THE

WERESHARK


By


Robert Glover

 THE WERESHARK

The first tug on the line came a half hour before dawn. Hank Wilson had

been sitting in his fold-out beach chair, the butt end of a fishing rod jammed
into the sand beside him. Light from a small headlamp shined down on the

previous day’s football scores. Hank flicked the light off and peered out at the

ocean’s dark black plain. Only Hank, the seagulls, and a few piping plovers

awaited the upcoming sunrise. He took a bite of a cheese danish and a swig of

coffee and waited for another yank. Nothing. Flicking the light back on, he

turned to the comics. For a fisherman, patience was a virtue. For a retired

fisherman, it was a requirement.

More often than not, surfcasting at Bluepoint turned up the bottom-

feeders: fluke or another member of the flounder family. Fine by Hank. Scale

‘em, gut ‘em, and grill ‘em. They all tasted just fine. Other days, he was lucky

if he hooked an old sneaker.

Hank poured another swig of coffee into the thermos cap and flipped the

page to the crossword puzzle. He pulled a pencil out of the inside pocket of his

down vest and scribbled his answers. In the midst of three across, a four letter
word for “fraught with danger,” the slack fishing line knifed upwards through

the water’s surface, the rod humped down, the reel whirled, and the line
zipped outwards. He wrote the word “dire” in the boxes and slid the pencil

back in his pocket. Some days, he would rather sit than fish. This was one of
them. He folded the paper and shoved it under the chair while the clacking

reel slowed. Thirty yards had run out, maybe forty. He picked up the rod,
pulled back on the tip to let out slack, and reversed the line with the same care

his mother used tipping a teacup to her lips.

 Keeping a slow and steady pace, Hank waded up to his calves into the
surf. Icy waves broke onto his kneecaps. His toes sunk into the sand. As he

reeled in his catch, a sharp, gray triangle broke the water’s surface to his right,
and veered towards the line. Shark! The pole slipped from his grip. Hank

grabbed it before it submerged, and watched the dorsal fin rip a seam in the

ocean. He backed out of the surf.

Hank couldn’t recall the last time he had seen one so close to shore, if
ever. It was a big one judging by the fin. He backed farther away from the

water onto dry sand. The shark trailed the struggling fish. Thirty feet, fifteen,

five. Hank continued to reel in. No more than twenty yards offshore, the

shark intercepted Hank’s catch.

Hank waited.

Instead of ripping its prey from the line, however, the shark held it. For

an instant, it hovered in the water. Hank rotated the reel. It held. He tried

pulling upwards on the rod. Didn’t budge. He and the shark were connected
by a thin, taut line. Hank reached into a pocket for his utility knife and was

about to cut the line and go back to his crossword puzzle but changed his

mind. The longer he and the shark continued this stalemate, the more curious
he became. He put the blade back and tried the reel again. At last it gave.

With the slow patience of the minute hand on a clock, he rotated the
reel. The shark wouldn’t allow him to turn it any faster. The beast gave him
just enough slack, and applied just enough force to maintain a steady, even

rate. Only later did it occur to Hank that he was not reeling the shark in - the
shark was reeling him in. That didn’t cross his mind standing on shore.

Instead, he thought of the taste of shark steaks marinated in a lemon-dill

sauce, their smell as he seared them on the grill. Wouldn’t that be something?
A few more clicks and he’d have the world’s best fish story to tell.

Too bad for Hank the shark had a different plan. Thirty yards offshore, it
decided to stop. The gray fin paused like a sail waiting to fill with wind.

Hank applied as much strength as he could to the line without snapping it.

The fin wouldn’t budge.

“Come on,” he muttered, waiting for the shark to swim forward. The
rod arced under his right armpit. He pulled back with his hands, but not too

much. No movement. “Okay, shark, you want a fight, you got one.”

Hank forgot his fear, and marched into the breakers. The line grew slack,

and he hauled in the excess. The reel whirred. Brine foamed over his boots. It

kicked up his calves and sloshed up his thighs as he waded out from shore. He

cringed when the cold foam touched his crotch, but sloshed forward. Deep

orange hues streaked the sky. He reeled and reeled. It was easy. Too easy. He

stopped. The pole stood straight up in the air, and the line went slack. He
stared out. The gray fin sliced through the water towards him.

When Hank would tell the story in the future, he would regale his

listeners with the tale of his heroic battle in the shoals: how he wrestled the
shark to its back, how he pinned it in the sand and delivered blow after blow to

its underbelly, how he felt so sorry for the beaten creature he let it go, and
watched it swim back into the depths from whence it came. Hank’s future
mind, however, neglected to tell his present mind what to do. Without that

advice, he dropped his rod, turned, and hurdled wave after wave in a mad
sprint back to shore.

Thinking the shark was behind him, Hank slowed in the shallows and
slumped to his knees, water ebbing and flowing over his toes. He panted out
his relief. He was safe. Sand shifted behind him and he looked over his

shoulder. Only a foot from his heels, carving a gulch in the sand, the shark
slithered towards him. It opened its mouth, and nipped the air. He felt its

breath on his heel. When he told the story later, he would also leave out his

high-pitched whinny as he bolted to his knees.

From that moment forward, Hank ran as fast as his social security
eligible legs could carry him. Up the beach, past his chair, into the dunes, and

beyond. With a last glance behind him, he saw the shark stand on two stubby

legs, pop his danish into its mouth with two stubby hands, unscrew the

thermos, and guzzle the remainder of his coffee. He could have sworn he

heard it belch.

* * * * *

Johnny Dodson stretched out on a bench above the narrow inlet to the

marina. As the sun rose out over the ocean, the full moon, bright and
beautiful, set behind him. He leaned his head back and stared up at the
remaining stars. The first cold snap of autumn hadn’t arrived yet, so he’d left

his jacket back in the apartment – with Connie.

After he and Connie had closed Morgan’s, the bar-restaurant she owned,

they had walked back to his apartment as they had every night since she’d
hired him and made love. Fine by him. She was a good-looking broad for her

age and she had a thing for younger men; otherwise, he wouldn’t have gotten
the bartending gig. As always, she had left him to go home to her daughter.
Also fine by him. The older broads were wild rides. He needed time to
recuperate. Tonight, he hadn’t been able to doze off, so he had decided to take

a walk.
The inlet was quiet except for the occasional tree shaking in the breeze,

and the constant slap of waves against the rocks. A light wind brushed his

face. Where had he spent the previous autumn? Tucson? Rapid City?

Wherever it was, he had missed the ocean. He had missed the sunrises and the
aroma of the salt and seaweed, dank creatures burrowing in rocky chambers,

trapped fish lying in pails of water on passing boats. He guzzled a lungful of

this coastal stew and exhaled with pleasure.

Tilting his head backwards to stare at the stars, he almost missed the

movement up the embankment on the opposite side of the canal. He yawned.

When he opened his eyes again, he looked over and focused on a figure

resembling nothing he had ever seen before. It could have been another rock

carved into an impossible shape by the tide’s endless migration - except it

moved. He had no idea what it was.

He got up and sauntered to the edge of the bank, placed one foot on a

rock, and leaned out as far as he could while he cataloged the details. It was
gray. It had a dorsal fin. It had a long tail fin it dragged on the ground. It had

no neck. Its head if you could call it a head, was shaped like a bullet. It had
arms and legs. Whatever it was, it maneuvered itself on and over rocks,
bending every few steps and peering into cracks.

Johnny walked farther along the inlet until he stood behind a tree
opposite the thing on the other side. It hadn’t noticed him and he wanted to

keep it that way. Moving in jerks, it waddled more than walked and kept
reaching down, palming rocks with one hand that Johnny would have had a
difficult time budging with two. The thing’s mouth was huge and held rows of

jagged teeth. It looked like a shark, but sharks didn’t stand upright and walk
on land.

After rolling one rock aside, it reached down and pulled up a bottle.

Johnny couldn’t make out the contents. The creature uncapped the bottle and

wiped the lip with one of its stubby arms. It was afraid of germs? It heaved
the bottle upwards and took a swig, then recapped the bottle and dropped it on

the ground. It reached under the rocks again and pulled out a towel. With a

brisk back and forth motion, it rubbed the towel across its back, front, and fins.

How it pursed its lips together, Johnny didn’t know, but it whistled the melody

to “Tequila Sunrise.”

Behind him, a car turned a corner. The creature torqued its body hard

left and stared at Johnny, who tried to duck back behind the tree but wasn’t

quick enough. Damn, it saw him. Oh, hell, he could outrun that thing. Giving
up his cover, he stepped around to look across the inlet again. Forty yards

away, the creature was gone, the only trace of it the nub of a disappearing fin

gliding under the surface.

The car pulled up to the curb and stopped. A door opened and closed.

Johnny, oblivious to the footsteps approaching him, stared at the blank face of
the ocean. Nothing broke the surface. “Excuse me?” Johnny kept staring.
“Uh, excuse me.” He felt a tap on his shoulder and came up for air. The

town’s Sheriff held his hands in the air as though Johnny had pointed a gun at
him and asked for money.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m supposed to stop and talk to any
suspicious people. I’m not saying you’re suspicious. I just, well, you’re out
late at night, and who knows what you’re doing. I’m not saying you’re doing

anything, certainly not anything wrong. I just, well, I’m just the Sheriff, and
you know, I have to ask.”

“That’s okay, Sheriff-“

“Call me Tom,” he said.

“Tom?”
“Yes, that’s my first name.” He lowered his arms to extend hands to

grab Johnny’s, which had risen. “Tom Frieda. What’s yours?”

“Johnny Dodson.” The Sheriff used both of his hands to shake

Johnny’s.

“Johnny, it’s great to meet you. What a relief that is, huh? I mean, just in

case I have to arrest you or something, we’ve got the introductions out of the

way.”

“Arrest me? Hold on, Sheriff, I’m not doing anything wrong! I’v just
been sitting here.“ Johnny stopped as the Sheriff sniffled.

Sheriff Tom took out a handkerchief and dabbed his nose. “Do you have

to yell?” Johnny watched the Sheriff slump over and his shoulders heave. “I’m
just, I’m just trying to do my job. That’s all. I didn’t, I didn’t say I was going

to arrest you. Did I? I just said ‘in case.’”

Johnny mumbled, “Sorry.” Was this guy for real?
“That’s okay.” The Sheriff wiped a few tears away. “I just want the two

of us to have an understanding. We do have an understanding, don’t we?” The

Sheriff pleaded with him.

“Uh, yes, sir.”

 “Tom.”
“Yes, Tom.”

“Okay then. That’s great.” He grabbed Johnny’s hand again and shook
it. The guy liked to shake hands. He stared at Johnny with the eyes of a puppy

that’s just fetched a ball and brought it back and was now waiting for a treat.

“You seem like a nice young man, what a relief that is, so I’m going to be on

my way. It was a pleasure meeting you, Johnny.”

“Likewise.”

The Sheriff let go of his hand and got into his car. “A real pleasure,” he

repeated before getting in. “See you,” he said out of the open window and

waved. Johnny waved back. He wasn’t sure what was more curious: the

creature he’d seen in the water or the Sheriff.

* * * * *

Back behind the bar at Morgan’s, Johnny was mixing a martine for a

customer when in walked a shark. In addition to a big grin, it was wearing

shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt with a pineapple pattern. On its head was a
wide-brimmed straw hat with a blue band around its circumference. This was

one cool shark. None of the other customers paid attention. The shark sat
down at the bar and removed its sunglasses. “Jim Beam on the rocks,” it said.

“Let’s see some ID,” Johnny responded. It made no sense to ID a shark,

but it was his job and he had to do it.

“ID?” The shark leaned forward. “I’m a shark.”

“Don’t cop an attitude with me, fish-face, or I’ll toss you.”
 The shark reached across the bar and grabbed Johnny by the shoulder. It
shook him. And shook him. And shook him...

Johnny felt the sun on his face and a hand shaking his shoulder.
“Wake up. Johnny, wake up.”

He started. He felt stiff and cold from having spent the night on the

bench overlooking the inlet, keeping an eye out for the walking shark. He

shivered and rubbed his neck. Lacey Morgan, Connie’s sixteen year old
daughter, circled the bench and sat next to him. She had long dark hair, the

opposite of her mother, who was blond and kept her hair short. She wore

jeans and a turtleneck sweater.

“I can’t believe you slept on this bench last night. What were you

doing?” She was a good kid, cute for sixteen, on her way to being a real

knockout. Another ten years and he’d have been interested. Okay, five would

have done the trick. Nah, two just to be legal. She took off her backpack and

slung it to her side out of the way. Nothing was between them.
“I wasn’t sleeping. I was meditating,” he said. The walking shark was

fresh in his mind. It could have been a practical joker, someone dressed up in

a costume for whatever reason. A costume party? He doubted it. And why
not ditch the costume when it came out of the water? Why be in the water at

all? Why go back into the water after it had been discovered? Strange. It had
to be a costume though.
“You? Meditating?” The little wise-ass smirked at him.

“Me? Yes me. I was just centering myself on my, uh, tantric chakra.”
He pressed his palms together in a prayer position in front of his chest.

She rolled her eyes and looked away. “You’re such a bullshit artist.”
 His head dropped to his chest, feigning extreme pain. “Now you’ve
ruined everything.” He crossed his arms. “The whole purity of my practice has

been upset by your profanity.”

“Yeah, right. So what were you doing out here last night?”

“Nothing, I just decided to go for a walk.”

“See anything peculiar?”

“Like what?” He widened his eyes. “You see anything peculiar?”

“Like what?” She met his gaze with a surprising intensity. Her eyes

were brown, lighter than her hair. Her lips were parted. He felt his throat

parch. He wished he’d had a chance to brush his teeth. “All right, keep your

little secret,” she said with a smile that could have reached from one side of

the canal to the other.

He relaxed. He breathed again, not realizing he had stopped. “Keep a

secret from you? I wouldn’t dream of it. You know I tell you everything.”

She reached for her backpack and slung it over one shoulder. “Right.”
“What are you doing up at this hour anyway?”

She stood up. “Ever hear of a thing called school? Most people have

gone to it at some point in their lives.” She was enjoying her victory. “You
might remember it as something called detention.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Books, teachers, security guards, metal detectors.
I remember now.”
“Thought you might. Anyway, I gotta’ go.” She got up and strolled

away. “See you later.”

