Ford took the shark by the tail and swung it over onto the dock, saying "Sure, I'll take the shark; I'll take all you can bring me." It was a male bull shark, about twenty pounds, and he could see that Jeth had clubbed it to kill it.
Nicholes said, "Tell you the truth, I thought you were kinda crazy, starting a business like that. I mean, what kind of a person would want to buy old sharks and stuff?"
Ford was standing by the tarpon, wondering how he could ask Jeth not to club the sharks without hurting his feelings. He said, "Mostly it's organizations—colleges and research firms. I got my first big order last week. Minneapolis Public Schools ordered twenty-eight sharks all dissected and injected. They ordered some sea urchin embryology slides, too, but I can't get those until this winter when the urchins are gravid. I can fill the shark order, though. See, the good thing about an order like that"—Ford kept his tone airy—"I can dissect the sharks, color-code the circulatory systems, send them off, and still keep the brains. I'm hoping I get some orders for isolated brain mounts. That way every shark I get does double duty. I won't have to kill so many that way. "
Nicholes suddenly looked worried. "Jeez, Doc, I didn't know you sold their brains. I clubbed the pa-pa-piss outta that little bastard. I didn't even know they had brains."
"You clubbed him? Oh yeah, yeah, I can see now. You open them up after that and their nervous system looks like somebody glopped dark paint all over. Blood clots. I don't sell the bull sharks anyway; they're for my own work. But maybe next time—"
"No more clubbing, Doc, honest to God. What happens, I bring them sma-ma-ma-mall sharks aboard and they get to thrashing around and the people just go wild, thinking Jaws, like they're gonna get their toes bit off. I swear to Christ it's like the white Amos and Andy Show. "
"Maybe if you just stick them right on the ice."
"Right, yeah, that's what I'll do. Stick them right on the ice. Hell, no p-p-p-problem. Hey, you see MacKinley, remind him he's got a package UPS delivered for you."
Ford had been squatting by the tarpon, picking off the dollar-sized scales, inspecting the rings as Nicholes began to ready the fish for the taxidermist. Now he stood. He was expecting a shipment of Riker mounts and two dozen Wheaton specimen jars. "You want me to bring you a bottle of beer back, Jeth?"
"Sure, yeah, if they got any left. That party's shaping up pretty good down there on the Chris Craft. They've been making ba-ba-beer runs bout every half hour. There's a convention of women doctors staying over at Casa Ybel. You know, the business-suit kind that don't wear no bras, like maybe they used to be rich hippies before their daddies paid their medical school. Things ought to get pretty lively tonight."
Ford said, "Oh?"
"Yeah. Women doctors ain't exactly bashful when they get a few drinks down them, and they're a thousand miles from the country club. I'm going to put on a shirt with those flaps on the shoulders and introduce myself as Captain Nicholes. You want to stick around? Bring your painter friend who lives out on the point?"
Ford shook his head. "I want to open up this shark before he gets stiff. Besides, Jessi has a date tonight."
"Oh, so that's why you're pissed off. I know just how you feel; especially a woman like that who lives off by herself and owns cats. Woman has one cat, she's just a pet owner. Woman has three or four cats, though, that's different. That's the type woman lives alone cause she wants to. I fell for a woman like that once. They shouldn't call it love, they should give it another name, like a disease, maybe."
Ford was already walking toward the marina office as Nicholes added, "I'd rather have a ga-ga-ga-goiter than have to go through that shit again."
MacKinley said, "They'll have your telephone in tomorrow." He was standing behind the counter counting money, enjoying it. MacKinley was a New Zealander who had sailed around, bummed around, before embracing free enterprise on Sanibel Island.
Ford said, "I heard that two weeks ago." Then, replying to MacKinley's stare: "I know, I'm grumpy. Jeth already told me."
"The phone guy said it took so long because they've been so busy they've been working overtime, plus they wanted to run the cable underwater, but it got too complicated with the permits and stuff. So the office finally said he could run the cable along your dock. They don't like to do that."
"Can I get four dollars in change for the pay phone? And two quarts of beer. "
MacKinley said, "You can use this phone if you want. "
"It's long distance."
"You can pay me when I get the bill."
"The pay phone's okay, Mack. "
"Oh, private, huh? You got a package and some mail."
Ford said, "I'll be back in a few minutes."
He dialed the number from memory. It was a Washington, D.C., area code, but the number would ring at a compound outside Williamsburg, Virginia. Because it was after normal business hours, a woman answered, saying "Federal Transportation Pool, answering service." Ford, who knew he was not speaking to the Federal Transportation Pool or an answering service, said, "Extension W-H two oh-one." The woman said, "Who's calling, please?" A year ago he would have replied with his cryptonym—something which had always made him feel silly. Now he gave his real name. The woman said, "I'm afraid the extension is busy. Can they return your call?"
He gave her the number and stood in the neon haze of the booth watching moths, slapping mosquitoes, waiting. He was about to walk across the shell drive into the shadows of the mangroves to urinate, when the phone finally rang. A man said, "I have a message to call a Mr. Ford."
Ford said, "I need to get in touch with Harry Bernstein, Central American Division, Branch One. I don't know what his cryptonym is anymore."
"Branch what? I don't know what you're talking about. Did you want the Federal Transportation Pool?"
"I'm on Sanibel Island, Florida. I'll be at this number between nine and eleven in the morning. If he misses me, telephone information should have my home number under new listings as of tomorrow. I hope. "
The man said, "I think you must have the wrong number."
Ford said, "Thanks. Tell Bernstein it's very important."
Ford was still in the marina office when Jeth Nicholes returned from his upstairs apartment, nautical in khaki shirt with epaulets. It looked as if he had maybe washed here and there and combed his hair, too. "I'm wearing cologne," he told them.
MacKinley said, "You might as well stay for the party now, Doc. Seems like the guests are arriving."
Looking past MacKinley, who was behind the counter, Ford saw a group of women in expensive leisure clothes. Creased slacks and pastel blouses; vacation women with tawny, tended hair, drinks in hand, careful expressions of professional control on their faces.
"I like women da-da-da-doctors," said Nicholes to no one in particular, all three men staring out the window. "They always look like they grew up taking vitamins and ba-ba-brushing their teeth."
"Right," said Ford, "I know what you mean."
Nicholes said, "Another hour or so the dancing'll start. Then about midnight the dirty doctor stories and maybe a little cryin' cause they've been through so much together. That kind of stuff. Then they're gonna want to swim in the bay, sure as hell. No clothes. That's when the real fun will start. You really ought to stay, Doc; find you a nice smart one."
Ford said, "I've got to take a shower."
"Now you're talking," said MacKinley. "Might change that shirt of yours, too."
Ford headed toward the door, then stopped. "Hey, Jeth.
How many people do you figure know the way into Tequesta Bank?"
"Why, you want to ga-ga-go?"
"No. I was just wondering, that's all."