Chapter 9

On Thursday morning Brody got a call summoning him to Vaughan's office for a noon meeting of the Board of Selectmen. He knew what the subject of the meeting was: opening the beaches for the Fourth of July weekend that would begin the day after tomorrow. By the time he left his office for the town hall, he had marshaled and examined every argument he could think of. He knew his arguments were subjective, negative, based on intuition, caution, and an abiding, gnawing guilt. But Brody was convinced he was right. Opening the beaches would not be a solution or a conclusion. It would be a gamble that Amity --and Brody --could never really win. They would never know for certain that the shark had gone away. They would be living from day to day, hoping for a continuing draw. And one day, Brody was sure, they would lose. The town hall stood at the head of Main Street, where Main dead-ended and was crossed by Water Street. The building was a crown at the top of the T formed by Main and Water streets. It was an imposing, pseudo-Georgian affair --red brick with white trim

and two white columns framing the entrance. A World War II howitzer sat on the lawn in front of the town hall, a memorial to the citizens of Amity who had served in the war. The building had been given to the town in the late 1920s by an investment banker who had somehow convinced himself that Amity would one day be the hub of commerce on eastern Long Island. He felt that the town's public officials should work in a building befitting their destiny --not, as had been the case until then, conducting the

town's business in a tiny suite of airless rooms above a saloon called the Mill. (In February, 1930, the distraught banker, who had proved no more adept at predicting his own destiny than Amity's, tried, unsuccessfully, to reclaim the building, insisting he had

intended only to loan it to the town.)

The rooms inside the town hall were as preposterously grandiose as the exterior. They were huge and high-ceilinged, each with its own elaborate chandelier. Rather than pay to remodel the interior into small cubicles, successive Amity administrations had simply jammed more and more people into each room. Only the mayor was still permitted to perform his part-time duties in solitary splendor. Vaughan's office was on the southeast corner of the second floor, overlooking most of the town and, in the distance, the Atlantic Ocean.

Vaughan's secretary, a wholesome, pretty woman named Janet Sumner, sat at a desk outside the mayor's office. Though he saw her seldom, Brody was paternally fond of Janet, and he was idly mystified that --aged about twenty-six --she was still unmarried.

He usually made a point of inquiring about her love life before he entered Vaughan's office. Today he said simply, "Are they all inside?"

"All that's coming." Brody started into the office, and Janet said, "Don't you want

to know who I'm going out with?"

He stopped, smiled, and said, "Sure. I'm sorry. My mind's a mess today. So who is it?"

"Nobody. I'm in temporary retirement. But I'll tell you one thing." She lowered her voice and leaned forward. "I wouldn't mind playing footsie with that Mr. Hooper."

"Is he in there?"

Janet nodded.

"I wonder when he was elected selectman."

"I don't know," she said. "But he sure is cute."

"Sorry, Jan, he's spoken for."

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"By who?"

"Daisy Wicker."

Janet laughed.

"What's funny? I just broke your heart."

"You don't know about Daisy Wicker?"

"I guess I don't."

Again Janet lowered her voice. "She's queer. She's got a lady roommate and everything. She's not even AC-DC. She's just plain old DC."

"I'll be damned," said Brody. "You sure do have an interesting job, Jan." As he entered the office, Brody said to himself: Okay, so where the hell was Hooper yesterday?

As soon as he was inside the office, Brody knew he would be fighting alone. The only selectmen present were longtime friends and allies of Vaughan's: Tony Catsoulis, a builder who looked like a fire hydrant; Ned Thatcher, a frail old man whose family had owned the Abelard Arms Inn for three generations; Paul Conover, owner of Amity Liquors; and Rare Lopez (pronounced loaps), a dark-skinned Portuguese elected to the board by, and a vocal defender of, the town's black community. The four selectmen sat around a coffee table at one end of the immense room. Vaughan sat at his desk at the other end of the room. Hooper stood at a southerly window, staring out at the sea.

"Where's Albert Morris?" Brody said to Vaughan after perfunctorily greeting the others.

"He couldn't make it," said Vaughan. "I don't think he felt well."

"And Fred Potter?"