“See ya’.” He took a long slow breath to bring his heart rate down.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he watched her cross the street. He loved
that swish.
She looked back. “Caught you, you perv.” Yeah, you did. Her laughter

trailed behind her as she marched down the street. He caught himself taking
another look and jerked his head away, focused on the opposite side of the

canal. He decided to wander over to the spot where a shark had walked on

land. In his mind, it was as farfetched as Christ walking on water – but maybe

miracles did happen?

He stood up and paced the edge of the canal, past Morgan’s on the left-

hand corner, followed by a few tourist shops. Random racks of postcards, tee

shirts, and other worthless tchochkes crammed all available window space.

Beyond that was a leather shop with prices better than he’d seen in border

towns. He’d stopped in the previous week to buy a wallet. Just past the tourist

shops came GoGo’s Doughnut Shop, a Rocky Point landmark since 1990. A

jelly doughnut and coffee before he made his way to the other side of the inlet

sounded perfect. He crossed the street.

As he opened the door to GoGo’s, his mind shifted from sharks to the

gorgeous two-legged female standing at the counter. In spite of the colder

Autumn weather, she was dressed in cut-off shorts and a cut-off tee shirt,
displaying the byproduct of daily workouts and devastating genetics. The ends

of her long, brown hair reached just beyond the fringe of her shirt, leading
Johnny’s eyes to the hollow indentation at the base of her spine, down further
to the firm curve of her behind, past the fringe of shorts to her taut, tan legs.

Lovely. Their eyes met.

She had brown eyes to match her hair and her complexion. She had a

wide mouth, but not too wide. Her nose was straight and small. Her features
were sharp. Johnny didn’t see anything about her he didn’t like. He felt his
lips part and his eyes widen. She looked him over with complete disinterest,

her expression inflexible, then turned back to GoGo who was standing there
with her doughnuts. Johnny almost drooled.

“Eight dolla’s,” said GoGo, whose l’s sounded like r’s even after twenty

years in the States.

She had purchased GoGo’s baker’s dozen. Whom was she buying them
for? Her figure didn’t indicate high doughnut consumption. He stepped inside

the shop and the glass door swung closed on its hinges. She dropped eight

dollars on the counter, picked up her doughnuts, and walked straight towards

him. He stepped aside and pushed the door open with his left hand, slapping

his never-fail smile across his face.

“Good morning. Lovely day for-“

Snap!

She snapped at him! A slight growl first, followed by open jaws,

flashing teeth, and a clacking chomp as the jaws clamped shut an inch from

his face. He bobbed back out of the way. She continued past him and walked

across the street without a look behind her, while Johnny, too stunned to
speak, stood in the door to GoGo’s watching her go. She got behind the wheel

of a flatbed pickup truck and drove away. Mystified and excited, he stood in
the doorway until he heard GoGo’s voice calling him.
“Johnny? Johnny?”

He let the door slide shut and turned in a daze. Mr. GoGo was an older
Japanese man who had taken a liking to Johnny and made it clear he he had

more than a paternal interest in him. He stood behind the counter waiting for
Johnny underneath a pair of samurai swords hung high on the wall. Johnny
assumed they were a gimmick and had never bothered to ask GoGo about

them. As he shook the curvaceous cobwebs from his mind, GoGo looked him
up and down with a hunter’s smile. GoGo knew he shacked up with Connie,

but that didn’t matter to him in the least.

“Out late last night?” GoGo asked.

“Couldn’t sleep, GoGo.” Nor could he get the image of the woman who
had just left out of his head.

“Me neither, Johnny. You should have stopped by.” GoGo winked and

smiled in a way that was hard to believe even gay men would find attractive.

Johnny placed both palms on the formica counter as he reviewed the

selections on the wall above GoGo. “Oh really?” he said. “Did you make a

special batch of doughnuts for me? Maybe some with-” he paused for dramatic

effect and leaned forward, “-cream filling?” He stared into GoGo’s eyes and

arched his eyebrows. Johnny had the bad habit of flirting with everyone, even
gay men.

GoGo pointed to the rows of doughnuts displayed beneath the glass

counter. “Mmmm, what about this cruller? It’s long and hard.”
Johnny burlesqued his hands through the air and plastered his bent wrist

against his hip. Staring at the glazed cylinder beneath the glass, he said, “Just
not wide enough.”
“Oh, Johnny,” GoGo blushed, “You are a very naughty boy.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He ordered his usual jelly doughnut and
coffee and left knowing GoGo’s eyes were on his ass. Why not give him a

show? He sashayed out the door and across the street, swishing his hips back
and forth like a pendulum. He waited until he was on the other side of the
street before he broke out laughing, then continued along the pedestrian path

over the bridge to the other side of the canal.

One jelly doughnut later, he balanced his coffee in hand, climbed over

the concrete bulwark that protected the town from winter swells, and dropped

onto the rocks below. He had a good idea where the animal’s boooty was

located and made his way in that direction, crossing a jigsaw puzzle of jagged,
black boulders. When he reached the general vicinity, he stopped for a sip of

his now lukewarm coffee and looked around. A few steps closer to the water,

he spied a gap in the rocks and made his way towards it. A hole opened at his

feet. He looked into it. An empty bottle lay on its side with the label upside-

down. Dishing the coffee, he knelt down and reached for the bottle, but as he

wrapped his fingers around the neck something sharp scraped the back of his

hand.

“Damn it!” he shouted and stood. A red stripe oozed blood. He reached
into his back pocket for napkins and patted them across the wound. Broken

glass? Must be. He knelt again and reached for the bottle, this time pinching

the neck between his thumb and index finger. He lifted it and turned it around.
Jim Beam. At least, the creature liked decent bourbon.

He put the bottle down and took another look in the hole, expecting to
see spikes of broken glass jutting up from the ground. Instead, he saw
something that struck him as odd at first, but then made complete sense. A

pale white, triangular object was embedded in the sand. He pinched its flat
sides and lay it across his palm. Two sharp edges joined at an even sharper

point. The tip was red with his blood. The base of the triangle, the side that
was embedded in the sand, had several uneven protuberances. Roots. It was a
tooth. A shark’s tooth, he guessed, and slipped it into his pocket.

* * * * *

Johnny strolled into Morgan’s fifteen minutes earlier than his five

o’clock start time. He had napped that afternoon and felt refreshed for both

shifts, the one behind the bar and the one with Connie afterwards. When he

entered Morgan’s, he always felt like he was walking onto the bridge of a ship,

not that he had any clue what the bridge of a ship was like. Connie’s father

had collected nautical memorabilia, old liferings and signs, navigation

equipment, and old control consoles with brass handles that could take you

from “Full Speed Ahead” to “Full Reverse” in one great arc. Hanging on the
wood-panelled walls were paintings and photographs of old ships and sea

battles. Nelson defeating the French. Or was it the Spanish? He wasn’t sure,

though Connie could recite dates, names, places, you name it - a gift she

inherited from her father.

To his right was the bar. Johnny walked towards it, away from the tables
where a couple sat perusing menus. At the end of the bar, Connie’s face was

buried in a ledger. He was about to shout out his usual hello, a formal greeting,
good evening, Ms. Morgan, which would make her smile and flip him the

finger, when he felt a hand on his ass. Someone grabbed a chunk of his right
cheek and pinched, squeezing a yelp out of him and making him jump forward

several inches at the same time he torqued his body backwards to see Lacey’s
smiling face. “Hey, Johnny.” She walked past him, up to her mom, and
announced that she had arrived. Connie, who hadn’t looked up once through
the whole episode, raised her head and kissed her daughter.

“Hi,” he rubbed his ass, “Lacey.”

As Johnny rounded the bar, rubbing and kneading like pastry dough,

Connie grilled Lacey about school and soccer practice, her friends –

everything a mother needed to know. Johnny watched them while he prepped

the bar, checking the mixers, cutting up lime wedges and filling a bin of
cherries. His own mother was back in Arizona. When was the last time he’d

talked to her? She tended to drink a fair amount, hence his early experience

with mixology. He’d learned how to make a vodka tonic by his sixth birthday

and an extra dry martini in a chilled cocktail glass by his eighth. Mom was

particular. You had to chill the glass. And no olive. She preferred a lemon

twist.

He looked up as Lacey walked by him, towards her post as hostess. She

smiled and waved. He shook his finger back at her. Her smiling features
changed to one of big-eyed incomprehension, and she shrugged and raised her

hands palm upwards.

“John?” It sounded so strange at first he didn’t realize Connie was

calling him. “John?” He turned towards her. She had never called him John

before. Nobody did. Connie leaned on the bar. Her eyebrows arced like the
crest of a tsunami, another bad sign.
“Yes?” He had had a blank expression, the kind you get when your

mother asks you to make a sea breeze for the first time.
“Can I see you in my office for a minute?” she asked then walked away,

a power walk too fast for him to keep up with. The fastest walkers he had ever
seen were women in their forties and fifties bustling down the street with their
headphones on. You had better not get in their way.

“Sure.” He followed her shapely butt, watching it disappear through a

door that resembled a hatch. He had already tripped over the lip of it once,

when she had hired him. He had tumbled and sprained his wrist hitting the

floor – or was it deck? That was the first and last time he’d been in there. It

was where she conducted official business.

He raised his foot well above the lip, exaggerating the height, and

crossed through the doorway. “Close the door,” she said. He did. “Have a

seat.” She sat behind the desk, elbows resting on top, fingers of both hand

interlaced. She didn’t look like she was in the mood for any of his wisecracks,

so he did as he was told. She looked at him for a long uncomfortable stretch.

“Why’d you take the whiskey?”

That was it. Nothing else came out of her mouth. She stopped long

enough to give him an opportunity to respond. He didn’t, instead feeling his

jaw drop.

“I’d give you a bottle if you asked. You didn’t have to steal a whole

case.”
Instead of the pull of gravity, his mandible had the weird sensation of

floating downwards, light enough to blow and sway on a breeze. He willed

his lips together to form a sound: “Huh?”
She leaned back in the chair. “Where’d you go last night when you left

the apartment?”
“Was there a break-in last night?”

Silence.
 “I went for a walk. Down to-“ This was too much. “I’m not a thief,
Connie! I wouldn’t steal from you. Why the hell would I do that?”

“I don’t know.” She looked away, the tough veneer replaced by the
softer one she tried on for him after hours, the one that drove him nuts. “I’m

sorry. I just- I don’t know, you weren’t there, I came in this morning, the

whiskey was gone. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to shout at her, tell her he was quitting, that she and her
nautical bar could go drown, but he needed the money. “It’s all right. I’ve

been accused of worse.” That was a lie. He’d spent a night in a Daytona

Beach jail for drunk and disorderly, but he’d never stolen anything in his life,

never been accused before. “How much was taken?”

“Two cases. It’s not terrible, but it’s enough. I’m surprised there wasn’t

more missing. A couple of empty cases were ripped apart for some reason.”

He thought about the shark, the empty bottle, and the shark tooth. Connie must

have noticed his look. “What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing. Did Sheriff Frieda come by?”

“That kook?” She frowned. “After apologizing for ten minutes, he took

a look. Didn’t think there was much he could do. Neither did I. The day he
actually solves a case...” She let that thought trail off, then shrugged her

shoulders. “Oh, well, let’s hope we don’t have too many Jim Beam drinkers
drop by tonight.”
“Right.” Time for some pre-coital levity. “And I promise not to drink

more than a fifth.”

She laughed and got up. “You’re sweet.” Came around the desk. “So

sweet I’d like to take a bite out of you right now.” Put her arms around his
neck and rested them on his shoulders. “But we do have work to do.” Pecked
him on the lips. “See you later?”

“I think we can work something out. If my boss lets me out of here on

time.”

“I hear she’s a slave driver.”

“You’ve got to know how to handle her.”

She laughed again and pushed him up against the hatch. “You do that
just fine.” She reached behind him and twisted the peg. The hatch gave way.

He winked at her and hopped back over the lip, spun around, and

strutted to his place behind the bar. Damn, it was easy when the women took

charge.

Only one customer sat at the bar by the time he got back, a semi-regular

by the name of Hank Wilson. It wasn’t unusual to see Hank in early. In for a

few beers at five, he was gone by seven. Nice enough guy. “What’ll it be,

Hank?”
He was halfway through a pint when Hank said: “Whiskey, Johnny, a

double.” By the sound of it, he had his load on. Early for him. God love

retirement. Get your load on by dinner and pass out afterwards. Beautiful.
“Okay, Hank, how about a Talisker?” he asked with a smile, knowing

Hank preferred to drink on the cheap and scoffed at drinking expensive single
malts.
“Whatever,” he said. Johnny looked at him. First, whiskey instead of

beer? Now, Talisker? Hank stared into his hands, folded on top of the wooden
bar.

“Everything okay, Hank?”

 He looked up. “You’d think I was crazy if I told you.”
Johnny poured the whiskey. “Try me,” he said.

“You’d think I was crazy.”

“Hank, I already think you’re crazy.” Johnny smiled his big smile, the

one that worked so well on the ladies. “A loon.” He placed the whiskey in

front of him. “Nuts. So what gives?”

Not even a smile. Hank raised the glass. “Here’s to walking sharks,” he
said as he tipped his head back and downed it in one gulp. “One more.”

Johnny hadn’t moved. He’d watched the whiskey go down in one slow-

motion sip and stood there staring at Hank, who stared right back at him.

* * * * *

They lay beside each other, Connie on her side, her head on his chest.

He breathed deeply, just having rolled from on top of her to his back. In three

months, he’d be thirty and she was at least forty-five, though she never

mentioned her real age and he wasn’t stupid enough to ask. She had enough
stamina to put him to shame. If he had never been with a woman in her forties
before, he might have been embarrassed by it, but he’d been broken in already.

Forty year old broads were like freight trains. Beginning with Mrs. Williams,
one of his mother’s friends, on his sixteenth birthday, he’d been ridden by

dozens of middle-aged ladies, each one more exhausting than the last.
“Mmmm,” she hummed.

