“How much are you into him for?”

“The original amount was ten thousand. I tried to pay it back twice, a long time ago, but I could never get them to cash my checks. They kept saying it was a gift, not to worry about it. But they never gave me back my marker. When they came to me a couple of months ago, I offered them a hundred thousand dollars—cash. They said it wasn’t enough. They didn’t want the money. They wanted me to make a few investments. Everybody’d be a winner, they said.”

“And how much are you out now?”

“God knows. Every cent I have. More than every cent. Probably close to a million dollars.” Vaughan took a deep breath. “Can you help me, Martin?”

“The only thing I can do for you is put you in touch with the D.A. If you’d testify, you might be able to slap a loan-sharking rap on these guys.”

“I’d be dead before I got home from the D.A.’s office, and Eleanor would be left without anything. That’s not the kind of help I meant.”

“I know.” Brody looked down at Vaughan, a huddled, wounded animal, and he did feel compassion for him. He began to doubt his own opposition to opening the beaches. How much of it was the residue of prior guilt, how much fear of another attack? How much was he indulging himself, playing it safe, and how much was prudent concern for the town? “I’ll tell you what, Larry. I’ll open the beaches. Not to help you, because I’m sure if I didn’t open them you’d find a way to get rid of me and open them yourself. I’ll open the beaches because I’m not sure I’m right anymore.”

“Thanks, Martin. I appreciate that.”

“I’m not finished. Like I said, I’ll open them. But I’m going to post men on the beaches. And I’m going to have Hooper patrol in the boat. And I’m going to make sure every person who comes down there knows the danger.”

“You can’t do that!” Vaughan said. “You might as well leave the damn things closed.”

“I can do it, Larry, and I will.”

“What are you going to do? Post signs warning of a killer shark? Put an ad in the newspaper saying ‘Beaches Open—Stay Away’? Nobody’s going to go to the beach if it’s crawling with cops.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. But something. I’m not going to make believe nothing ever happened.”

“All right, Martin.” Vaughan rose. “You don’t leave me much choice. If I got rid of you, you’d probably go down to the beach as a private citizen and run up and down yelling ‘Shark!’ So all right. But be subtle—if not for my sake, for the town’s.”

Brody left the office. As he walked down the stairs, he looked at his watch. It was past one o’clock, and he was hungry. He went down Water Street to Loeffler’s, Amity’s only delicatessen. It was owned by Paul Loeffler, a classmate of Brody’s in high school.