"Same thing. There must be a bug going around." Vaughan stood up. "Well, I guess we're all here. Grab a chair and pull it over by the coffee table." God, he looks awful, Brody thought as he watched Vanghan drag a straight-back chair across the room. Vaughan's eyes were sunken and dark. His skin looked like mayonnaise. Either he's got some fierce hangover, Brody decided, or else he hasn't slept in a month.

When everyone was seated, Vaughan said, "You all know why we're here. And I guess it's safe to say that there's only one of us that needs convincing about what we should do."

"You mean me," said Brody.

Vaughan nodded. "Look at it from our point of view, Martin. The town is dying. People are out of work. Stores that were going to open aren't. People aren't renting houses, let alone buying them. And every day we keep the beaches closed, we drive another nail into our own coffin. We're saying, officially, this town is unsafe: stay away

from here. And people are listening."

"Suppose you do open the beaches for the Fourth, Larry," said Brody. "And suppose someone gets killed."

"It's a calculated risk, but I think --we think --it's worth taking."

"Why?"

Vaughan said, "Mr. Hooper?"

"Several reasons," said Hooper. "First of all, nobody's seen the fish in a week."

"Nobody's been in the water, either."

"That's true. But I've been on the boat looking for him every day --every day but

one."

"I meant to ask you about that. Where were you yesterday?"

"It rained," said Hooper. "Remember?"

"So what did you do?"

"I just..." He paused momentarily, then said, "I studied some water samples. And read."

"Where? In your hotel room?"

"Part of the time, yeah. What are you driving at?"

"I called your hotel. They said you were out all afternoon."

"So I was out!" Hooper said angrily. "I don't have to report in every five minutes,

do I?"

"No. But you're here to do a job, not go galavanting around all those country file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (75 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

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you used to belong to."

"Listen, mister, you're not paying me. I can do whatever the fuck I want!" Vaughan broke in. "Come on. This isn't getting anybody anywhere."

"Anyway," said Hooper, "I haven't seen a trace of that fish. Not a sign. Then there's the water. It's getting warmer every day. It's almost seventy now. As a rule --I know, rules are made to be broken --great whites prefer cooler water."

"So you think he's gone farther north?"

"Or out deeper, into colder water. He could even have gone south. You can't predict what these things are going to do."

"That's my point," said Brody. "You can't predict it. So all you're doing is guessing."

Vaughan said, "You can't ask for a guarantee, Martin."

"Tell that to Christine Watkins. Or the Kintner boy's mother."

"I know, I know," Vaughan said impatiently. "But we have to do something. We can't sit around waiting for divine revelation. God isn't going to scribble across the sky,

'The shark is gone.' We have to weigh the evidence and make a decision." Brody nodded. "I guess. So what else has the boy genius come up with?"

"What's the matter with you?" said Hooper. "I was asked for my opinion."

"Sure," said Brody. "Okay. What else?"

"What we've known all along. That there's no reason for that fish to hang around here. I haven't seen him. The Coast Guard hasn't seen him. No new reef has popped up from the bottom. No garbage scows are dumping stuff into the water. No extraordinary fish life is around. There's just no reason for him to be here."

"But there never has been, has there? And he was here."

"That's true. I can't explain it. I doubt if anyone can."

"An act of God, then?"

"If you like."

"And there's no insurance against acts of God, is there, Larry?"

"I don't know what you're getting at, Martin," said Vaughan. "But we've got to make a decision. As far as I'm concerned, there's only one way to go."

"The decision's been made," said Brody.

"You could say that, yes."

"And when someone else gets killed? Who's taking the blame this time? Who's going to talk to the husband or the mother or the wife and tell them, 'We were just playing the odds, and we lost'?"

"Don't be so negative, Martin. When the time comes --if the time comes, and I'm betting it won't --we'll work that out then."

"Now, goddammit! I'm sick of taking all the shit for your mistakes."

"Wait a minute, Martin."

"I'm serious. If you want the authority for opening the beaches, then you take the

responsibility, too."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that as long as I'm chief of police in this town, as long as I'm supposed

to be responsible for public safety, those beaches will not be open."

"I'll tell you this, Martin," said Vaughan. "If those beaches stay closed over the

Fourth of July weekend, you won't have your job very long. And I'm not threatening. I'm telling you. We can still have a summer. But we have to tell people it's safe to come here.