That was a good sign. He’d heard that before. He stole out from under
Connie’s head, lifted himself off the mattress, and swung his legs over the side
of the bed. “Where are you going?”
“To rob the bar.”

“Hah hah.” Her eyes were closed.

“For a walk.”

“Have fun.”

He liked that about Connie. She didn’t care where he went after sex.

Low maintenance. He pulled his pants up and slipped into his sneakers.
Barechested, he grabbed his shirt from the chair where Connie had thrown it

and pulled it on while he walked downstairs. He’d been thinking about his

conversation with Hank all night. He hadn’t told Hank that he had also seen

the walking shark, though it had to be a lunatic in a costume. After another

Talisker, Hank told him all he needed to know. If the nut were out tonight,

he’d be there to catch him. Or her. Or it. Whatever.

He was sure it had been responsible for the break-in at Connie’s. While

he had changed kegs during his shift, he had taken a look around the basement
and seen the damaged cases of whiskey. It hadn’t ripped them apart. It had

bitten them apart. As proof of that, he’d found another shark tooth on the

floor no more than a foot away. He’d pocketed it with much greater care than
the first tooth. The red cut on his hand reminded him to be careful.

Too sharp for his pockets, the teeth stayed in the top drawer of the
dresser in his apartment. It wasn’t his furniture - he’d rented the apartment as
is – and the drawers were a pain in the ass to open, since they had a habit of

sliding off their tracks. You get what you pay for, and he couldn’t pay much.
The teeth shared space with a half dozen pairs of boxer briefs and an equal

number of white tube socks, worn at work with a pair of black sneakers. Even
at this time of year though, he preferred flip-flops.
The fog was out. Beautiful, thick clouds filled with mystery and danger.

He loved this stuff. He walked through it, hands shoved into his pockets,
feeling the moistness of it on his face as he meandered in the direction of Main

Street. Before reaching Main, he stopped and looked across the inlet. The

hazy lens of fog parted and merged like a camera’s shutter. Through it, he

saw no movement, no strange shapes, nothing unusual, across the inlet.

Several minutes passed before he resumed walking. Without realizing it, he

passed Morgan’s and sleeepwalked onto Main.

Most days, Johnny made a point of avoiding the strip. A row of glass-

fronted shops displayed tee shirts printed with tired slogans, cheap leather

goods, and home-made ice cream. On the other side, an arcade occupied the

entire block. He’d walked inside once. Most games were the modern,

computer-animated kind that kids in their teens and earlier stood in front of for

hours. These didn’t interest him. The ones he liked predated the computer
era. In one, you fired torpedos of light at battleships crossing an ocean of

plastic. That was fun.

On the next block, Doc Richards served a good Sunday brunch and
Damino’s good ravioli. A dive bar named Kelly’s served a decent pint. The

whole strip reminded him too much of the modern computer games: loud,
flashy, and annoying.
At the corner of Bayside Avenue and Main, he stopped and looked in

both directions. The street was empty. He crossed and continued on, the
rubber soles muffling his steady movement. A briny odor floated in with the

mist. He passed a few more shops before reaching Bluepoint Liquor, the local
liquor emporium. Connie bought her hard stuff here. He stopped to look in
the window at the bottles and the colorful cardboard displays. Chivas Regal

and Bailey’s were on sale, right beside his old buddy, Jim Beam. He’d spent a
few too many nights with Jim in the desert dunes with assorted friends and

acquaintances. It had been a while since he’d done that, and he intended to

keep it that way.

Minutes ticked by. At a subconscious level, he was aware of movement

inside the shop, but didn’t stir from his Jim Beam-inspired reverie until he

heard the crash. He returned from starry desert nights to misty Bluepoint and

snapped to attention. The noise had come from the back of the shop. No lights.

He pressed his forehead against the cold glass, and cupped his eyes to block

the reflection of the street lamps. The point of a dorsal fin disappeared down a

passageway.

He stepped back from the window and in an instant he was at top sprint

speed. He had no idea what he would do when he caught shark-guy, but he

had to find out what he was up to. Circling the block, he approached the

unloading area at the rear of the shop, slowing when he spotted a pickup truck

in back of the liquor store. The door of the flatbed was down and the bed
loaded with cases of liquor. He hid behind a dumpster to catch his breath.

The truck belonged to the brunette. He was sure of it. How was she involved?
She couldn’t be sharky, could she?
The alley was quiet. Shark-guy or girl must be inside the shop grabbing

another case. His breathing slowed. He was behind the bakery next to the
liquor store, but the dumpster behind him smelled nothing like fresh goods.

He lifted his shirt to try to keep the reek of stale, rotting food from penetrating
his nostrils. A minute passed. No sign of the shark. He walked around the
dumpster to get a view of the door leading into the liquor store. It was wide

open. He saw no movement, heard no sound.

He stepped out from behind the dumpster and slunk towards the shop

performing his best impersonation of a spy or cat burglar. He passed the truck

and glanced at its contents. Whiskey. Mostly Jim Beam. He could see inside

the shop now, but only outlines of the counter and display stands were visible,
lit by the street lamps through the front window of the shop.

Swiveling his head, he looked down the alley in both directions. No

movement, no police, and no shark. Where was it? Had it seen him? Maybe.

Had it run away? Doubtful. This thing could barely walk, let alone run. He

scrambled inside and hunched down between the counter and a row of bottles.

His heart was pounding. He saw no movement.

Johnny tried to remember the layout. He’d dealt with the owner before,

a reasonable guy, last name Oliver. Connie had sent him down on a few
occasions in the past to pick up booze. Oliver’s carried enough liquor to

supply three towns the size of Bluepoint, which was either a testament to its

citizens, or an indictment of them. Johnny hadn’t figured out which yet. He

kept low and walked to the end of the first row. He could see the street

through the glass panes and felt exposed. He peered around the vodka and
looked back towards the rum and scotch. A trail of doughnut crumbs led
towards the wine wall on the far side of the shop. He inhaled and sniffed the

deep, smoky aroma of cigars. Shark-guy smoked stogies? This was a shark
with a lot of vices.

He got down onto his hands and knees and crawled underneath the
window, looking around the corner of each row before crawling on to the next,
one by one until only one remained. The shark was silent. The wall of wine

loomed ahead of him. He began his final shuffle. As he pressed forward, fresh
air struck his cheek with just a whisper of force. He looked to his left. The

door to the shop was ajar, propped open by a half-eaten jelly doughnut. The

fuming stump of a cigar lay by his fingertips, an inch away. Oh shit, he

thought, sharks don’t drink white wine. Before he blacked out from the bottle
of Jack Daniels that cracked his skull, he saw the giant maw of a grinning

shark.

* * * * *

On the stage were a hundred grinning, dancing sharks. A fin line, like a
kick line but with tails instead of legs, spread across the stage in rows. The

audience, full of shark-people, applauded as tails shot up into the air. Johnny

stood and cheered. He bumped into a waiter who spilled a drink on him, and

the waiter rubbed his shirt with a towel. “I’m sorry, Johnny,” he heard him say
over and over...
“Johnny? I’m sorry, Johnny.”

Johnny’s eyes creaked open and he saw the outline of the Sheriff
standing over him. Soaked with scotch, poured on him by shark guy no doubt,

the smell of his own shirt made him ill. No, it wasn’t the smell, or just the
smell. His equilibrium was off. He tried to raise his head off the pillow, but

the room and his stomach spun so he dropped the useless melon back down.
“Boy, I sure am sorry to wake you, Johnny.”
 “It’s okay, Sheriff.”
“Tom,” he corrected him.

“Sorry. It’s okay, Tom.” Johnny felt his skull in the area of the most
pain. A knot had sprouted, courtesy of one whiskey bottle. He raised his

eyelids by pure will, but he lacked focus.

“Whew, that sure is a relief. I’d hate to think you were angry at me for

waking you.”
“No, no, no, not at all. You’re a hell of a guy, Tom.”

“Well, that is good to hear. Yes, I’m sure glad to hear that. Well, Johnny,

now that we’re on good terms again, maybe you could tell me where you got

that bump on your head?”

“Someone hit me.”

“Well, Johnny, I don’t like to pry. God knows I’d hate to pry into your

personal affairs-“

“That’s okay, Tom, go ahead and pry.” He decided to play along. “In
fact, I think we should get to know each other better.”

“You don’t say? Isn’t that something? You know, I was thinking the

same thing. My wife, Chun Li – she’s from China, by the way –“

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, I met her on-line.“

“No kidding?”
“No, not at all.” He looked at Johnny and sniffled. His chin quivered as

he spoke. “Why? Do you think maybe she doesn’t love me?”

“No, I’m sure she-“

“Do you think she- she-“ His chest heaved, the sobs building. “-just
married me to get her- her citizenship?”
“No, definitely not. Absolutely not. Positively not!” Despite his

agonized head, Johnny sat upright and placed his hand on the Sheriff’s
shoulder. The beige ceiling and the white sheets crushed down on him,

squeezing the air out of the room like an accordion.

Sheriff Frieda gathered himself one deep breath at a time. “Whew, that’s

good. That is good to hear. Sometimes, I get such terrible thoughts.” He shook
his head. “I’m going to put on a happy face now,” he announced as he smiled a

terrible, fake smile. “Thank you, Johnny.”

“You’re welcome.” Johnny dropped back to a horizontal position and

waited for the nausea to dissipate. Sheriff Tom stood over him with his

macabre “happy face” planted on his kisser. Johnny shut his eyes.

“Okay. Anyway, Chun Li and I would love to have you over sometime

for a game of mah jong and some green tea.”

“Uh, sure, sounds great.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll wait until that head of yours feels better, of

course.”

“Sometime next decade then.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yup.”
“Uh, Johnny, I hope you don’t mind my asking-“
Johnny couldn’t bear anymore of the Sheriff’s hemming and hawing. “I

went for a walk last night and I was walking past the liquor store when I heard
a crash inside. I walked around to the back-“

“Whoa, hold on, Johnny, hold on a minute.” Johnny opened his eyes.
 The Sheriff had scribbled notes on a pad he was holding, but he was now
pointing the tip of the pen at Johnny. “Why did you go ahead and do that?

You know you could have called me, Johnny. After all, it is my job.” He
nodded in time with the pen. The happy face had taken on a stern, paternal

demeanor.

“I thought about it, Tom, don’t get me wrong. But it was late and I

figured you and Chun Li were probably sitting around in your kimono’s and
meditating. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“That’s awfully considerate of you, Johnny, but kimono’s are Japanese.”

“Right.”

“But I am partial to them myself.”

“Anyway, I walked into the store thinking maybe I could catch the sh-

guy red-handed. Unfortunately for me, he got the drop on me and knocked me

out. That’s all I remember.” He wasn’t about to talk about walking sharks in

front of the Sheriff. It had to be someone in a costume.

“Did you see the person?”

“Uh, no, they whacked me from behind.”

“Boy, that is rough.”

“Uh-huh.” Johnny closed his eyes until the silence built momentum.

He opened them again. Sheriff Tom stood at the base of the bed with his
hands raised over his head, palms down. His eyes were closed. Johnny studied
him for a minute. “Tom?”

Sheriff Tom’s hands floated to the ground. He opened his eyes. Johnny
waited. “Sorry, Johnny, whenever I need to think and clear my head a little

bit, I adopt the Ching Laing Cautious Aardvark posture from Ting Ling Kung
Fu.”
“That’s a good idea, Tom, it suits you. What did you decide?”

“Well, Johnny, I hate to do it, but I just may have to arrest you.”
“Arrest me?” Johnny sat up again, stomach straining against the tight,

starched linens. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry. Did I upset you?” The Sheriff was surprised. “You don’t

have to raise your voice.”

“Don’t arrest him, Sheriff. Johnny’s telling the truth. He was with me.”

Looking over the Sheriff’s shoulder, Johnny cringed at what he saw.

Lacey Morgan, adorable in a sweatsuit, her hair pulled up in a bun, bounded

by the Sheriff to stand by Johnny’s bedside. All Johnny could think about was

how long he might be locked up on a statutory rape charge. “No, no, she

wasn’t with me, Sheriff! I swear.”

“Stop lying, Johnny,” said Lacey. Johnny hadn’t seen this side of her

before, her mother’s side, composed and stern. “You don’t have to protect me
any longer. I couldn’t sleep last night either, Sheriff. I ran into Johnny by

chance.”

“Lacey, a young woman like you shouldn’t go walking late at night.”

“Sheriff, with you patrolling the streets of Bluepoint, all young women

feel safe and secure.” Johnny looked at Lacey in utter surprise at how good an
actress she was. She looked down her nose at him, and without a smile, she
drew her pupils up under her eyelids.

“Really?” Sheriff Tom was more surprised than ever. “All of them?”
“Every single one. Even Ann Marie McGonigle, who as you know is

oftentimes critical of the police department.”

 “Even Ann Marie?” He shook his head. “I’ll be darned. Wow.” His
amazement grew and he broke into a big smile. “How about that?”

“How about that.” said Johnny, who flopped back down in sheer
helplessness.

“So you see, Sheriff, I can vouch for Johnny’s story. He’s completely

innocent.”

“Gosh, I guess so. Well, you sure saved me some embarrassment.” He

looked at Johnny. “Sorry about that, Johnny, no hard feelings, I hope.” He

folded up his pad and put it away.

“Not at all, Tom. It’s an honest mistake.”

“I guess I’ll be going then.”

“Goodnight, Sheriff,” said the two of them in unison.

“Goodnight.” He turned, then stopped and turned back. “What about

Cindy Widmark?”

“Your biggest fan.”

He chuckled. Lacey was as stonefaced as ever. “I’ll be darned.” He

brushed by the white curtains and left the two of them alone. Lacey walked to

the edge of the bed, peered around it, then pulled the curtains shut.
“What are you doing?” said Johnny.

“You are a bad boy, aren’t you?” She sat on the bed. “What really
happened? What did you see?” Her eager face was the kid again, the curious,
pain-in-the-neck, precocious teenager. “Come on. Out with it. I just bailed you

out.”
“Bailed me out? He could have locked me up just for being out with a

sixteen year old. You were a big help. And how did you know what happened
anway? How did you even know I was here for that matter?”
“The hospital called the house. You listed my mom as an emergency

contact. Of course, she wasn’t there.” She winked at him. He scowled at her. “I
came by and decided to eavesdrop next door.”

