It's called Cranberry Hole Road. Straight into town. About a hundred yards past the last houses, take a left on a dirt road."

"Is there a sign?"

"No, but it's the only road around here. Leads right to my dock."

"Yours the only boat there?"

"Only one. It's called the Orca."

"All right. See you Monday."

"One more thing," said Quint. "Cash. Every day. In advance."

"Okay, but how come?"

"That's the way I do business. I don't want you falling overboard with my money."

"All right," said Brody. "You'll have it." He hung up and said to Hooper,

"Monday, six A.M., okay?"

"Okay."

Meadows said, "Do I gather from your conversation that you're going, too, Martin?" Brody nodded. "It's my job."

"I'd say it's a bit beyond the call."

"Well, it's done now."

"What's the name of his boat?" asked Hooper.

"I think he said Orca," said Brody. "I don't know what it means."

"It doesn't mean anything. It is something. It's a killer whale." Meadows, Hooper, and Whitman rose to go. "Good luck," said Whitman. "I kind of envy you your trip. It should be exciting."