Colin sat on a bench by the cabin wall, sipped his cold beer, and wondered what would happen next.
Having found nothing of interest in the shark’s stomach, they heaved the dead beast over the side. It floated for a moment, then suddenly sank or was dragged under by something with a big appetite.
The blood-drenched men lined up along the starboard rail while Irv hosed them down with sea water. They stripped out of their swimsuits, which had to be thrown away, and they lathered up with bars of grainy, yellow soap, all the while making jokes about one another’s genitalia. Each received one bucket of fresh water with which to rinse. While they went below to dry off and change into their street clothes, Irv sluiced the deck, washing the last traces of blood into the scuppers.
Later, the men did some skeet shooting. Charlie and Irv always carried two shotguns and a target launcher aboard the
At first Colin winced each time the guns boomed, but after a while the explosions didn’t bother him.
Later still, when the men became bored with shooting clay pigeons, they opened up on the sea gulls that were diving for small fish not far from the
The slaughter did not sicken Colin, as it once would have done, nor did it appeal to him. He felt nothing at all as he watched the birds being blown away, and he wondered about his inability to respond. He felt cool and perfectly still inside.
The guns fired, and the gulls burst apart in the sky. Thousands of tiny droplets of blood sprayed up like beads of molten copper in the golden air.
At seven-thirty they said good-bye to Charlie and Irv, and they went to a harbor restaurant for a steak-and- lobster dinner. Colin was starved. He greedily devoured everything on his plate, without a thought about the disemboweled shark or the gulls.
Well after the late, summer sunset, his father took him home. As always, Frank drove too fast and with no regard at all for other motorists.
Ten minutes from Santa Leona, Frank Jacobs turned the conversation away from the events of the day to more personal matters. “Are you happy living with your mother?”
The question put Colin on the spot. He didn’t want to spark an argument. He shrugged and said, “I guess.”
“That’s no answer.”
“I mean, I guess I’m happy.”
“You don’t know?”
“I’m happy enough.”
“Is she taking good care of you?”
“Sure.”
“Are you eating well?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still so skinny.”
“I eat real well.”
“She’s not much of a cook.”
“She does okay.”
“Does she give you enough spending money?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I could send you something every week.”
“I don’t need it.”
“How about if I sent ten dollars every week?”
“You don’t have to do that. I have plenty. I’d just waste it.”
“You like Santa Leona.”
“It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“It’s really nice.”
“You miss your friends from Westwood?”
“I didn’t have any friends there.”
“Of course you did. I saw them once. That red-headed boy and-”
“Those were just guys from school. Acquaintances.”
“You don’t have to keep a stiff upper lip for me.”
“I’m not.”
“Know you miss them.”
“I really don’t.”
They swerved left, passed a truck that was already exceeding the speed limit, and pulled back into the right lane much too quickly.
Behind them the trucker angrily blew his hom.
“What the hell’s eating him? I left plenty of room, didn’t I?”
Colin said nothing.
Frank let up on the accelerator. The car slowed from sixty-five to fifty-five miles an hour.
The truck tooted again.
Frank pounded hard on the Cadillac’s horn, trumpeted for at least a minute to show the other driver that he wasn’t intimidated.
Colin glanced back anxiously. The big truck was no more than four feet from their bumper. Its headlights flashed.
“Bastard,” Frank said. “Who the hell does he think he is?” He slowed down to forty miles an hour.
The truck swung into the passing lane.
Frank whipped the Cadillac to the left, in front of the truck, blocking it and holding it at forty.
“Hah! That’ll piss the son-of-a-bitch! That’ll bum his ass, won’t it?”
The trucker used his hom again.
Colin was sweating.
His father was hunched forward, hands like talons on the wheel. His teeth were bared; his eyes were wide as they moved rapidly back and forth from the road to the mirror. He was breathing heavily, almost snorting.
The truck shifted to the right-hand lane.
Frank quickly cut it off again.
At last the trucker seemed to realize that he was dealing with either a drunk or a nut, and that extreme caution was the best course of action. He slowed to about thirty and fell steadily behind.
“That’ll teach the asshole. Did he think he owned the goddamned road?”
Having won the battle, Frank put the Cadillac back up to seventy, and they rocketed away into the night.
Colin closed his eyes.
They rode in silence for a few miles, and then Frank said, “What with your friends all down there in Westwood, how’d you like to come back and live with me?”
“You mean all the time?”
“Why not?”
“Well … I guess that would be okay,” Colin said, only because he knew it was impossible.
“I’ll see what I can do, Junior.”
Colin glanced at him with alarm. “But the judge gave Mom custody. You’ve just got visiting rights.”
“Maybe we can change that.”
“How!”
“There’s several things we’d have to do, and a couple of them wouldn’t be exactly pleasant.”
“Like what?”
“For one thing, you’d have to be willing to stand up in court and say you’re not happy living with her.”