“You are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

The curtains parted. Connie stood in the opening. “Yes, you are
amazing. Time to go, Lacey.” Lacey frowned, but she’d seen that look

before. She kept her mouth shut and got up. She straightened herself to her

full height, several inches taller than her mother, and raised her chin. She

showed no expression as she sauntered past her as though she were an old

Connecticut blue-blood and her mother a servant who had just announced that

dinner was served. Connie ignored this and looked Johnny over. He had also

seen that look before. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said. The curtains closed.

Johnny fell asleep dreaming of sharks dancing the Can Can.

* * * * *

Hank Wilson walked along Bluepoint Beach holding a fishing rod in one

hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Cradled under his left arm was a
box of doughnuts. He had the kind of foggy idea that makes sense in a foggy

way after a night of whiskey and beer. After Morgan’s, he had stumbled to
Kelly’s and sat there slugging whiskey and beer until closing. For a while

after that his mind was a blank, but during that time he must have walked into
GoGo’s, bought doughnuts, and gone home and gotten his fishing rod. He
could recollect snippets of the evening, and bruises on various parts of his
body attested to his journey: a bump on the head from a tumble he took in

Kelly’s bathroom, a cut on his knee from falling on the concrete outside his
apartment, along with assorted minor abrasions. None of that mattered. He

focused on his task.

The full moon glowed behind a light sheen of clouds. Waves crested

and fell and rolled towards shore. He stumbled and the box of doughnuts
blurted their contents into the sand. He plucked each one up and tried to brush

the sand off, but wound up leaving as much sand as sugar on the outside. He

deposited each back in the box, then picked himself up and moved on. This

repeated itself twice more before Hank decided he had walked enough.

The tide ebbed in and out, an even, mild flow. No marine life stirred on

its surface, but it was what was underneath the surface that concerned Hank.

He was shark-hunting; walking shark hunting; jelly doughnut-stealing, coffee

guzzling, belching, walking shark hunting. He baited the hook, a six inch
long, heavy duty monster, with a fat jelly doughnut. Though the shark

enjoyed jelly the first time, Hank played it safe by stacking a chocolate cream-

filled and a glazed on the hook.

Having set the bait, he staggered toward the inrushing surf. His feet

made muddy impressions in the wet sand. He thought about wading out into
the surf, but remembering his last encounter he decided dryer sand was best
and stopped. He held the rod in his right hand and the hooked doughnuts in his

left, swaying, trying to remember what came next. Oh yeah, the cast. Before
rearing back, he stared at the doughnuts. A little blood in the water would

help, he thought, and besides he was hungry, so he lifted the jelly doughnut to
his mouth and took a bite. Damn, GoGo was good – fruitier than the grapes
his jelly came from – but damn good.

As he reared back to cast, he thought about all the times growing up his
mother had brought a box of doughnuts home from her nightshift at the

bakery, and all the times his father had eaten every last bleeping one of them

before he came home from school. The empty box would be lying on the floor

beside the recliner where his father sat rubbing his belly preparing one of his
epic belches. Not since leaving his parents to join the Navy had anybody

dared try and take a maple-glazed crueller, a Boston cream-filled with

chocolate icing, and especially not a jelly doughnut out of his cardboard box.

Not until last night.

The overweighted hook plopped down in the sand behind him and he

followed, his balance overthrown by three jelly doughnuts. The fishing rod

stretched out overhead in his right hand. He lay there for a moment looking

up at the stars, his body sinking into the sand, the light ocean breeze stroking
his cheeks until his lids became too heavy to keep open and he dozed.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to the same starry sky and gentle

ocean breeze, but in addition to the sound of the waves beating the shoreline
he heard another sound: the sound of the big reel’s sixty pound test line

escaping click after click after click. Was he dreaming? Was he drunk?
Could he get up? If he did get up, would he throw up? No, yes, yes, and no,
he decided. He took several deep breaths, tightening his grip on the cork

handle of the rod.

It didn’t occur to him that the line was being pulled in the direction

opposite the ocean. If it did occur to him, he didn’t think it strange in the
least. The same mind that had baited a fishing hook with jelly doughnuts was
now preoccupied with catching fish on land, as if that was the most obvious

activity in the world. Being a cautious, experienced fisherman, he was careful

not to make any sudden moves. One premature jerk on the line might scare

his catch away. He rolled over in the sand. Too drunk to lift his head or close

his open mouth, his tongue bashed the sand on landing. Forced to lift his head,

he spent the next minute spitting particles of sand from his mouth and drooling
out the remainder.

He raised himself to his elbows, then his knees, a task that took so much

energy he was forced to place his forehead on the ground to balance himself.

All the while, the line clicked and clicked and clicked. The pace was steady

and slow. Somewhere in the dunes, where the protected nests of piping

plovers lay, something was pulling the line. Hank pushed off the sand with his

hands, his body easing to an upright position. He looked into the waving

grasses, braced himself, and stood.

The clicking stopped.

Hank looked at the rod, his dumb expression asking it a question it could

never answer. He grabbed the handle and turned. The reel took up the slack
until the tip of the rod bent over, arched and taut, the line leading straight into

the dark dunes. Not caring at all about any piping plovers that might be in his
way, he turned the reel and stumbled through the waist-high grass in front of
him.

And so it went. A pull. A stumble. Another pull. He was going to land

this one come hell or high water. Hank Wilson wasn’t going to let this one get

away. He reeled and he reeled. Wading through the grass, he slowed down.
He knew from instinct that the fight was almost over. He placed each foot
with care as he closed in, thinking somehow the element of surprise was on his

side. A few more clicks of the reel. Looking over the last barricade of grass,
he saw his prize: a fat log wrapped with sixty pound test. The jelly doughnuts

were nowhere in sight.

* * * * *

Johnny walked to work that night sporting a wide white bandage

underneath his baseball cap. He wasn’t looking forward to a talk with Connie.

His head pounded enough, more than the three aspirin he had taken could

alleviate. On top of that, the cut on his finger wasn’t showing any signs of

healing. They had taken a look at it in the hospital and daubed it with an
antibiotic - nothing he couldn’t have done at home and paid less than the

fifteen hundred dollars they had charged him. When they asked him for his

insurance, he had smiled his Johnny smile at the nurse and winked, but the old

barracuda sneered at him. He wasn’t looking forward to paying that chunk

back.
As he walked beside the row of parked cars on Bluepoint Ave., his mind

wandered to the previous night and the gaping hole and gigantic teeth of the
shark. How could it have been a costume? How could it not have been a

costume? He went back and forth with this question on the way to the
restaurant. Preoccupied, he didn’t realize he had missed something until a

vague sense of anxiety crept upon him. Something had flown under his radar.
He looked up.
 Above him, the gray sky brought a dull edge to what was once a sharp
summer picture. There was no shine or luster to the cars that lined both sides

of the street. A local behind the wheel of a mini-van honked at him and waved
as he drove past. After it turned the corner, nothing moved. Johnny looked at

the ocean and swept his eyes across it from right to left. Nothing registered,

but the feeling wouldn’t go away. He scanned the tight array of cars. What

had he missed? In a flash, he spotted it: the pick-up truck.

He crossed the street and approached it. Empty. He peaked into its now

empty flatbed. No remnants of last night’s truckload of whiskey remained.

He looked inside the cabin from the passenger side. A few CD’s lay on the

seat, country music bands he’d never heard of and couldn’t care less if he ever

did again. A crumpled styrofoam coffee cup was on the floor. He looked

down the street in both directions. No one in sight. A little look inside

wouldn’t hurt, he thought. He tried the passenger door. Locked.

Johnny looked up the street again. It was quiet. A lazy afternoon in

Bluepoint. He brushed back the tails of his flannel shirt and stuck his hands in

his pockets. No, a little look wouldn’t hurt at all. He stared up into the late

September sky and whistled a few innocent notes as he rounded the front end
of the pickup. The driver’s side was unlocked. Bingo. He pulled the door

open. Nothing besides the CD’s lay on top of the seats. What about under?
He reached with his left hand. His fingers crawled along the floor until the
back of his hand bumped into a cold, solid object. He wrapped his fingers

around it and pulled it out. Between his fingers, he held a bottle of Jim Beam
by the neck.

“Hello, Johnny, how are you feeling today?”

 Johnny shivered and stuffed the bottle back under the seat. Sheriff Tom
held two shopping bags, one in each hand. Instead of his uniform, however;

he wore a tartan kilt that hovered just above his kneecaps paired with wool
socks that rose to just below. Above the kilt, he wore a matching tartan jacket.

“Hi, Tom, I didn’t know you were Scottish.”

“Scottish?” He looked confused. “Oh, the kilt? No, I just enjoy wearing

a kilt. It gives me a sense of freedom, if you know what I mean.”

Johnny cringed at the thought.

“I just picked up a couple of aprons and a few knick-knacks for the

kitchen on the strip.” Locals called Main Street the strip as though it rivalled

Las Vegas.

“I’m sure Chun Li will appreciate it.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Chun Li doesn’t cook. So what are you up to?” He

pointed with one of the shopping bags. “This isn’t your car, is it?”

“Uhhhhh-“
“That’s okay. Hey, this isn’t an official inquiry or anything. I’m sure

you’re not breaking in.”

“No, no, of course not. I was just-“

“Gosh, that would sure look bad for you, huh? Especially after last

night.”
Sheriff Tom laughed and Johnny decided to join him, though he didn’t
find anything funny. “It sure would, Tom. No, I just noticed that this person,

and I’m not even sure who it is, had left their lights on and, uh, I was trying to
help them out by turning them off.”

Sheriff Tom took a deep breath and blew it out with a whoosh. “Whew,
that is good to hear. I sure would have hated to have to arrest you.” His
features solemnified. “You know even though I’m wearing a kilt, I’m still a

duly deputized officer of the law.”

Johnny tightened his lips into a thin stripe and nodded his agreement.

“All right, well, I better get going. Chun Li is waiting for me to give her

a pedicure and, boy, does she get angry if I’m late. So long, Johnny.”

“So long, Tom.” Johnny watched the Sheriff go, the wind wafting his
kilt a little too far up his legs for his taste. He hoped Chun Li reciprocated for

the pedicures at least, but he doubted it. In any case, Johnny hadn’t found

what he was looking for. He had expected a sharksuit or at least heavy

makeup. He already knew the shark liked to drink. He closed the door and

walked into the bar.

Lacey stood behind the maitre d’s pulpit, as stiff and pressed as her

starched white shirt. “You? On time?” he said and dropped his jaw as low as

he could. He was about to fake a swoon when he saw her tip her head towards
her mom’s office. She didn’t smile, just bobbed her head and grimaced. He

straightened up and looked in the direction of the office as well. The door was

closed. Locking eyes with Lacey, he opened his mouth to ask her if he should
knock on the door, but he already knew the answer. He took a deep breath and

padded into the bar, past the tables on his right and rounded the corner to take
his place among the bottles and flasks.
With thoughts of Lacey, Connie, and walking sharks on his mind, he

hadn’t noticed the petite wisp of a woman sitting at a table in the corner of the
bar. Afer inhaling her cigarette in record time, she left the table and made her

way towards him. She was so thin that in the right light and at the right angle
she might just disappear. She sat on one of the high-backed bar chairs and
studied him. “Vodka tonic. A double,” she said.

“Sure,” he replied. He wondered if she had a disease. It wasn’t possible

for a person to be that thin, yet there she was, a walking tree branch. He told

himself not to stare, but he glanced over in spite of that, only to find out she

was staring right at him. He averted his eyes, but couldn’t help feeling

uncomfortable knowing she was gawking at him. His head, Connie’s closed
door, now this walking stick figure – he would love to leave, go back to his

apartment, and lie down, but he needed the cash.

She reached into the pocket of her worn denim jacket for a pack of

cigarettes. She tweezed one between her skeletal digits and held it in the air

while she reached into the goblet on the bar and speared one of Morgan’s

matchbooks with her hand. She plucked out a match, struck it, and lit up.

Johnny placed the V.T. in front of her and was amazed that the cigarette didn’t

slip between her fingers, which were no wider than the cigarette. Without
realizing it he leaned in, studying the old woman’s fingers, until she backed

him away with a puff of smoke in his face.

“Four-fifty,” he sputtered, waving his hand in front of his nose. She said
nothing and placed a ten on the bar. He grabbed the bill, too embarrassed to

look at her, and made change. She continued to look at him, studying him, her
skeletal cranium cocked to the right, the cigarette poised on the rim of the
ashtray. He walked away. She stared on. A couple entered and sat down.

Johnny served them. She stared on. The couple left for the restaurant. She
stared on. It was early and she and Johnny were the only two in the bar.

Connie’s door remained closed. Seconds ticked away. He tried to keep busy,
filling fruit trays and polishing glasses, anything, but he was becoming
peeved. He put down the bar towel and returned her gaze. “Yes?” he said.

She didn’t move, but kept staring, her head cocked to the right. She
took a long drag. Like the slow tick of a metronome, she shifted her head to

the left. “I’m just trying to decide how much I despise you.” Her eyes

narrowed and she stubbed out her cigarette. “A lot or a little.”

His jaw dropped. Johnny had met few women, particularly older ones,
that he was unable to charm. In fact, as he stood there, dumbfounded by this

comment, he was unable to think of any. Grandmothers in particular, although

out of play from a sexual standpoint, always found him adorable. He was a

master schmoozer. The idea that an older woman could hate him was

unfathomable to him. “What?” he said.

She studied him. Johnny stood there, glued to the floor, having no past

frame of reference, no preconditioned response, no ready quip, to deal with

her comment. Her head arced back to the right and her eyes narrowed again.
“A lot,” she said. Having decided the issue, she nodded her head several

times. She plucked another cigarette from the pack and lit it. “Now get me

another V.T. A double.”

No longer turned to stone by her gaze, Johnny came to life. “I’m not

getting you another drink, lady. No way.”

“No?” She was surprised. “Why not?”
“Why not? You just said you didn’t like me.”

“No.” She paused. “I said I despised you.”

“Whatever. Give me one good reason I should serve you?”