Twenty minutes after they hear you won't open the beaches, the people of this town will impeach you, or find a rail and run you out on it. Do you agree, gentlemen?"

"Fuckin' A," said Catsoulis. "I'll give 'em the rail myself."

"My people got no work," said Lopez. "You don't let them work, you're not gonna work."

Brody said flatly, "You can have my job anytime you want it." A buzzer sounded on Vaughan's desk. He stood up angrily and crossed the room. He picked up the phone. "I told you we didn't want to be disturbed!" he snapped. There file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (76 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt was a moment's silence, and he said to Brody, "There's a call for you. Janet says it's urgent. You can take it here or outside."

"I'll take it outside," Brody said, wondering what could be urgent enough to call him out of a meeting with the selectmen. Another attack? He left the room and closed the door behind him. Janet handed him the phone on her desk, but before she could depress the flashing button to release it from "hold," Brody said, "Tell me: Did Larry ever call Albert Morris and Fred Potter this morning?"

Janet looked away from him. "I was told not to say anything about anything to anybody."

"Tell me, Janet. I need to know."

"Will you put in a good word for me with Golden Boy in there?"

"It's a deal."

"No. The only ones I called were the four in there."

"Push the button." Janet pushed the button, and Brody said, "Brody." Inside his office, Vaughan saw the light stop flashing, and he gently eased his finger off the receiver hook and placed his hand over the mouthpiece. He looked around the room, searching each face for a challenge. No one returned his gaze --not even Hooper, who had decided that the less he was involved in the affairs of Amity, the better off he would be.

"It's Harry, Martin," said Meadows. "I know you're in a meeting and I know you've got to get back to it. So just listen. I'll be brief. Larry Vaughan is up to his tail in

hock."

"I don't believe it."

"Listen, I said! The fact that he's in debt doesn't mean anything. It's who he's in

debt to that matters. A long time ago, maybe twenty-five years, before Larry had any money, his wife got sick. I don't remember what she had, but it was serious. And expensive. My memory's a little hazy on this, but I remember him saying afterward that he had been helped out by a friend, gotten a loan to pull him through. It must have been for several thousand dollars. Larry told me the man's name. I wouldn't have thought anything about it, but Larry said something about the man being willing to help out people in trouble. I was young then, and I didn't have any money either. So I made a note of the name and stuck it away in my files. It never occurred to me to look it up again until

you asked me to start snooping. The name was Tino Russo."

"Get to the point, Harry."

"I am. Now jump to the present. A couple of months ago, before this shark thing ever began, a company was formed called Caskata Estates. It's a holding company. At the beginning, it had no real assets. The first thing it bought was a big potato field just north

of Scotch Road. When the summer didn't shape up well, Caskata began to buy a few more properties. It was all perfectly legitimate. The company obviously has cash behind it --somewhere --and it was taking advantage of the down market to pick up properties at low prices. But then --as soon as the first newspaper reports about the shark thing came out --Caskata really started buying. The lower real estate prices fell, the more they

bought. All very quietly. Prices are so low now that it's almost like during the war, and Caskata's still buying. Very little money down. All short-term promissory notes. Signed by Larry Vaughan, who is listed as the president of Caskata. The executive vice-president of Caskata Estates is Tino Russo, who the Times has been listing for years as a secondechelon crumb in one of the five Mafia families in New York." Brody whistled through his teeth. "And the sonofabitch has been moaning about how nobody's been buying anything from him. I still don't understand why he's being pressured to open the beaches."

"I'm not sure. I'm not even sure he's still being pressured. He may be arguing out

of personal desperation. I imagine he's way overextended. He couldn't buy anything more no matter how low the prices go. The only way he can get out without being ruined is if the market turns around and the prices go up. Then he can sell what he's bought and get the profit. Or Russo can get the profit, however the deal's worked out. If prices keep file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (77 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt going down --in other words, if the town is still officially unsafe --his notes are going to

come due. He can't possibly meet them. He's probably got over half a million out now in cash down payments. He'll lose his cash, and the properties will either revert to the original owners or else get picked up by Russo if he can raise the cash. I don't imagine Russo would want to take the risk. Prices might keep going down, and then he'd take a bath along with Vaughan. My guess is that Russo still has hopes of big profits, but the only way he has a chance of getting them is if Vaughan forces the beaches open. Then, if nothing happens --if the shark doesn't kill anybody else --before long prices will go up

and Vaughan can sell out. Russo will take his cut --half the gross or whatever --and Caskata will be dissolved. Vaughan will get what's left, probably enough to keep him from being ruined. If the shark does kill someone else, then the only one who gets screwed is Vaughan. As far as I can tell, Russo doesn't have a nickel in cash in this outfit.

