“Good Christ, those‟re sharks,” Murphy gasped.
“1 was about to tell you,” said Stick. “This is a breeding ground for gray sharks and makos, and this
is the month for it. That‟s why they‟re so fidgety. I‟d guess there are probably, oh hell, two, three
hundred sharks within spitting distance of the boat right now.”
The first shark Murphy actually saw breached water three feet away, rolled over on its side, and dove
again.
It was half the length of the sailboat!
“Sweet Jesus,” Murphy muttered to himself. He was still trying to maintain his tough facade, but his
eyes mirrored his growing fear. He dropped back onto the floor of the cockpit and cowered there.
“This bloody piece of beef here will drive them crazy,” Stick continued. “I thought I‟d just give „em a
snack, let you see one of the wonders of the world.”
Murphy hunched down lower.
“C‟mon, fella, watch the show,” said Stick. He reached down and pulled Murphy up and slammed
him against the bulkhead. He threw the piece of meat overboard, holding it by the nylon cord. It had
hardly hit before the creek was churned into bubbles. The water looked like it was boiling. The
frenzied killers streaked to the bloody morsel. Their tails whipped out of the water. Fins seemed to be
slashing all over the creek. The creatures surfaced in their frenzy, their black marble eyes bulging
with excitement, their ragged mouths blood-smeared from ripping at the beef shoulder. A great, ugly
mako breached the surface, twisted violently in the water, then suddenly lurched into the air as a
large gray disemboweled it, the attacker thrashing its head back and forth as it tore a great chunk
from the other shark‟s belly. More blood churned to the surface. A half dozen more sharks converged
on the mako, ripping it to shreds. Then one of them turned and charged the sailboat.
Murphy screamed, a full-fledged, bloodcurdling scream.
The big gray turned at the last moment and scraped down the side of the sailboat.
All Murphy saw were insane eyes and gleaming teeth.
Within seconds the hook was empty. Stick pulled it back in.
“Lookit that, they even gnawed at the hooks,” Stick said with a chuckle.
“What‟re we doin‟ here?” Murphy whispered, as though he were afraid he would disturb the
predators.
“I‟ll tell you, when these bastards are horny, they‟re downright unreasonable,” Stick rambled on.
He swung the sailboat in a tight arc, pulling as close to the sandbar as he could. He knew the creek
well; knew, too, that the bar dropped off sharply on its north side, sharply enough to get in tight. Stick
grabbed the back of Murphy‟s shirt and hauled him to his feet.
“What the hell are you doing? Lemme alone, lemmee the mobster howled.
The boat nudged the bar.
Stick threw him over the side.
Murphy shrieked. He landed on his side in the soft sand, rolled over, still screaming, scrambled to his
feet, and sloshed through ankle-deep sand to the middle of the bar. He stood there, his hands behind
his back, his eyes bulging with fear, watching the fins circle his diminishing island.
“For God‟s sakes, what‟d I do? I didn‟t do nothin‟! Get rue offa here. Jesus, Mary, and lose ph,
please, get me offa here!”
Stick leaned toward him. “Now listen good, Weasel. The tide‟s coming in. This bar lies very low in the
water. Another five, six minutes, the water will cover it. At full tide, in about forty-five minutes, it‟ll be
up to your waist. Do you get the drift?”
Murphy looked around, wide-eyed. There were sharks all over the place, circling the tiny island as if
they could smell him.
“Here, I‟ll give you a break,” Stick said. “You won‟t have to look at them.”
Stick turned the spotlight off.
“No-o-o,” Murphy moaned.
The moon dipped behind the clouds. Murphy was rooted to his spot. He was beyond fear now, afraid
to move in any direction. He squinted into the darkness but it was too dark to see anything.
But he could hear them.
“Get me offa here, please,” Murphy pleaded. There was no bravado left.
Stick replied, “The tide‟s coming in, Weasel. In two or three minutes you‟ll feel it around your
ankles.”
Murphy‟s feet squirmed beneath him. He had trouble catching his breath. He was overwhelmed with
fear. Then he felt the first cold, wet fingers seeping through the soles of his shoes, down through the
shoelace holes, around the tongues of his expensive brogans, clutching at his feet.
Murphy suddenly started to babble. He couldn‟t talk fast enough. His words tumbled over each other
arid he started to stutter:
“They‟re going to Thunder Point! To Chevos‟ p-p-p-place! They went out on the boat to celebrate. .
“Celebrate what?”
“Costello‟s the new capo di capi.”
“When are they coming in?”
“They‟re due to get to the marina about t-t-ten. ..“
“How do you know that?”
“That‟s when I‟m supposed to be back. I g-g-got a coupla hours off „cause I get seasick.”
“Who‟s going to be there?”
“It‟s everybody. It‟s the whole goddamn w-w-works, except maybe for Nance. I. . . I swear to G-G-
God I don‟t know where he is. Please, oh, God, please get me offa here. That‟s all I know. All I know,
I swear on my mother‟s eyes, I don‟t know another f-f-fuckin‟ thing. Jesus, man I‟ll p-p-pay you. What
d‟ya want? You want my car? I got a brand-new Chrysler convertible it‟s yours. Damn it, please. .
“That‟s better, Weasel. Okay, start walking this way.”
“1 can‟t, not in the dark, don‟t do..
“Just walk toward my voice.”
“1 can‟t m-m-move!”
“I‟ll keep talking and you keep walking and if you don‟t lose your cool, you‟ll make it over here. But
you better stop fuckin‟ around, Weasel, because the tide doesn‟t stop. It‟s gonna get deeper and. .