“You like everyone you serve?”

 She stopped him there. A fib was in order. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“You’re a liar.” She placed the pack of cigarettes back in her pocket.

“And that’s only one of the many reasons I despise you.” She exhaled a dart
of smoke right towards him, a bee bee aimed at his eyes. He closed them.

“Now get me my Vodka Tonic. Another double.”

“Uh uh.”

“Uh huh.” Johnny looked to his left. The door to Connie’s office was
now open and Connie stood outside, arms crossed, staring at him. “It doesn’t

matter who likes you or who doesn’t like you. If they can afford a drink and

they’re sober enough, we’ll serve them.” She relaxed and smiled at the old

woman. “How are you, Mrs. Henderson?”

“Fine, thanks. And you, Connie?”

“Fine.” It was a short, sharp fine, aimed at Johnny who stood there like

the target called from the audience to stand in front of the knife thrower. He

had lost. The best he could do was close his eyes and not move a muscle.
“Another Vodka Tonic coming right up,” he said and yanked the bottle

of vodka out of the well.

“Another?” Johnny looked to his right. This voice came from the
entrance to the bar. “One was too many.” There she was. The brunette that

had snapped at him in GoGo’s. The brunette whose pickup was parked out
front. Her hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail. She wore a loose red
sweatshirt and jeans, but that didn’t matter. She was stunning. Johnny wished

that she would smile at him like she did at the old lady.
“Yeah, but two’s just right,” said Mrs. Henderson, Johnny’s new

nemesis.
 “And three’s never enough.” She hadn’t bothered looking at Johnny
once, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Come on, Aunt Mary,” she said.

“Time to go.” Aunt? That didn’t bode well for his chances. In fact, they had
just gone from zero to minus zero. If there were a way to win the aunt over, a

way to get on her good side, some way to impress her, then the niece would

follow. If he could-

“Good night, stupid,” said the old lady as she swung her feet off the
stool.

There went that fantasy.

Young and lovely stood right in front of him as she helped her aunt off

the stool. She wouldn’t even acknowledge that Johnny was there. He looked

towards Connie’s office. She had retreated back through the hatchway and

closed the door. The aunt and niece were on their way towards the exit. He

had to give her credit. The old lady was spry. She was already a few steps

ahead of her niece. Lacey was watching his every move, but he wasn’t going
to let this vision leave without saying something.

“Hi. My name’s Johnny. What’s yours?”

Okay, so he could have done better. That stopped them both in their
tracks. Lacey rolled her eyes. It wasn’t clever, but it had done the trick. They

looked at each other. They gawked at him, the old lady with a look of
contempt, the beauty curiosity. Johnny extended his hand. Beauty’s mouth
widened and she smiled. She shimmied towards the bar, staring at Johnny’s

hand the whole time.

Perhaps, it was the carnivorous way she eyed his protruding digits that

made him edgy. Or maybe it was their past encounter at GoGo’s. Whatever it
was, he felt a mild tremor as she approached. Beauty growled.
Snap!

Her head shot forward and back and she missed biting off his index
finger by an inch. Having prepared himself for the possibility, he wasn’t

shocked by it. He snatched his hand back. What he hadn’t expected was his

next reaction. His own head snapped out and back and his teeth clamped

together in front of her nose. Even if he hadn’t been expecting it, she must
have. No one could have moved that fast. She jerked back to a safe distance on

the other side of the bar. Her eyes were wide. Her nostrils flared and she

glared at him. She looked like she wanted to hop over the bar and pounce on

him. He figured he could handle her, but all the same he preferred she remain

on the other side of the bar. She had a tiger’s eyes and he felt like the prey.

Her aunt grabbed her arm. “Let’s go,” she said. Even the aunt had a

different expression. She was wary, no longer contemptuous.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I- I don’t know what came over me. Really.” It
was as though a disembodied force had occupied him and provoked him. His

response had been so unexpected and so forceful it had caught him off-guard.

Mrs. Henderson coaxed her niece out the door. She backed away, wide-
eyed and tense, her aunt’s stringbean appendages pushing her back. The aunt

pushed the door open and the two walked out. Johnny’s body pulsed with
adrenaline, as though he had just missed a bar fight. Imagine that. A bar fight
with a girl. Would he have lost? He had to think about it for a minute. She

was all woman, but he bet she fought like a man. If he could get the first shot
in, he could stun her. A good left jab to set up the cross then a takedown. In a

war of attrition-
 “No way you could take her.”
Johnny, who had been staring but not seeing, noticed Lacey leaning

against the corner of the bar.

“She’s a bad-ass. She’d whoop you,” she said. She grabbed the inner

edge of the bar and pulled herself towards him.

Johnny feigned defiance. “You kidding? Her? She’s a girl. Come on.”

He tried to sound confident, but what if the old one-two had become the one-
none? Lacey might have a point.

“I’m not kidding. She’s tough. I saw her beat up a guy once. She

kneed him in a pretty sensitive area if you know what I mean.” He did and

grimaced. “She doesn’t mess around.” She smiled her sixteen going on thirty

smile. “Besides, you’re a lover not a fighter.”

He had to agree with her on that one. “So what’s her name?” he said.

“What’s it worth to you?” she asked. “What would big bad Johnny

Dodson pay to find out the name of the woman of his dreams?”
“Lacey, you know you’re the woman of my dreams.” He was breathing

easier now. He leaned towards her and puckered his lips in a gigantic

exaggerated smooch position. She gave in and leaned back.

“Ew,” she said. “You’re a perv.”

A victory. Finally. “Thank you,” he said. “Now what’s her name?”

“Giovanna,” she said, mimicking an Italian dialect, emphasizing each
syllable.

“Giovanna,” he repeated.
“She’ll kick your butt,” said Lacey, rounding the corner to return to her

post.
 “Giovanna,” he said again.

* * * * *

Johnny was out on the town with a shark – and this saw-toothed baby
had a rack. She had slipped into a black cocktail dress so tight he could see

the outline of her gills, and when she waddled her tail fin shimmied from side

to side. He had never been so aroused by a fish before. They walked arm in

fin out onto a large dance floor. Trance music played. Other shark-babes

crowded them and she wound up sandwiched between two. They bumped and

ground dorsal fins together, shaking their streamlined physiques to the music.

Red lipstick outlined their great gaping maws and eyeshadow silhouetted their

doll’s eyes. Johnny’s date winked at him, then all three lunged for him, eerie
red lips chomping at his head.

He woke up panting, his erection nearly splitting his underpants. It was

the fifth night in a row he had dreamt about sharks. Moonwalking sharks,

sharks in g-string bikinis sunning themselves on beaches, sharks in lingerie,

lap-dancing sharks, table-dancing sharks, sharks in hula skirts dancing to the
slide guitar – sharks, sharks, and more sharks! They wouldn’t let him sleep.

He kicked his feet over the side of the bed and turned on the light. His
finger was throbbing. The cut from the shark’s tooth had closed, but it glowed

red, the color of blood. During the day it didn’t bother him, but at night he
would wake up with a dull ache in the digit. He clenched and unclenched his

hand to work out the stiffness. He was sure the pain would go away on its
own just like the dreams, but for now he was stuck with both.
 Too bad Connie had decided not to join him the last two weeks. She
would have helped him work off his tension. At least she hadn’t fired him.

That was positive. He had experienced a few tense days after she’d thought
he’d spent the night with her daughter, but the worst was past. Just yesterday,

she had begun speaking to him again. In another week maybe he’d get lucky.

In the meantime, he had asked around and found out more about Giovanna,

the gorgeous brunette with the wicked snapping jaw.

According to what he’d been told, she and her aunt lived outside town in

a cottage attached to a lighthouse. Both the lighthouse and the cottage stood at

the end of jagged rock jetty guarded by a barbed wire fence. A redundant “No

Trespassing” sign hung from the fence. It sounded like the type of place the

two of them would be right at home in.

The best way to reach the lighthouse was by boat. Barney Kessel had

told him that the Hendersons left their pickup truck parked in the lot at the foot

of the jetty and used a dinghy with an outboard motor to zip to and from the
tiny pier next to the lighthouse. In all his years dropping off their mail, Barney

could count on the fingers of both hands the number of times he had seen

either of them. It was almost as though they saw him coming and stayed out of
sight on purpose.

As far as Johnny knew, they hadn’t visited town once since the night the
old lady had come into Morgan’s for the sole purpose of insulting him. He
stretched his arms and yawned. On the nightstand beside the bad lay several

magagazines. He picked one up and lay back down. In the midst of an article,
he dozed again and dreamed another shark dream. In this one, he was sitting

in a dark room filled with sharks smoking stogies and drinking Jim Beam.
Across from him sat a shark speaking in the voice of Mary Henderson.
“You’re stupid,” it said to him over and over again. “Stupid.” He couldn’t get

the words out to contradict the shark. He couldn’t speak at all. He just sat
there letting this shark ridicule him in front of other sharks. “Besides that,

you’re dumb. But mostly you’re stupid.” It puffed its stogie. The words

bothered him, but he was afraid to talk back. A shark waiter arrived with

another round of cocktails. It placed one in front of Johnny, but he was so

afraid he couldn’t lift his hand to reach for it. “Drink up, stupid, drink up,”

Mary Shark said. She lifted her tailfin up at an impossible angle and lashed

out across the table at him. He ducked the fin, but hit his forehead on the glass

of Beam.

He groaned. The sharks weren’t real, but the knock on his head was.

He had rolled off his bed and hit himself on the night table and now lay on the

floor. After several minutes, he crawled back to his knees and pulled himself

up by the edge of the night table into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
A dim light shone under the shades. As he sat rubbing his head, he made a

decision. The Hendersons were going to have a visitor.

* * * * *

An hour later, the lighthouse was in sight, its tower looming larger with

each step. Fewer and fewer cars passed him the farther from town he walked,
but every few minutes one would roll by, in no hurry at all, while he traipsed

in the dirt on the side of the road. People didn’t hurry here. He liked that.
After icing his forehead, he had showered and dressed and breezed out
of the apartment. Of course, he had stopped for coffee and a jelly doughnut at
GoGo’s before starting his trek. That was a given. It was a bright, crisp

Autumn day, perfect for throwing a football around, not for hunting walking
sharks. He was more interested in Giovanna than the shark at this point;

however, he had an inkling that she and her aunt were hiding shark-man in the

lighthouse somewhere. He owed that guy a sock on the jaw and he intended to

pay him back.

Wire cutters bulged from his back pocket and pressed against his body.

He had picked them up at the hardware store the week before, convincing

himself he wouldn’t use them unless it was necessary. He didn’t want to get

caught breaking and entering or trespassing on private property. He wasn’t a

crook. All he wanted to do was to solve this shark mystery and end his

nightmares. He was about to turn down the road to the lighthouse, but thought

better of it. Instead, he decided to walk through the trees. He ducked under

the canopy of green tinged with russet and maroon, and walked towards the
water.

He was no Daniel Boone and was pleased to discover he wouldn’t have

to forge his own trail. Someone else, kids on dirt bikes by the look of it, had
made one for him. A hundred yards from the road, he peeked out from behind

a pine and inspected the parking lot. It was enough for ten cars at most, but
none were there, including the flatbed. Disappointed at first, he brightened
when he saw the dinghy with the outboard stretched out on the tiny strip of

sand beside the jetty. He wouldn’t need the wire cutters after all.
Johnny took off his sneakers and threw them into the boat. He rolled his

jeans partway up his shins and turned the boat around, pushing its nose into
the water. When he had submerged the entire hull and his lower legs, he
hopped in. He tipped the propeller back into the water, gave the starter one

strong yank, and it ripped into life. He sat down on one of the cushions. The
lighthouse, an unapproachable sentry that had kept him at a distance, was

allowing him in. At the top of the white tower, he spotted a thin stick figure

watching him behind the glass. Only Mary Henderson could be that slight.

As he came closer, she disappeared behind the enormous eye of the

lighthouse.

Windows snaked around the circumference of the lighthouse at various

intervals, mimicking the path of a stairway he was sure led from the top of the

tower to the ground. Seeing Mary Henderson racing past the windows

confirmed his suspicion. Instead of pulling right up to the pier, however, he

decided to circumnavigate the rocks and get an overview of the area these two

mismatched hermits lived, the snapping beauty and her paper-thin aunt.

Johnny looped around the jetty from one side to the other, noting the
black trim on the windows, the tiny garden behind the lighthouse with its own

barbed wire deterrent - these ladies were big on barbed wire - and the picnic

table and benches also hidden behind the broad base of the tower. He made a
long, lazy turn to starboard and jetted back for a closer look. Johnny didn’t

know why he swerved as close as he did. It was nothing he had seen the first
time past, nothing he had heard. Pinned down for an answer, he might have
said it was something he had smelled, like blood in the water. Whatever sense

had alerted him, he slowed as he passed the tip of the jetty for the second time.
There it was: the entrance to a cave. Tiny. Too tiny even for the dinghy. Yet

not too tiny for a man, or a shark-man to slip in and out of.
 He released the throttle and hovered outside the entrance, the top of
which was only a foot above the waterline, just high enough for a dorsal fin to

slip under. It was about three feet across, just wide enough for whatever it was
that sneaked through it. He couldn’t tell how deep the opening was -

comfortable enough for a man, he guessed. He might have to try it. The sight

of Mary Henderson rounding the side of the lighthouse jolted him and he

flicked his wrist around the throttle, putting the tiny craft in motion.
He coasted as he pulled up to the pier. The walking exclamation point

came back around the lighthouse. She didn’t walk the ten feet of boards to

meet him, but stood on land, arms crossed. Johnny dropped a bumper into the

water to cushion the side of the boat and tried to tie off on a metal cleat

screwed into the wood. As he fumbled with the cleat hitch, he noticed a

soundless shadow no wider than a zebra’s stripe had darkened the pier.

“Watch your hands,” she said, grabbing the rope from him.

He let go and watched her weave the rope around the cleat, make a loop,
then tie off.

“It’d be just our luck to let a moron like you tie the boat off and have it

float away.”
He stepped onto the pier. “Hey, I’m not a moron.”

“Right,” she said. “What the hell do you want?”