It's all --"

"You're a goddamned liar, Meadows!" Vaughan's voice shrieked into the phone,

"You print one word of that crap and I'll sue you to death!" There was a click as Vaughan slammed down the phone.

"So much for the integrity of our elected officials," said Meadows.

"What are you going to do, Harry? Can you print anything?"

"No, at least not yet. I can't document enough. You know as well as I do that the mob is getting more and more involved in Long Island --the construction business, restaurants, everything. But it's hard as hell to prove an actual illegality. In Vanghan's

case, I'm not sure there's anything illegal going on, in the strict sense of the word. In a

few days, with a little more digging, I should be able to put together a piece saying that

Vaughan has been associating with a known mobster. I mean a piece that will hold up if Vaughan ever did try to sue."

"It sounds to me like you've got enough now," said Brody.

"I have the knowledge, but not the proof. I don't have the documents, or even copies of them. I've seen them, but that's all."

"Do you think any of the selectmen are in on the deal? Larry loaded this meeting against me."

"No. You mean Catsoulis and Conover? They're just old buddies who owe Larry a favor or two. If Thatcher's there, he's too old and too scared to say a word against Larry.

And Lopez is straight. He's really concerned about jobs for his people."

"Does Hooper know any of this? He's making a pretty strong case for opening the beaches."

"No, I'm pretty sure he doesn't. I only wrapped it up myself a few minutes ago, and there are still a lot of loose threads."

"What do you think I ought to do? I may have quit already. I offered them my job before I came out to take your call."

"Christ, don't quit. First of all, we need you. If you quit, Russo will get together

with Vaughan and handpick your successor. You may think all your troops are honest, but I'll bet Russo could find one who wouldn't mind exchanging a little integrity for a few

dollars --or even just for a shot at the chief's job."

"So where does that leave me?"

"If I were you, I'd open the beaches."

"For God's sake, Harry, that's what they want! I might as well go on their payroll."

"You said yourself that there's a strong argument for opening the beaches. I think

Hooper's right. You're going to have to open them sometime, even if we never see that fish again. You might as well do it now."

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"What else can you do? You keep them closed, and Vaughan'll find a way to get rid of you and he'll open them himself. Then you'll be no use whatever. To anybody. At least this way, if you open the beaches and nothing happens, the town might have a chance. Then, maybe later, we can find a way to pin something on Vaughan. I don't know what, but maybe there'll be something."

"Shit," said Brody. "All right, Harry, I'll think about it. But if I open them, I'm

gonna do it my way. Thanks for the call." He hung up and went into Vaughan's office. Vaughan was standing at the southerly window, his back to the door. When he heard Brody walk in, he said, "The meeting's over."

"What do you mean, over?" said Catsoulis. "We ain't decided a fuckin' thing." Vaughan spun around and said, "It's over, Tony! Don't give me any trouble. It'll work out the way we want. Just give me a chance to have a little chat with the chief. Okay? Now everybody out."

Hooper and the four selectmen left the office. Brody watched Vaughan as he ushered them out. He knew he should feel pity for Vaughan, but he couldn't suppress the contempt that flowed over him. Vaughan shut the door, walked over to the couch, and sat down heavily. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "We were friends, Martin," he said. "I hope we can be again,"

"How much of what Meadows said is true?"

"I won't tell you. I can't. Suffice it to say that a man once did a favor for me and

now he wants me to repay the favor."

"In other words, all of it."

Vaughan looked up, and Brody saw that his eyes were red and wet. "I swear to you, Martin, if I had any idea how far this would go, I'd never have gotten into it."

"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 any more."

"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."

