Jaws

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 AM, 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.”

“I can do without excitement,” said Brody. “I just want to get the damn thing over with.”

At the door, Hooper turned and said, “Thinking of orca reminds me of something. You know what Australians call great white sharks?”

“No,” said Brody, not really interested. “What?”

“White death.”

“You had to tell me, didn’t you?” Brody said as he closed the door behind them.

He was on his way out when the night desk man stopped him and said, “You had a call before, Chief, while you were inside. I didn’t think I should bother you.”

“Who was it?”

“Mrs. Vaughan.”

“Mrs. Vaughan!” As far as Brody could remember, he had never in his life talked to Eleanor Vaughan on the telephone.

“She said not to disturb you, that it could wait.”

“I’d better call her. She’s so shy that if her house was burning down, she’d call the fire department and apologize for bothering them and ask if there was a chance they could stop by the next time they were in the neighborhood.” As he walked back into his office, Brody recalled something Vaughan had told him about Eleanor: whenever she wrote a check for an even-dollar amount, she refused to write “and 00/100.” She felt it would be an insult, as if she were suggesting that the person who cashed the check might try to steal a few cents.

Brody dialed the Vaughans’ home number, and Eleanor Vaughan answered before the phone had rung once. She’s been sitting right by the phone, Brody thought. “Martin Brody, Eleanor. You called.”

“Oh yes. I do hate to bother you, Martin. If you’d rather—”

“No, it’s perfectly okay. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… well, the reason I’m calling you is that I know Larry talked with you earlier. I thought you might know if… if anything’s wrong.”

Brody thought: She doesn’t know anything, not a thing. Well, I’m damned if I’m going to tell her. “Why? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to say this exactly, but… well, Larry doesn’t drink much, you know. Very rarely, at least at home.”

“And?”

“This evening, when he came home, he didn’t say anything. He just went into his study and — I think, at least — he drank almost a whole bottle of whiskey. He’s asleep now, in a chair.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Eleanor. He’s probably got things on his mind. We all tie one on now and then.”

“I know. It’s only… something is wrong. I can tell. He hasn’t acted like himself for several days now. I thought that perhaps… you’re his friend. Do you know what it could be?”

His friend, Brody thought. That’s what Vaughan had said, too, but he had known better. “We used to be friends,” he had said. “No, Eleanor, I don’t,” he lied. “I’ll talk to him about it, though, if you like.”

“Would you, Martin? I’d appreciate that. But… please… don’t tell him I called you. He’s never wanted me to meddle in his affairs.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. Try to get some sleep.”

“Will he be all right in the chair?”

“Sure. Just take off his shoes and throw a blanket over him. He’ll be fine.”

Paul Loeffler stood behind the counter of his delicatessen and looked at his watch. “It’s quarter to nine,” he said to his wife, a plump, pretty woman named Rose, who was arranging boxes of butter in a refrigerator. “What do you say we cheat and close up fifteen minutes early?”

“After a day like today I agree,” said Rose. “Eighteen pounds of bologna! Since when have we ever moved eighteen pounds of bologna in one day?”

“And the Swiss cheese,” said Loeffler. “When did we ever run out of Swiss cheese before? A few more days like this I could use. Roast beef, liverwurst, everything.

It’s like everybody from Brooklyn Heights to East Hampton stopped by for sandwiches.”

“Brooklyn Heights, my eye. Pennsylvania. One man said he had come all the way from Pennsylvania. Just to see a fish. They don’t have fish in Pennsylvania?”

“Who knows?” said Loeffler. “It’s getting to be like Coney Island.”

“The public beach must look like a dump.”

“It’s worth it. We deserve one or two good days.”

“I heard the beaches are closed again,” said Rose.

“Yeah. Like I always say, when it rains it pours.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. Let’s close up.”

Part 3

ELEVEN

The sea was as flat as gelatin. There was no whisper of wind to ripple the surface. The sun sucked shimmering waves of heat from the water. Now and then, a passing tern would plunge for food, and rise again, and the wavelets from its dive became circles that grew without cease.