“I want to talk to you and your niece.”
“If she were here, do you think the boat would have been at the end of

the jetty and the truck gone, moron?”

“I told you, I’m not a moron!” This old lady was getting under his skin.

She smiled at him, making Johnny even more uncomfortable. “You

know what. You’re right, you’re not a moron.” Her words reeked of
insincerity. “You’re a genious, a real genious. From now on, I’m going to call

you genious.” She showed all her teeth. “How can I help you, genious?” The
smile didn’t budge. She could have been one of the rock formations on the

jetty.

“You robbed the liquor store,” he blurted out. She kept smiling, not a

whisper of movement. “Or you know who did. I saw your truck parked
behind the store that night.” He didn’t want to mention walking sharks yet.

That was his ace in the hole. He stood on the pier, staring at the old woman’s

macabre smile. She wouldn’t budge. “And you robbed Connie’s place the

night before.”

“Reeeeeeeeally?” she asked, her smile unchanging.

“Yes, really.”

“It’s inspiring to be in the presence of such genious.”

He was undeterred. “I’ll bet if Sheriff Tom came out and poked around,
he’d find a few cases of Jim Beam stashed away.”

She took a short, shocked breath, and opened her eyes and mouth wide.

“It’s amazing how geniouses can recognize one of their own. You and he
must have so much in common.” He was developing an admiration for her

acting skills. “Do you also bite your toenails in the squad car?”
He didn’t want to imagine that. “Does he?”
“As if a genious wouldn’t know the answer to that question. You

kidder.” She waved her hand at him.

“Mrs. Henderson,” he said, and she leaned in like a wide-eyed high

school student with a crush on her teacher, ready to absorb all he had to say.
 “I’m not a genious and I’m not a moron.” Her jaw dropped, aghast. “I found
one of these-“ He reached into his pocket and held up the two shark teeth he

had recovered. “-in the cellar beside the boxes. I found the other one next to a
bottle of Jim Beam on the beach.”

“Was it full?” In an instant, she had lost her smile and straightened up.

The eyes that had despised him, then mocked him, now raged, but not at him.

“Empty,” he said.
“Come inside.”

Johnny watched her about-face and march into the cottage. He rubbed

the flat edges of the two teeth together between his fingers, avoiding the

edges. That was some turnaround, he thought as he tramped along the pier

then followed her along the sandy path to the cottage and through the front

door she had left wide open for him.

The cottage interior was small and tight. No space was wasted. A round

table just big enough for the two chairs tucked underneath it was to his left.
Behind it, an opening led into the kitchen. To the right of the kitchen was

what looked to be a short hallway leading to bedrooms that wrapped around

the arc of the lighthouse. Straight ahead of him was a closed door, which he
presumed led into the lighthouse itself. To his right was the fireplace.

“Close the door and sit down,” she said. To the left of the fireplace, in
the far corner, Mrs. Henderson rocked in a high-backed wooden chair. He
marveled she didn’t slip out the rear between the balusters. An overstuffed

chair faced the fireplace at an angle. A criss-cross pattern of light through the
windowpanes illuminated the room. He shut the door, walked over to the

chair, and sank into its well-used cushion. “I’ve got a problem,” she said.
 She wanted to confide in him? “Oh?”
“It’s not me. It’s my niece. She has a drinking problem. I want you to

help me stop her.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“You want me to help in an intervention with your niece?”

“Call it whatever you want, but yes.”

“But you despise me. Why would you want my help?”

She rocked a few more times. “The two of you are kindred spirits.”

“Kindred spirits? How the hell would you know that? You don’t even

know me. Besides, I don’t have a drinking problem.”

“Not yet,” she said, “but you will.”

“What are you talking about, lady?” He’d had enough of this old bag.

He got up. She kept rocking, unbothered and looked at him almost with pity,

which upset him all the more. “I’ve had enough of this. Where are you hiding
him?”

She looked surprised. “Who?”

“The man in the shark suit. Where is he?”

Surprise amplified into astonishment. Guffaws of laughter followed.

“The guy in the shark suit?” she gagged. “Oh, you are a genious. Gio,“ -she
pronounced it Joe – “is going to love that one.”
And then it dawned on him. He finally got it, but couldn’t believe it. “It

was her, wasn’t it? She’s the one in the costume. She’s the one who slugged
me. Why the hell does she dress up like a shark?” Each comment brought

another round of hilarity from the giddy old lady. The laughter ended in a
raspy smoker’s cough that calmed her as she focused on something besides
Johnny’s comments, comments that he couldn’t find the humor in. “I’ll get

you a glass of water,” he said.

She nodded and coughed while he ducked under the low arch of the door

to the kitchen. Like the rest of the apartment, it was tight but well-lit with

windows on adjacent sides, one over the sink, the other between cabinets and

above a wooden counter. He reached into one of the cabinets and grabbed a
glass. He ran the water for a few seconds, listening to her cough erupt in short

staccato bursts. When he returned, she took the glass and sipped as her

breathing slowed and the coughing evolved into general throat clearing.

“I had no idea I was such a comedian,” he said.

“Neither did I,” she said.

“If you want my help,” he paused, “you’re going to have to be nice to

me.”

She frowned. “Is that the only way?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“Okay, I’ll help.”

“Good. Come out tomorrow night before the sun goes down. The

boat’ll be tied up here, so walk out the jetty. There’s a path on the left.”
He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
She coughed and waved at him as she reached for the water.

Outside, a light wind blew across the jetty. He scanned for the path and
spied a possibility. It was more of an outline of a trail than an actual trail. He

had taken several steps along the path when he heard the familiar sound of a
can popping open. He looked over his shoulder. The old lady hoisted the can
and tipped it towards him. “Remember,” she said and downed a slug straight

out of the can. “Before the sun goes down.” She tilted her head back for
another slug as she closed the door behind her.

“Right,” he muttered, and started towards shore.

On the way back to shore, he was amazed at how screwed up this

Giovanna had turned out to be. Robbing liquor stores in a sharksuit, chugging
Jim Beam, diving into the ocean in the early morning hours - what other kinky

stuff was she into? It was weirder than anything he’d been exposed to in the

past. He tied off, using the knot he had seen Mrs. Henderson make, and

turned towards the beach instead of the road. The extra mile back to town

would give him time to absorb this new information.

What would Giovanna look like when he peeled her out of her shark suit

and she stood there naked in front of him? He’d always had a thing for rubber.

How would she look in a rubber leopard suit? Or something in tiger stripes? A
pink neoprene number with peacock feathers? A whole menagerie waited to be

explored. Was that kinky? How kinky? He wasn’t sure any longer.

In the midst of a detailed Noah’s Ark fantasy, Johnny lifted his head and
saw Hank Wilson walking towards him. Johnny stopped. Hank hadn’t noticed

him yet. Johnny remembered Hank’s story of his encounter with Giovanna
dressed up as the walking shark. More strangeness. Why would she grab a
fishing line in the ocean like that? All for a jelly doughnut and a few swigs of

coffee? The more he thought about her, the odder she was. He couldn’t wait to
unzip her and dress her in a little camel number.

Every few paces, Hank faced the ocean and raised a pair of binoculars
hanging around his neck to stare out at the vastness. Johnny joined him. A
light wind rolled the surf up the beach. As far as Johnny could see was water,

nothing but water. He looked at Hank. Whatever Hank was searching for he
hadn’t found it yet. Throughout Johnny’s life the ocean had always had a

calming effect on him, yet the more he stood there the more anxious he

became. A strange urge to swim crept over him. Not just a light dip and out;

no, he wanted to dive in and swim out to the horizon and beyond. He’d never
felt an urge this powerful before. He took several steps toward the surf and

let the cold waves bite into his shins. It only goaded him on. He was about to

take another step when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Johnny?” He started and just like that the urge vanished. “Didn’t you

hear me calling you?” He looked over his shoulder to see Hank Wilson

standing there. Johnny backed out of the surf onto dry sand.

“No, sorry, Hank, I was in my own world just then.”

“It looked like you were about to go for a swim. It’s a little cold for
that.”

Back to his old self, the thought of any part of him in the ocean made

him shiver. He looked down at his frozen feet. Getting the sand off his
sneakers was going to be a pain in the ass, he thought before he remembered

what had prompted him to stare out at the ocean in the first place. “I saw you
looking through the binoculars, Hank. You seemed pretty intent about it.”
Hank shot a quick glance up and down the beach. “Follow me. I’ve got

something to show you.”

Hank was on his way into the dunes before Johnny could object.

Spending time with Hank Wilson outside of Morgan’s was not high on
Johnny’s bucket list, but he relented. Cutting up the beach, he followed
Hank’s path through the waist-high grass. His sneakers squished and all he

could think about was getting back to his apartment and getting dry. At last,
the path opened into a small space that was noteworthy solely for what was in

its center: a box of GoGo’s jelly doughnuts.

“What do you think?” Hank asked.

Johnny smirked and squinted at Hank. “I think I’m hungry.” He took a

step towards the doughnuts when Hank restrained him.

“Whoa, don’t go out there.” Hank kneeled in the sand. “Look at this.”

He cleared sand away with his hands. “You’re the only one I’ve told about the

shark, Johnny,” he said. “That’s why I’m showing you this.” The more sand

he brushed away, the more Johnny could see what was underneath. It was a

blue vinyl drop cloth. Hank lifted the edge and pointed. Beneath the drop

cloth was a fishing net. Johnny peered through the net at the hole beneath it.

“It’s a trap,” said Hank.

“You think you’re going to catch the shark in this?” Johnny asked.

“He loves jelly doughnuts, right? As soon as he gets a whiff of these, he

won’t be able to resist.”

Johnny allowed the gender mistake to slide. “It’s a great idea, Hank,” he

said. “You might want to add a bottle of Jim Beam, maybe spill a little in the
sand to make a trail up from the beach. I hear he likes that.” He emphasized
the “he.”

“No kidding?” Hank stood, looking puzzled. “Well, I guess if a shark

can like jelly doughnuts then Jim Beam isn’t a stretch either.” He was thinking

hard about something. “All right, Johnny, I’ll do it.” Hank extended his hand
and Johnny took it. He was surprised by Hnak’s intensity. “Thanks for the
tip,” said Hank.

“Sure, Hank. Good luck.”

Hank ran up the beach towards the road and Johnny continued his walk

along the shore. As he walked, he was overwhelmed by a craving for GoGo’s

jelly doughnuts.

* * * * *

Several hours and sixteen jelly doughnuts later, Johnny shuffled down

the street towards Morgan’s, holding his stomach and groaning. On his way

back to town he had kept a cautious distance from the ocean, making a

conscious effort to keep his eyes focused on the sand and avoid the water, not
wanting to revive even the smallest portion of the desire he had experienced

earlier.

Back in town, he had made a beeline for GoGo’s, the desire to jump in

the ocean replaced by what he thought of as the more benign and

understandable desire for one of GoGo’s jelly doughnuts. The first led to a
second, which would strike no one as strange, though it was the first time he

had ever eaten more than one at a sitting. The third became the source of a
joke between GoGo and him having to do with the size of his appetite and

how much GoGo admired a man with a large appetite, because men with large
appetites, et cetera, et cetera. The fourth doughnut brought out GoGo’s

concerned side. Once again, Johnny made light of it, but he was ravenous. In
order to avoid further comments from GoGo, Johnny bought a dozen for the
road promising to eat them over the next few days. His jelly-lust was so
powerful that a dab of saliva dropped from his mouth onto the box. He was

panting with desire as he walked out of GoGo’s shop, but made sure he was
out of sight before ripping open the box and shoving one whole into his maw.

Maw fit the description better than mouth, he thought. He knew it was

impossible, but the size of his jaw had expanded to allow for the rapid gorging

of twelve jelly doughnuts to take place. He made his way to the park bench by
the canal, no more than a block away, but the box didn’t last even that long.

When he had torn apart all twelve, leaving the box empty, he had half a block

to go. He spent that half block walking in utter amazement. He couldn’t

recall ever having been that hungry. Never mind hungry, he couldn’t recall

ever having been possessed by such a single-minded craving for one food.

For the better part of the afternoon, he sat on the bench moaning. His

stomach, which had accommodated the sixteen without a hitch, churned like a

piston. The oppressive weight of the dough anchored his butt to the bench.
For hours, he had sat there, hoping the pain would go away. It hadn’t. Each

time he thought he was about to upchuck, prayed that he would, a force

clamped down on his esophagus, preventing it.

An hour late for his shift, he pulled open the door to Morgan’s and

straggled in. Connie ricocheted around behind the bar, pulling the tap, mixing
drinks, wiping the counter, all in one continuous motion. He paused in the
entryway watching her. The woman could move. She was in fantastic shape.

Another powerful desire grabbed him, the urge a more familiar one but the
intensity beyond anything he had ever felt. He stared at her and sucked a deep

gulp of air into his lungs. He was conscious that he was so enlarged his jeans
felt as though they might rip, that he was so hard it pointed at his target like
Cupid’s arrow leading him on. He saw nothing besides Connie.

Then came agony.

The pain below the belt was enormous. He almost fell to his knees.

Lacey had whacked him with a menu. And Morgan’s didn’t have paper

menus. They had heavy, reinforced,and padded books that passed for menus.

She had nailed him with the wine list, two pounds of hard, flat vintages listed
by the glass and bottle. The book had levelled him like a piano dropping onto

a diving board. He reached for his chastised member and growled out his

pain. His hands collapsed to his knees. Desire disappeared.

“Sorry, Johnny,” said Lacey, bending over to whisper in his ear. “I

thought I saw a sand crab crawling up your pants leg.”

He twisted his head to look up at her. He was too focused on breathing

out the pain to respond. As much as he wanted to reach out and strangle her,

he knew he couldn’t move his hands from his knees. Instead, he let the
muscles on the back of his neck go and his head dropped. A pair of pink

canvas high-top sneakers, somewhat soiled from the occasional shift behind

the bar, appeared in front of him. They tapped up and down, and he nodded
his head in time with the tapping.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” He lifted his head this time to see
Connie, only an instant ago the object of his lust, standing with her arms
crossed, glaring at him. “Thanks for showing up.”

“Sorry,” he gasped.
“That’s all right, John. I think I have it under control.”

