asked of him. He waited a moment for an answer. Two. Three. Then he shook his head and jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I was. Me. I organized all this and got the show on the road.”
“And it’s been some show,” Menhaus said in a rare moment of defiance.
“Yeah, it’s been a party right from the beginning,” Fabrini said with contempt. “Merry Fucking Christmas.”
Crycek was giggling, but nobody seemed to notice.
“What I’m saying, you goddamn shitrats,” Saks grumbled, “is that I’m in charge. Gun or no gun, I’m the one who should be in charge. I’m the only one here with enough goddamn smarts to run the show.”
Fabrini scowled and watched the fish. “Yeah, you’re a real fucking Mensa genius, Saks.”
“Keep it up, shit-for-brains. See what happens.”
Cook cleared his throat. “We don’t need a foreman out here, Saks. There’s no need.”
“You see, you’re wrong about that. You need one and I’m it. Who else is up to it? You? You can’t keep your hands out of your shorts long enough to crack the whip. And Fabrini? Shit. Fabrini can’t find his own asshole without Menhaus’ crank in his hand. And Crycek? Shit.”
Saks waited for more argument, but got none. And he knew why. Oh yes, he knew very well why. Because they were just putting up with him until he closed his eyes. Then they were going to kill him. Or so they thought.
But they were in for a big surprise.
A very big one.
Menhaus said, “Looks like the big one swam off.”
“But his friends haven’t,” Fabrini said.
Saks, unlike the others, was hoping it hadn’t gone too far. Come tonight or what passed for night, he might just need all the man-eating fish he could lay his hands on. Because tonight was going to be trouble. Tonight the shit was going to fly. And when the shit came down, there was no one better at dodging it than old Saks. Saks was just about to tell them he was onto their little bullshit plot and if they wanted a piece of him now was the time, baby, when something-something goddamned huge-bumped into the bottom of the boat. The boat seemed to be actually lifted out of the water. To heave up from the sea and crash back down again with an explosion of foam and sediment, tossing the men from their seats.
Somebody screamed.
Maybe Menhaus, maybe Fabrini, maybe even Saks himself for all he knew.
But not Crycek. His eyes were hazy-looking like steamed-up windows. He was just gone. Nothing was touching him.
Well, well, Saks thought, guess old Jaws didn’t abandon us after all.
“What the hell was that?” Fabrini stammered.
“I’ll give you one guess,” Cook said.
Saks pulled himself to his feet and leaned out over the gunwale, the Browning in hand. He saw something pass beneath the boat. A huge amorphous blur. Whatever it was, it was much bigger than the boat. Yeah, it was old Jaws again. Back for more and getting randy by the looks of things… except, no, it wasn’t Jaws, it was his bigger brother this time.
“The big one again? That monster?” Menhaus asked carefully.
But Saks shook his head and kept watching. Fabrini and Cook did the same. Menhaus stayed on the bottom of the boat where the impact had thrown him. He’d gone a nasty shade of pale. His face was pinched, withdrawn. He was, in effect, a man who did not want to know.
“It looked bigger this time,” Saks said.
Nobody said anything to that.
“It couldn’t have been bigger,” Cook said. “No way.”
“Yeah, and what the fuck do you know?” Fabrini snapped. “You think there couldn’t be one bigger than that other one?”
“It just seems unlikely.”
Saks grunted. “Yeah, you tell the sea monster that when it’s biting you in fucking half.”
Cook seemed to be looking at something, following it beneath the fouled water with his eyes. “There,” he said. “Right there. Look! Can you see it? Can you see it?”
They did. It was a very big fish. Sort of a dirty, almost green-brown in color. Looked to be the same species as Jaws, only far larger.
“Gotta be twenty feet at least,” Fabrini said with awe. “Maybe thirty.”
“Fucking monster.”
“Shoot it,” Menhaus raved. “Just shoot it. You gotta shoot the goddamn thing, Saks. You hear me? You gotta shoot it!”
“I bet that baby could just about swallow a man whole,” Saks said, enjoying Menhaus’ discomfort. It was the little things in life, he knew, that gave you the most pleasure.
“He may have just bumped into us,” Cook said optimistically. “It may have not been on purpose. It’s possible.”
Saks laughed. “And it’s possible your mother might have raised some children that lived, but I doubt it.”
Cook gave him an acid look that could’ve peeled paint from a door. But as quick as it had appeared, it was gone. His face became lifeless clay again. “What I’m saying, Saks, is that there’s no reason to start shooting the thing. No reason to provoke it. It might just swim off.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet,” Fabrini said.
“It won’t swim off,” Menhaus moaned. “Oh no. Not yet. Not just yet. Not until its belly is full.”
Fabrini made like he was going to slap him. “Knock it off with that shit, you goddamn pussy.”
“He’s stressed,” Cook said, defending him.
“Fuck you, too,” Fabrini told him. “I’m sick of the lot of you.”
Saks sat back with his arms folded over his barrel chest. He was enjoying this immensely. Cracks were beginning to form in their ranks. Sooner or later, if this kept up, they’d be at each other’s throats. Saks couldn’t help but smile.
“Now, now, boys, all for one and one for all. Remember?” Saks chortled.
“Piss off.” Fabrini looked very much like he wanted to hurt someone.
“Five men in a boat, “ Saks said. “Five men in a boat and not a broad amongst us. Life’s a beach and then you die.”
“Life,” Fabrini said. “Shit.”
For once, Saks had to agree with him. Life was shit no matter how you sliced it or how sharp your knife was. He’d had his share of hardship. Of pain. Of deprivation. He knew about life. Life was your old man getting killed in an industrial accident when you were twelve. Life was your old lady drinking herself to death and spreading her legs for every shitbag sailor with a bottle of vodka. Life was quitting school when you were sixteen and going to work in a hellhole foundry. Life was when your kid brother got knifed for his lunch money when he was ten fucking years old. Life was joining the Navy when you were eighteen to be a Seabee because you loved that old John Wayne flick and getting your ass sent to Vietnam as a joke. Life was pushing back the jungle with dozers for a Marine compound while gooks with Russian rifles sniped at you. Life was getting killed because you were digging latrine pits or drainage ditches or laying a runway. And life was payback, too. It was opening up on a gook patrol with heavy machine guns and watching those gutless slant-eyed shits dance like marionettes with clipped strings. Yeah, that was life, baby. And life was also years later in another goddamn jungle watching the only friend you ever had get dragged downriver by a crocodile the size of a Buick. Yeah, that was life. And life was being in a boat in the middle of a godforsaken, monster-infested ocean just this side of Hell with three guys who wanted you dead and a fourth who was too crazy to care either way.
That was life and life was just fucking peachy.
Saks shook his head, clearing it all away. “Hey, Cook,” he said. “You look hot, friend. Why don’t you jump in and have a swim with that motherfuck of a fish? Take your fishing line with you, maybe you can hook that bastard, fry his ass up in a pan. Fabrini’ll help you. He’s that kind of guy.”
But they didn’t even look at him.
Just at those fish, big and small, weaving around the boat, keeping an eye out for the gigantic shadow of
