“How could you follow him?” Brody asked. “Why didn’t he go deep?”

“Couldn’t. Not with that barrel following him. They float. He dragged it down for a little while, but before too long the strain got to him and he came to the surface. So we just kept following the barrel. After a couple hours we got another two irons in him, and he finally came up, real quiet, and we throwed a rope round his tail and towed him to shore. And all the time that customer’s going bullshit, ’cause he’s sure we’re sinking and gonna get et up.

“You know the funniest thing? When we got the fish back and we was all tied up safe and sound and not likely to sink, that dumb fuck of a customer comes up to me and offers me five hundred bucks if I’ll say he caught the fish on hook and line. Iron holes all over it, and he wants me to swear he caught it on hook and line! Then he starts giving me some song and dance about how I ought to cut my fee in half because I didn’t give him a chance to catch the fish on hook and line. I told him that if I had let him try, I’d be out one hook, three hundred yards of wire line, probably one reel and one rod, and definitely one fish. Then he says what about all the valuable publicity I’ll be getting from a trip he’s paying for. I told him he could give me the money and keep the publicity and try to spread it on a cracker for himself and his wife.”

“I wondered about that hook-and-line business,” said Brody.

“What do you mean?”

“What you were saying. You wouldn’t try to catch the fish we’re after on a hook and line, would you?”

“Shit, no. From what I hear, the fish that’s been bothering you makes the one we got look like a pup.”

“Then how come the lines are out?”

“Two reasons. First, a big white might just take a little squid bait like that. It’d cut the line pretty quick, but at least we’d know he was around. It’s a useful telltale. The other reason is, you never know what a chum slick will bring around. Even if your fish doesn’t show up, we might run into something else that’ll take the bait.”

“Like what?”

“Who knows? Maybe something useful. I’ve had swordfish take a drifting squid, and with all the federal bullshit about mercury no one’s catching them commercially anymore, so you can get two fifty a pound for broadbill in Montauk. Or maybe just something that’ll give you a boot in the ass to catch, like a mako. If you’re paying four hundred bucks, you might as well have some fun for your money.”

“Suppose the big white did come around,” said Brody.

“What would be the first thing you’d do?”

“Try to keep him interested enough so he’d stick around till we could get at him. It’s no big trick; they’re pretty stupid fish. It depends on how he finds us. If he pulls the same crap the other one did and attacks the boat, we’ll just start pumping irons into him as fast as we can, then pull away from him and let him wear himself down. If he takes one of the lines, there’ll be no way to stop him if he wants to run. But I’ll try to turn him toward us—tighten the drag way down and take the risk of tearing loose. He’ll probably bend the hook out pretty quick, but we might get him close enough for an iron. And once I’ve got one iron in him, it’s only a matter of time.