John again. “I was sick this afternoon.”

 “Oh? What happened? Did you eat too many jelly doughnuts? I hear
that can make a person ill.”

He straightened up. “How did you-?”

“GoGo dropped by earlier. He was very concerned about you. I had no

idea the two of you were so close.”

He said nothing. What could he say? If she were going to take a swipe at

his manhood, let her. He’d travelled that road with older women before when
he was on his way out the door. Only this time, he wanted back in.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry. I felt ill.” With an effort, he stood up. “You’re right.” He

panted, slack-jawed. “I ate too many doughnuts.” He knew he looked

pathetic, and was hoping that would win her over. He felt awful. As the pain

below the belt receded, the nausea in his stomach took over again. All the

while, Connie stared at him, that acute stare that wilted lettuce.

She frowned, then looked over at Lacey. “Lacey.” Connie motioned

with her index finger. “Come over here.”

“What?”

“Lacey. Cheryl. Morgan. Come over here.”

“But Mom-“

“Now!” Connie’s voice snapped like shattered glass. Lacey left her
sanctuary and joined them with curt steps. She stood in front of Johnny.
“Apologize,” said Connie. “You really hurt him,” she said, softer, putting her

hand on Lacey’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Lacey was getting the full force of Connie’s eye assault. “It

was stupid. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

 “I will be,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She looked sorry, but Johnny couldn’t tell.

Lacey was even harder to read than her mother. It was either remorse or
disappointment her mother had chastised her.

“Okay,” said Connie, running her fingers through Lacey’s hair. “I’m

going to walk Johnny outside. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Lacey walked back to her post.

Connie wrapped her arms around his arm and walked him out the door.

When they were outside, she stopped him and gazed up at him. “Take the

night off.”

“Are you sure?” he asked in no mood to disagree.

She smiled. “I’ll get by. I can mix a pretty mean martini when I put my

mind to it.”

“Thanks.”

She pulled the door open, but paused on the threshold. “Would it be all
right if I stopped by later?”

It was his turn to smile. He could feel the great rush from his thighs to

his chest. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“Get some rest,” she said, walking inside. “You’re going to need it.”

Don’t be so sure of that, he thought.

* * * * *

Connie pushed him away. “You’re not tired yet?” She reached for his
hand, which was between her thighs and tugged it upwards. “I’m done,
sweetheart. You wore me out.”
Johnny couldn’t believe how aroused he was. Connie had closed

Morgan’s early and they hadn’t wasted any time once she walked through the
door. He had undressed her where she stood, taken her standing, then carried

her into bed without a word. Every time he thought he was done, he was just

as aroused as he was before. He wanted more, more, and more. It was insane.

He had never approached this level of endurance before.

“Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t. He was fondling himself

without realizing it.

She placed her palm on his cheek and ran it up through his hair. “I need

sleep. All right?”

“Okay,” he said again. He was so aroused he worried he might not be

able to control himself. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Good idea. Burn off some of that energy.” Connie rolled to her side and

closed her eyes. “Stay out of trouble,” she mumbled.

Johnny grabbed the clothes he had thrown on the floor and opened the

door to the apartment. Hopping down the stairs two steps at a time, he reached

the street and filled his lungs with the fresh, salty air. Throwing his arms up
and back, he dashed down the street, doing his best to wear himself out and

burn off his excess energy. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him, but he
had never felt such overpowering lust as he had today. All his desires were
magnified. As he walked along, he marvelled at the energy he felt coursing

through him.
He didn’t realize until he passed GoGo’s how much of an appetite he

had worked up. A crazy thought entered his head. He tried to block it out, but
 once it was there it kept growing. What if GoGo had thrown out yesterday’s
doughnuts and they were just sitting there in the dumpster?

No, that was crazy. He wasn’t going to rummage through GoGo’s

garbage to look for doughnuts. Imagine if Sheriff Tom caught him. Wouldn’t

that be a laugh? Gee, Johnny, sorry to bother you, but what are you doing in

that garbage bin? He laughed out loud at the sight of himself waist-deep in egg

cartons, banana peels, and apple cores with his legs pointed up into the air.
If it were so funny, why had he stopped in front of the dumpster? The

crazy idea wasn’t so crazy any longer. In fact, it sounded pretty damn good.

Anyway, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look and poke around a bit. That’s all he’d

do. As he reached for the lid of the dumpster, a voice from behind stopped

him: “You’re pathetic.” Giovanna stood no more than ten feet from him. For

a second, he felt guilty, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie

jar. Then he remembered that this was the same woman who’d robbed the

liquor store, the same woman who walked around town dressed up in a shark
suit.

“You’d know,” he said.

“Stealing jelly doughnuts from GoGo’s dumpster? Come on, that’s

pathetic.”

“Stealing liquor dressed up in a shark suit is pathetic. This- this- this

isn’t stealing.”
“Shark suit?” She laughed. “Oh, that? Yeah, I guess that was pretty

pathetic.” She walked towards him. He lasered in on the holes in her jeans
through which he could see the muscles in her thighs. She’d been an athlete,

maybe a gymnast. “When I get an urge for GoGo’s jelly doughnuts,” she
said. “I go right to the source.” Her hands, which were behind her back, came
into view holding a crowbar. “You in?”

Johnny was closer to her than he’d ever been. “You’re not going to bite
me, are you?”

She leaned in. She wasn’t wearing makeup and didn’t need any. Even in

the dim light of the alley, Johnny could see her face had no flaws. It was a

perfect almond in shape. The smell of roses drifted upwards from her hair.
Her eyes stared into his. “I just may,” she said.

That was all he needed to hear. “All right,” he replied. “I’m in.”

She turned her back to him and once more he was gifted with the view

he had first held of her. The muscles of her tight body rippled. Her long hair

flowed down her back. She inserted the crowbar into the gap between GoGo’s

door and its frame. “I always get hungry–“ She leaned into it, a solid, packed

mass. Johnny didn’t think of offering to help, so riveted was he watching her.

His arousal pushed hard against his pants. The frame crunched and the door
popped open. “–around the full moon,” she finished.

* * * * *

One break-in and a dozen jelly doughnuts apiece later, he and Giovanna
walked beside the ocean. They had rolled their jeans up and waves washed

over their feet, plunging them deeper into the sand. The night was chilly, but
calm. He was captivated by Giovanna, her energy, her laugh, her smile, her

ass – every inch of her. Raw and uninhibited. she radiated sex without trying.
Unlike earlier in the day, the dozen doughnuts he had downed hadn’t
fazed him. He felt energized, as though his body had vacuumed the doughnuts
right out of his stomach and sucked them into his system. He wasn’t sure why,

but went hand in hand with the irrepressible urges he had been experiencing.
Walking on a beach with Giovanna wasn’t the time to worry about it.

She led him down the beach the same way she had led him into crime.

Rob GoGo’s? He couldn’t believe he had allowed her to persuade him into it.

He liked GoGo. He was a kind, decent, hardworking, doughnut-baking

Nancy. Johnny hadn’t even put up a fight. All she had to do was look at him

and he was helpless.

“Doughnut for your thoughts,” she said. He frowned. “Oh, come on,

Johnny, we only took two dozen doughnuts.”

“Only?”

“They were day olds.”

“Not the point.”

“Fine. Sulk,” she said. “I’m going for a swim. Want to join me?”
He stared at the ocean. The desire to swim had returned. He felt it

welling up inside him. He batted it down. “No,” he said.

“You know you want to,” she said.

“I’m not going.” He flopped down onto the sand.

“Suit yourself,” she said. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head. A
light, long-sleeved tee shirt was underneath. Johnny was riveted and she knew
it. She smiled at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. God, how he loved

women. Underneath the tee shirt was the top half of what looked to be a pink
one piece bathing suit. “I come prepared,” she said and threw the shirt at him.

It landed on his head. Not wanting to miss an instant of this show, he yanked
it from his face and kept staring. “You’re intense,” she said. “I like that.” She
unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans and down they came. One leg at a time,

she pulled the cuffs past each foot and stepped out.
He was sure he’d seen other women as beautiful before, maybe moreso,

but he knew he’d never been more aroused. It went hand in hand with every

other extreme emotion he’d felt over the past several days. The suit clung to

her. She flung her pants at him and he grabbed them out of the air. By the
time he put them down, she was sprinting into the ocean.

She ran past the breakers and dove headfirst under an oncoming wave.

She wasn’t under long, only a few seconds, but she emerged much farther out

than he had anticipated. She must have covered thirty meters. She looked

back at him and waved, then dove under again. This time she was under much

longer than before. He stood up and walked to the water’s edge and looked

into the distance. A head bobbed to the surface. She was a quarter of a mile

offshore. How had she had gotten there? It couldn’t be possible. While he
pondered this, another thought struck him. How could he see her at that

distance at this time of night? His eyes weren’t that good.

In the short time it took for these thoughts to roll around in his skull,
Giovanna had made her way back to shore. She emerged and walked towards

her discarded clothes. He watched her throw her dry shirt and jeans over her
wet body. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and lay down in the sand.
He hovered over her, admiring every curve. Reading his mind, she said,

“Don’t get any ideas, Johnny.”

He slumped down beside her. For a while, he listened to her breathing.

It was deep and slow. Then he broke the silence. “So tell me something,” he
said.
She rolled her head towards him. “So serious,” she said. “Fire away.”

“Why do you dress up in a shark suit?” Her laughter indicated that it

was no less funny now than it had been two hours earlier. “Is it that funny?”

he said.

Her laughter slowed, then stopped. She maintained a broad smile. “It’s

pretty funny,” she said. “To borrow a cliché, it’s also a long story.” She sat up.
“I’m in the mood for bourbon, how about you?”

Bourbon? He had never craved bourbon in his life, couldn’t stand the

stuff. A mere sniff made his stomach turn. Bourbon? Riciculous. Yet as soon

as she had planted the idea in his head, he couldn’t get it out. Yes, bourbon.

Of course, bourbon. Naturally, bourbon.

“I know where we can get a fifth,” he said.

* * * * *

Hank Wilson manned his post like the former U.S. Army infantry
trooper he was. He lay flat on a blanket he had spread over the crushed grass
several yards from his trap. At his side was a gaff as long as his forearm.

With the exception of his hourly rounds, he’d spent most of the night in that
position. To any unsuspecting shark that might wander by in search of

doughnuts and bourbon, he would be invisible. It had been a long night, but he
had his thermos of hot coffee to keep him alert. His eyelids drooped and he

realized it was time for another slug. After a long look in all directions, he
propped himself up on one elbow and unscrewed the top.
 Johnny wasn’t sure how, but he could smell Hank was close by. Hank’s
odor drifted towards him in the black night and was as clear to him as the Big

Dipper. The closer he got the more powerful the scent became. He felt as
though he could close his eyes and walk and he would hone in on Hank

regardless. His odor was out of place amidst the vegetal fragrance of the

grasses, mixed with the hundreds of small animals, birds, and insects. It was

uncanny how well he could smell.

“Hank?” he whispered.

“Johnny? Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here?

“Couldn’t sleep.” Johnny sidled up to him and kneeled. “Hey, I think I

just saw it.”

Hank placed the thermos top on the blanket and sat up. “Where?”

“Just as I was coming up here. As I walked through the grass, I could

have sworn I saw it going the other way.”

“Back towards the ocean?”

“Yeah.”
“Damn it! Must have smelled the trap.” He grabbed the gaff and stood

up. “Show me where.”

The two of them hurried towards Johnny’s alleged sighting. Johnny led
the way. He didn’t like deceiving Hank. He liked Hank. He also liked

bourbon. Or at least he did tonight. Tomorrow night it might be tequila. Or

rum. Or grape juice. Tonight it was bourbon. When he had knelt beside

Hank, so close to the bottle suspended over the pit, he imagined he could smell
the bourbon through the glass. Given how acute his senses had become he
couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Here.” He stopped. At his feet was one of the two jelly doughnut
boxes he had purchased from GoGo.

Hank knelt down to inspect it. He twirled his index finger on the inside

of the box. “Just as I suspected. Jelly. Which way did you see it go?”

“That way.” Johnny pointed. “Must have swum away.”

“All right, Johnny, follow me.”

This time Johnny tagged along as Hank led the way. He couldn’t see

Giovanna, but if he concentrated he could distinguish her scent. He knew

exactly where she was, and he looked over his shoulder in the direction of the

trap. He knew she was about to make off with the goods. Poor Hank. Johnny

followed along behind him to the edge of the ocean. Hank looked out to sea,

trying to make out a fleeing fin in the dark pool.

Johnny touched his shoulder. “Over here.” He pointed at an object

bobbing in and out on the breaking waves a few yards up the beach. Hank

pounced on it and yanked it from the grip of the receding surf.

“Another jelly doughnut box,” he said. Hank was glum. “I thought I had
a real shot tonight.”

“It was a nice idea, Hank. Don’t give up,” said Johnny. “There will be
plenty of other nights for you to gaff a walking shark.”
Hank looked up. “There’s always tomorrow.”

He asked if Johnny wanted to walk back to town with him, but Johnny
had a rendezvous with Giovanna down the beach. He left Hank to inspect the

remnants of his plundered trap. Johnny could smell Giovanna making a wide
circle through the dunes. She was already ahead of him and sprinting towards
the ocean. As she ran, he inhaled her perspiration as though it was the finest

perfume. He jogged along the beach to where he sensed she would emerge.
Just as she did, Hank unleashed a string of profanity that would make a

sawtoothed great white blush. A momentary pang of guilt went away the

instant Giovanna held up the bourbon and doughnuts.

“Want a drink?” she asked.

A half hour later, the sun was up and the two of them walked hand in

hand towards the lighthouse. The bourbon and doughnuts hadn’t lasted long.

Lightweight that he was, he expected to stagger down the beach, crawl even,

yet he didn’t feel a thing. By the look of it neither did she, another bizarre

phenomenon in a day full of them. Now wasn’t the time to question it though.

Not with Giovanna beside him, not with the way she had reached for his hand

and grabbed it, not with the way she had looked into his eyes and smiled. Now

wasn’t the time to question anything.

As they reached the pier, she stopped him. “I won’t see you for a few

days,” she said. “Can you wait for me?”

