“Look, Quint, the point is that these dolphins are in danger of being wiped out, extinguished. And what you’re doing speeds up the process.”

“Don’t give me that horseshit! Tell the tuna boats to stop snaring porpoise in their nets. Tell the Jap long-liners to stop hookin’ ’em. They’ll tell you to go take a flying fuck at the moon. They got mouths to feed. Well, so do I. Mine.”

“I get your message,” said Hooper. “Take it while you can, and if after a while there’s nothing left, why, we’ll just start taking something else. It’s so stupid!”

“Don’t overstep, son,” said Quint. His voice was flat, toneless, and he looked directly into Hooper’s eyes.

“What?”

“Don’t go calling me stupid.”

Hooper hadn’t intended to give offense, and he was surprised to find offense taken. “I didn’t mean that, for God’s sake. I just meant …”

On his perch midway between the two men, Brody decided it was time to stop the argument. “Let’s drop it, Hooper, okay?” he said. “We’re not out here to have a debate on ecology.”

“What do you know about ecology, Brody?” said Hooper. “I bet all it means to you is someone telling you you can’t burn leaves in your backyard.”

“Listen, you. I don’t need any of your two-bit, rich-kid bullshit.”

“So that’s it! ‘Rich-kid bullshit.’ That rich-kid stuff really burns your ass, doesn’t it?”

“Listen, damn you! We’re out here to stop a fish from killing people, and if using one porpoise will help us save God knows how many lives, that seems to me a pretty good bargain.”

Hooper smirked and said to Brody, “So now you’re an expert on saving lives, are you? Let’s see. How many could have been saved if you’d closed the beaches after the …”

Brody was on his feet moving at Hooper before he consciously knew he had left his chair. “You shut your mouth!” he said. Reflexively, he dropped his right hand to his hip. He stopped short when he felt no holster at his side, scared by the sudden realization that if he had had a pistol he might have used it. He stood facing Hooper, who glowered back at him.

A quick, sharp laugh from Quint broke the thread of tension. “What a pair of assholes,” he said. “I seen that coming since you came aboard this morning.”

12

The second day of the hunt was as still as the first. When they left the dock at six in the morning, a light southwest breeze was blowing, promising to cool the day. The passage around Montauk Point was choppy. But by ten the breeze had died, and the boat lay motionless on the glassy sea, like a paper cup in a puddle. There were no clouds, but the sun was dulled by a heavy haze. Driving to the dock, Brody had heard on the radio that the pollution in New York City had reached a crisis stage—something about an air inversion. People were falling sick, and of those who were sick already, or very old, some were dying.