“Shit, man, how many ways can
“You already have,” the Stick said. “You?re beginning to annoy me. If you won?t tell me what I want
to know, keep your mouth shut or I?ll put my foot in it.”
They went on. The only sound now was the bow of the boat slicing through the water, and the
occasional slap of a wave as it rolled up into a whitehead and peaked. Stick was using running lights,
although occasionally he snapped on a powerful searchlight for a look around. Otherwise he watched
his compass and smoked and said nothing.
At 9:05 he passed the north point of Big Jericho, swung the trim boat in toward land, and followed the
beach around to the south. A minute or two later the moon peered out from behind the clouds and in
its gray half-light he could see the mouth of Christmas Creek. He turned into it, cut back the motor,
and switched the spotlight on again. He swept it back and forth. Murphy straightened up and peered
over the gunwale. A large heron thrashed its wings nearby and flapped noisily away. Startled by the
sudden and unexpected sound, Murphy slumped down again.
Then he heard the sounds for the first time.
A sudden whirlpool of movement in the water near the boat.
“What?s „sat?” he asked, sitting up again. “Hey, there it goes again. You hear that?”
The Stick said nothing.
The sounds continued. There seemed to be a lot of turbulence in the water around the boat. Then
there was a splash and something thunked the side of the sailboat.
“Don?t you hear it?” Murphy croaked, staring wide-eyed at the circle of light from the spotlight. The
Stick still didn?t answer.
Stick had stopped in an all-night supermarket on the way to the boathouse and bought a large beef
shoulder. It had been soaking in a bucket of warm water near his feet. Now he took it out, laid it on
the rear bulkhead, and slashed several deep gashes in it with a rusty machete. Blood crept out of the
crevices, seeping slowly into the seams between the boards.
There was a loud splash near the stem, then another, even louder, just beyond the bow. Fear began as
a worm in Murphy?s stomach, a twisty little jolt. He began to look feverishly at each new tremor in the
water, but he could see nothing but swirls on the surface of the creek.