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"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. As Brody pulled open the glass door, he heard Loeffler say, "...like a goddam dictator, if you ask me. I don't know what's his problem." When he saw Brody, Loeffler blushed. He had been a skinny kid in high school, but as soon as he had taken over his father's business, he had succumbed to the terrible temptations that surrounded him for twelve hours of every day of every week, and nowadays he looked like a pear. Brody smiled. "You weren't talking about me, were you, Paulie?"

"What makes you think that?" said Loeffler, his blush deepening.

"Nothing. Never mind. If you'll make me a ham and Swiss on rye with mustard, I'll tell you something that will make you happy."

"That I have to hear." Loeffler began to assemble Brody's sandwich.

"I'm going to open the beaches for the Fourth."

"That makes me happy."

"Business bad?"

"Bad."

"Business is always bad with you."

"Not like this. If it doesn't get better soon, I'm gonna be the cause of a race riot."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm supposed to hire two delivery boys for the summer. I'm committed. But I can't afford two. Let alone I don't have enough work for two, the way things are. So I can

only hire one. One's white and one's black."

"Which one are you hiring?"

"The black one. I figure he needs the money more. I just thank God the white one isn't Jewish."

Brody arrived home at 5:10. As he pulled into the driveway, the back door to the house opened, and Ellen ran toward him. She had been crying, and she was still visibly upset.

"What's the matter?" he said.

"Thank God you're home. I tried to reach you at work, but you had already left. Come here. Quick." She took him by the hand and led him past the back door to the shed where they kept the garbage cans. "In there," she said, pointing to a can. "Look." Brody removed the lid from the can. Lying in a twisted heap atop a bag of garbage was Sean's cat --a big, husky tom named Frisky. The cat's head had been twisted completely around, and the yellow eyes over-looked its back.

"How the hell did that happen?" said Brody. "A car?"

"No, a man." Ellen's breath came in sobs. "A man did it to him. Sean was right there when it happened. The man got out of a car over by the curb. He picked up the eat and twisted its head until the neck broke. Scan said it made a horrible snap. Then he dropped the cat on the lawn and got back in his car and drove away."

"Did he say anything?"

"I don't know. Sean's inside. He's hysterical, and I don't blame him. Martin, what's

happening?"

Brody slammed the top back on the can. "God damn sonofabitch!" he said. His throat felt tight, and he clenched his teeth, popping the muscles on both sides of his jaw.

"Let's go inside."

Five minutes later, Brody marched out the back door. He tore the lid off the garbage can and threw it aside. He reached in and pulled out the cat's corpse. He took it to his car, pitched it through the open window, and climbed in. He backed out of the driveway and screeched away. A hundred yards down the road, in a burst of fury, he turned on his siren. It took him only a couple of minutes to reach Vaughan's house, a file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt (80 of 131) [1/18/2001 2:02:22 AM]

file:///C|/My Documents/Mike's Shit/utilities/books/pdf format/Benchley, Peter - Jaws.txt large, Tudor-style stone mansion on Sprain Drive, just off Scotch Road. He got out of the car, dragging the dead cat by one of its hind legs, mounted the front steps, and rang the bell. He hoped Eleanor Vaughan wouldn't answer the door.

The door opened, and Vaughan said, "Hello, Martin. I..." Brody raised the eat and pushed it toward Vaughan's face. "What about this, you cocksucker?" Vaughan's eyes widened. "What do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about?"

"One of your friends did this. Right in my front yard, right in front of my kid. They murdered my fucking cat! Did you tell them to do that?"

"Don't be crazy, Martin." Vaughan seemed genuinely shocked. "I'd never do anything like that. Never."

Brody lowered the cat and said, "Did you call your friends after I left?"

"Well... yes. But just to say that the beaches would be open tomorrow."

"That's all you said?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You lying fuck!" Brody hit Vaughan in the chest with the cat and let it fall to the

floor. "You know what the guy said after he strangled my eat? You know what he told my eight-year-old boy?"

"No. Of course I don't know. How would I know?"

"He said the same thing you did. He said: 'Tell your old man this --"Be subtle."

'"

Brody turned and walked down the steps, leaving Vaughan standing over the gnarled bundle of bone and fur.