to express confidence in his methods.
Charlie was the first to spot the action from his place on the bridge. He called to them through the loudspeaker: “Sharks off the stem, gentlemen. Approximately one hundred and fifty yards.”
The men crowded along the railing. Colin found a spot between his father and Mike, wedged himself into it.
“One hundred yards out,” Charlie said.
Colin squinted, concentrated hard on the fluid landscape, but he could not find the sharks. The sun shimmered on the water. There appeared to be millions upon millions of living things wriggling across the surface of the sea, but most of them were only slivers of light dancing from point to point on the waves.
“Eighty yards!”
A shout went up as several of the men spotted the sharks at the same instant.
A moment later Colin saw a fin. Then another. Two more. At least a dozen.
Suddenly line sang out of one of the reels.
“A bite!” Pete said.
Rex jumped into the deck-mounted chair behind the bent and jerking rod. As Irv strapped him down, Rex slipped the deep-sea rig out of the steel brace that had been holding it.
“Hell, sharks are just junk fish,” Jack said disdainfully.
“You’re not going to get a trophy for a shark, no matter how damned big it is,” Pete said.
“I know,” Rex said. “And I’m not about to eat the damned thing either. But I sure as hell won’t let the bastard get away!”
Something took the bait on the second line and ran with it. Mike claimed that chair.
At the start it was one of the most exciting things Colin had ever seen. Although this wasn’t his first time on a charter boat, he watched in awe as the men battled their catches. They shouted and swore, and the others urged them on. Muscles bulged in their thick arms. Veins popped out in their necks and at their temples. They groaned and thrashed and held on, pulling and reeling, pulling and reeling. Perspiration streamed from them, and Irv patted their faces with a white rag to keep the sweat from getting in their eyes.
“Keep the line taut!”
“Don’t let him throw the hook!”
“Run him some more.”
“Tire him out.”
“He’s already tired out.”
“Be careful they don’t tangle the lines.”
“It’s been fifteen minutes.”
“Jesus, Mike, a little old lady would’ve landed him by now.”
“My mother would’ve landed him by now.”
“Your mother’s built like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“He’s breaking water!”
“You got him now, Rex!”
“Big! Six foot or more!”
“And the other one. There!”
“Keep fighting!”
“What the hell will we do with two sharks?”
“Have to cut ‘em loose.”
“Kill ‘em first,” Colin’s father said. “You never let a shark go back alive. Isn’t that right, Irv?”
“Right, Frank.”
Colin’s father said, “Irv, you better get the gun.”
Irv nodded and hurried away.
“What gun?” Colin asked uneasily. He was uncomfortable around firearms.
“They keep a .38 revolver aboard just for killing sharks,” his father said.
Irv returned with the gun. “It’s loaded.”
Frank took it and stood by the railing.
Colin wanted to put his fingers in his ears, but he didn’t dare. The men would laugh at him, and his father would be angry.
“Can’t see either of the critters yet,” Frank said.
The fishermen’s hard bodies glistened with sweat.
Each rod appeared to be bent far beyond its breaking point, as if it were held together by nothing more than the indomitable will of the man who controlled it.
Suddenly Frank said, “You’ve almost got yours, Rex! I can see him.”
“He’s an ugly son-of-a-bitch,” Pete said.
Someone else said, “He looks like Pete.”
“He’s right on the surface,” Frank said. “He doesn’t have enough line to run deep again. He looks beat.”
“So am I,” Rex said. “So will you for God’s sake shoot the bastard?”
“Bring him a bit closer.”
“What the hell do you want? You want me to make him stand
Charlie was the first to spot the action from his place on the bridge. He called to them through the loudspeaker: “Sharks off the stem, gentlemen. Approximately one hundred and fifty yards.”
The men crowded along the railing. Colin found a spot between his father and Mike, wedged himself into it.
“One hundred yards out,” Charlie said.
Colin squinted, concentrated hard on the fluid landscape, but he could not find the sharks. The sun shimmered on the water. There appeared to be millions upon millions of living things wriggling across the surface of the sea, but most of them were only slivers of light dancing from point to point on the waves.
“Eighty yards!”
A shout went up as several of the men spotted the sharks at the same instant.
A moment later Colin saw a fin. Then another. Two more. At least a dozen.
Suddenly line sang out of one of the reels.
“A bite!” Pete said.
Rex jumped into the deck-mounted chair behind the bent and jerking rod. As Irv strapped him down, Rex slipped the deep-sea rig out of the steel brace that had been holding it.
“Hell, sharks are just junk fish,” Jack said disdainfully.
“You’re not going to get a trophy for a shark, no matter how damned big it is,” Pete said.
“I know,” Rex said. “And I’m not about to eat the damned thing either. But I sure as hell won’t let the bastard get away!”
Something took the bait on the second line and ran with it. Mike claimed that chair.
At the start it was one of the most exciting things Colin had ever seen. Although this wasn’t his first time on a charter boat, he watched in awe as the men battled their catches. They shouted and swore, and the others urged them on. Muscles bulged in their thick arms. Veins popped out in their necks and at their temples. They groaned and thrashed and held on, pulling and reeling, pulling and reeling. Perspiration streamed from them, and Irv patted their faces with a white rag to keep the sweat from getting in their eyes.
“Keep the line taut!”
“Don’t let him throw the hook!”
“Run him some more.”
“Tire him out.”
“He’s already tired out.”
“Be careful they don’t tangle the lines.”
“It’s been fifteen minutes.”
“Jesus, Mike, a little old lady would’ve landed him by now.”
“My mother would’ve landed him by now.”
“Your mother’s built like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”
“He’s breaking water!”
“You got him now, Rex!”
“Big! Six foot or more!”
“And the other one. There!”
“Keep fighting!”
“What the hell will we do with two sharks?”
“Have to cut ‘em loose.”
“Kill ‘em first,” Colin’s father said. “You never let a shark go back alive. Isn’t that right, Irv?”
“Right, Frank.”
Colin’s father said, “Irv, you better get the gun.”
Irv nodded and hurried away.
“What gun?” Colin asked uneasily. He was uncomfortable around firearms.
“They keep a .38 revolver aboard just for killing sharks,” his father said.
Irv returned with the gun. “It’s loaded.”
Frank took it and stood by the railing.
Colin wanted to put his fingers in his ears, but he didn’t dare. The men would laugh at him, and his father would be angry.
“Can’t see either of the critters yet,” Frank said.
The fishermen’s hard bodies glistened with sweat.
Each rod appeared to be bent far beyond its breaking point, as if it were held together by nothing more than the indomitable will of the man who controlled it.
Suddenly Frank said, “You’ve almost got yours, Rex! I can see him.”
“He’s an ugly son-of-a-bitch,” Pete said.
Someone else said, “He looks like Pete.”
“He’s right on the surface,” Frank said. “He doesn’t have enough line to run deep again. He looks beat.”
“So am I,” Rex said. “So will you for God’s sake shoot the bastard?”
“Bring him a bit closer.”
“What the hell do you want? You want me to make him stand
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