Quint picked up the M-1, released the safety, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and said, “Now.”

Brody flipped the lever. There was a sharp, high report, a mild kick, and the beer can was launched from his hand straight up into the air. It spun, and in the bright sunlight it shone like a sparkler. At the height of its track—the split-second point when it hung suspended in air—Quint fired. He aimed low, to catch the can as it started down, and he hit its bottom. There was a loud whang, and the can cartwheeled down into the water. It did not sink immediately, but floated at a cockeyed angle, bobbing on the surface.

“Want to try?” said Quint.

“You bet,” said Brody.

“Remember to try to catch it right at the top and lead it a little bit low. If you go for it in full rise or full fall, you’ve got to lead by a whole lot, and it’s much harder. If you miss it, drop your sights, lead it again, and squeeze off another round.”

Brody exchanged the launcher for the M-1 and stationed himself at the gunwale. As soon as Quint had reloaded the launcher, Brody shouted, “Now!” and Quint released the can. Brody fired once. Nothing. He tried again at the top of the arc. Nothing. And he led it by too much as it fell. “Boy, that’s a bitch,” he said.

“Takes some getting used to,” said Quint. “See if you can hit it now.”

The can floated upright in the still water, fifteen or twenty yards from the boat. Half of it was exposed above water. Brody aimed—consciously a hair low—and squeezed the trigger. There was a metallic plop as the bullet hit the can at the water line. The can vanished.

“Hooper?” said Quint. “There’s one can left, and we can always drink more beer.”

“No thanks,” said Hooper.

“What’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to shoot, that’s all.”

Quint smiled. “You worried about the cans in the water? That’s an awful lot of tin we’re dropping into the ocean. Probably rust and sink to the bottom and clutter up everything down there.”

“That’s not it,” said Hooper, careful not to rise to Quint’s bait. “It’s nothing. I just don’t feel like it.”

“Afraid of guns?”

“Afraid? No.”

“Ever shot one?”

Brody was fascinated to see Quint press, and pleased to see Hooper squirm, but he didn’t know why Quint was doing it. Maybe Quint got ornery when he was bored and wasn’t catching fish.

Hooper didn’t know what Quint was doing either, but he didn’t like it. He felt he was being set up to be knocked down. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve shot guns before.”

“Where? In the service?”

“No. I …”

“Were you in the service?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Christ, I’d even bet you’re still a virgin.”

Brody looked at Hooper’s face to see his response, and for a split second he caught Hooper looking at him.