“Uh-“ He stammered. He remembered his promise to her aunt. What

could he say? He didn’t want any trouble with the aunt. She was nuts. He

had to be honest with Giovanna though.

In the midst of his hesitation, Giovanna made his choice easy. “I’m
sorry,” she said, and put her arms around his neck. “I promise to make it up to

you.” She kissed him. “In a few days.”

“Okay, if you promise,” he said.

She let go of him and left him standing in the sand, staring at her perfect
backside as she walked away. Again, he was mesmerized by her thin waist
and the perfect curve it led into. The lust was back, but he didn’t move. He

refused. To show such lack of willpower now would be a big mistake. She got
in the boat and started the engine. She waved from the stern and set off for the

lighthouse as Johnny set off for his apartment.

* * * * *

His name was Tiger. Tiger Shark. And that’s the way he said it when he

introduced himself. He had just beaten a slippery sand shark at baccarat and

the crook hadn’t taken it well. He’d sent two great whites after him in a

Ferrari. They raced along a road that hugged the edge of a cliff in tight

ripples. Beside him in his custom Lamborghini was the hammerhead hotty he
had picked up at the bar. As an added bonus, she had turned out to be the sand

shark’s fiancé. The spoils of war, he thought.

He looked behind him in the rear view mirror. The great whites closed

on him, just the way he had intended. He floored the Lambo and pressed a
button on the secret control panel built into the steering wheel. A bloody trail
of chum gushed from a compartment underneath the vehicle. The Ferrari hit

the chum slick and skidded, veering off the cliff and crashing in a mangled,
fiery heap at the bottom. He brought the car to a halt and surveyed the

damage. After a moment’s pause he turned to the hammerhead hotty, and in

his most suave voice announced, “I think they took the bait.”

“Oh, Tiger,” she said, and swooned in his arms.

He was alone when he woke up that afternoon. Connie had left before he
had returned to the apartment in the morning. She was an early riser, so he
wasn’t surprised only disappointed. He wouldn’t have minded a quicky. Or

two. Or three or four. He stretched his arms out above him. He had a few
hours to kill before he walked out to the lighthouse for the evening’s

appointment. It was Monday. The bar was closed, so he wouldn’t have to

worry about that. He was about to get up when someone knocked on his door.

He sat up and shimmied to the edge, then pushed himself to his feet. Another
knock.

He swung the door open to find Lacey standing there. By the standards

of any average female, Lacey had a fashionable wardrobe. By the standards of

the average sixteen year old, she was intimidating. She owned more outfits

than runway models. Her friends couldn’t match up. Not even her mother

could keep up with her. Connie preferred comfort. Lacey was all about style.

She was the type of woman who would always look her best at every moment.

And this was one of them. The outfit was simple, skirt and blouse, but she
wore a black leather jacket and matching knee-high leather boots that

gleamed. He soaked her in without saying a word. She hadn’t been up to his

studio before.
She looked at the ground, then back up at him. Shy. Cute. Not herself.

“Can I come in?”

He had been so caught up with how she looked, he hadn’t realized he
was keeping her waiting. “Sure. I’m sorry.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

She located the one chair and sat on its edge, knees together and pointed
to the side, a demure high school girl. She released the backpack she had been

holding in one hand. It landed on the carpet. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
 “No, I was just about to get up. It’s okay.” He sat on the bed and
yawned. “I’d offer you something to drink, but all I have is beer.” He pointed

at a mini-fridge behind her. “I could get you a glass of water.”

“No, that’s okay.” She stopped. He waited for more. She looked around.

“It’s nice.”

“It’s a room. So what brings you here, Lacey?”

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said. “It was dumb.”

“Damn right.”

“Sorry.” He waited again. She rocked back and forth in her chair. “I

didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” she said. “I heard Hank talking this

morning and he said you were headed toward the lighthouse, so I told my

Mom, and I didn’t think it would be a big deal. But- But- She’s not stupid, you

know.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Mom’s mad at you. She knows about you and that Giovanna. She
knows she lives in the lighthouse. She’s not stupid.” Again with the not

stupid. “She knows you left her and didn’t come back last night, and she

figured you went to meet up with her.”

Johnny was a good liar. Excellent by some standards. When he wanted

to lie to one of his older broads, it was always something he’d been working
on for weeks prior to the actual event. He didn’t like an ad hoc approach.
Preparation was key. Even though Lacey didn’t fall into that category, she’d

work fine as a substitute for Connie, therefore for his purposes she was an
older broad. In this case, however, he realized that not only was he lacking a

lie but, as if that wasn’t odd enough, he had no desire to tell one. He didn’t
care what the two Morgan girls thought. “Oh,” he said. “Thanks for letting
me know.”

She didn’t get up to leave, so Johnny waited. “You should be careful,”

she said.

“I’ll talk to Connie.”

“Not of my Mom. That girl. Giovanna. Be careful of her. She’s bad

news.”
“What are you talking about?”

“Do you remember that night I found you asleep on the park bench?”

He remembered. That was the first night he had seen Giovanna in her

shark suit. He almost laughed at it now. “Yeah, sure, why?”

“A couple of nights before that, I was at a party at the beach. We had a

bonfire. Lots of people from school were there. Anyway, I was in the dunes a

little ways away-“

He scowled at her. “With who?”

“Nobody.” She looked at the wall. “I had to pee.”

“Oh.” He smiled.

“Anyway, I saw her. Right as the sun set. She turned into a shark, dove
into the water, and swam away.”

“What?” The girl had an imagination. “I’ve seen her shark suit too,” he
said. “It’s no big deal.”
“No, I’m not talking about a shark suit. I mean I saw her change into a

shark right there on the beach.” She leaned forward, big eyes drilling into
him. “And that’s not all. I saw her the next night in town, going through

garbage pails and waddling around. She’s gross and she’s weird and she’s not
normal. She’s a freak. I don’t know what you see in her.”
His face was a blank. If it bothered her, she didn’t let on. He met her

gaze and she met his. The odd impression that her nostrils billowed like a
fish’s gills struck him. He leaned forward and said, “She gives a mean

hickey.”

“I’m serious, Johnny.”

“Her breath’s a little fishy though.”

“Fine.” She picked up her backpack and walked towards the door.

“Make a joke out of it.”

“She has a salty sense of humor.”

“Screw you.” She ripped open the door and pounded down the steps to

the street. He grabbed the edge of the door as it whizzed by him and looked

down at her fleeing figure. She stopped in the entryway and glowered back up

at him. “And you know I’m right! You saw her that night.” She charged into

the street.
He didn’t bother calling her back. She was right. Not about Giovanna

becoming a shark, of course, but about her being a freak. She was one. He

didn’t doubt she spent time rummaging around dumpsters. Hell, he had
almost done the same. She had a drinking problem, and a serious jelly

doughnut addiction. No question. Yes, Giovanna was a freak. That didn’t

disturb him. He knew that already. What disturbed him was the realization
that he was becoming one too.

* * * * *

 It was near sunset when Johnny approached the lighthouse. That was
what Mrs. Henderson had said: “before the sun goes down.” He wasn’t sure

why. Maybe Giovanna worked during the day and she got home around that
time? Everyone got home around that time. He’d worked enough happy

hours to know that. Besides, she hadn’t mentioned a job to him. Was she a

student? No, too old. All in all, it didn’t matter whether she worked or didn’t

work, studied or didn’t study. Who cared? When a woman looked that good,
nothing else mattered.

It was odd. All the time he’d spent around alcohol and he’d never been

to an intervention before. He could only imagine what would take place.

Would they hold hands and say a prayer? He didn’t think so. Hug and cry on

each other’s shoulders? Not planning on it. What right did he have to say

anything after last night? The two of them had chugged a bottle of bourbon

and had felt like he barely wet his lips.

Overhead, dried-out leaves turned from green to yellow, orange, and red,
and rattled one another in the breeze. He turned onto the bike path and cut

through the woods. His revived sense of smell picked up all the nuances of

the woods, the musty odor of decay that arrived with autumn, the stashes of
acorns, and the forsaken nests. He spotted the dead husk of a robin’s nest high

up in the branches. Unlike the season, he had never felt so alive.

He reached the fence that shielded the Henderson’s empire from the rest
of the world. The lighthouse reminded him of a secluded monastery, a place

where elderly monks cultivated gardens and prayed away from the eyes of
civilization. Then he thought of Giovanna – her dark hair and eyes, the

continuous curve of her body. He was no monk. She was no nun. He climbed
around the fence and was on his way.
The pull of the water was strong, but Giovanna’s pull was stronger. He

could smell her and wondered if she could smell him too. His nose directed
him upwards, so he lifted his head to look at the beacon in the lighthouse’s

tower. There she was. Even at this distance, he had a crystal clear view of her

face. Their eyes met. She glared at him with the intensity of the Fresnel lens

she stood in front of. She more than smelled him. She was irate. She spun
around and disappeared down the stairs into the lighthouse. By the time he

reached the small garden that fronted the cabin, her aunt was at the door.

“Right on time,” said the old lady. “Come on in.”

She stepped aside and he passed into the living room. No Giovanna, but

even without her in the room her aroma was overpowering. He wasn’t

prepared for the intensity. He closed his eyes and sniffed. It was human and

aquatic. Odd that he hadn’t smelled it outside. He shrugged it off. After all,

he was on a pier surrounded by water.

“Something the matter?” It was Mrs. Henderson.

“No.”

“Sure. Want a drink?”

“You have any Jim Beam?”

“I thought you might ask for that. You forget why you’re here?”
“Iced tea is fine.”
She opened the door to what Johnny had thought was the entrance to the

lighthouse, only it wasn’t. It led down. A basement, he presumed. “Gio,

we’ve got company.”

“Tell him to get lost,” she yelled up.

 “It’s for your own good, Gio. Come up.” She turned to Johnny. “She’ll
be right up. Make yourself at home.”

He sat down feeling uncomfortable. Giovanna was right. What right did
he have to tell her not to drink? He mulled over the possibility of leaving, but

it was too late for that now. He could hear Giovanna stomping up the stairs.

She appeared at the threshold of the door, her arms crossed, her eyes glaring.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“Your aunt invited me.”

“That’s right. I did.” Mrs. Henderson returned with a glass of iced tea

for Johnny and handed it to him. “Sit down, Gio.”

“Why did you invite him over here now?” Her hands pleaded with her

aunt. “You know how I get.”

“I do, and that’s what we’re here to talk about.”

She was stunned. “With him?”

“Of course.”
Johnny sipped his tea and listened to the dialogue between the two.

Damn, how he wanted a bourbon. What was he doing here? He looked out

the window. It was growing darker. He felt like a swim. He wanted to feel the
water flowing past him, the freedom of floating with the current, the thrill of

riding waves. His mind wandered. He saw himself swimming into a school of
fish and chasing them, until he caught up to one and sank his teeth into its
scaly skin. In place of blood and guts though was the sweet, gelatinous filling

of one of GoGo’s jelly doughnuts. Another fish was in his sights. He opened
his mouth-

“Hey, dummy!”
 Both the old lady and Giovanna were staring at him. He had no idea
what they had been discussing. “What?” he asked. “And you promised to be

nice to me.”
She exhaled with effort. “All right. Pay attention then.” She inhaled.

“Gio, Johnny and I were talking about this yesterday.”

“You were?”

“Yes, and he agrees with me.”

She looked perplexed. In a fraction of an instant, that expression

changed to frantic. Johnny felt a tingle as well. It was as though the first rays

of moonlight were making his hairs stand on end. She rushed over to the

window and looked outside. Her aunt was exasperated by the turn of events.

“Gio, would you sit down?” she said. Johnny felt it too. He couldn’t sit any

longer. The cut on his hand, which had healed, throbbed again.

“Johnny,” said Giovanna, “please turn around for a minute.”

“What?”
“Turn around?”

“Why?”

“Yes. Why, Gio?” said her aunt in a voice that feigned ignorance.
She looked at her aunt. “I’m going to put my shark suit on now.” Mrs.

Henderson rolled her eyes. Giovanna looked at Johnny. He didn’t move.

“Please,” she said.
“Oh, all right.” He did as asked and turned his back to the two of them.

He stared out the window into the darkness. He could see the moon’s bright
eye peering down at him. It mesmerized him with the power of a practiced

hypnotist. He was amazed by how sharp and clear its outline was. His eyes
 had a telescopic power. He was able to make out valleys and mountains,
details he had never seen before unaided. A shiver zippered up his spine.

“Okay, you can turn around now,” said Giovanna.

He didn’t budge. He belonged to the moon. It owned him. The smells

and sounds of the ocean filled his head. He had to shake himself free. He

faced her again.

“Ta da. What do you think?” she asked.

Posing before him was Giovanna in her shark suit, her tail balanced on

the floor, her arms poking out from the sides. The giant snout tilted at an

angle so that one eye could peer at him. Rows of jagged teeth arced from one

side to the other. It was striking. He stepped forward. She didn’t move. He

reached out an arm and touched the surface of the costume from the head

down the back to the dorsal fin. He lowered an index finger onto a tooth and

applied pressure to the point. Sharp. She exhaled salt and seaweed and raw

fish. “This is pretty damn realistic,” he said. “How the hell do you get into
it?”

“That’s not why we’re here, Johnny,” said Mrs. Henderson. She

confronted her niece. “Gio, there’s something we need to talk about. You’ve
been drinking too much again.” She looked at Johnny. “Tell her.”

“I think she has bigger problems,” he said.

Giovanna crossed her arms. “Oh, do I? Like what?”
“Like what? Are you kidding me? Look at yourself.” Her shark face

betrayed no emotion, but her tail stiffened and swatted a coffee table,
knocking her aunt’s tchotchkes onto the floor.

“Watch it, Gio,” said her aunt.

 “Giovanna, you don’t have to dress up in a shark suit to get attention.
You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “I’m crazy about you.”

“Are you?” she said. Her tail drooped back to the floor.
“How do you do that?” The miracle of the tail’s movements amazed

him. “How do you move the tail like that?”

“Numbskull-“ It was the old lady. “Don’t you get it yet?”

“Get what? And I am not a numbskull.”

“It’s no suit. That’s the real thing.”

“What?” As much as the old lady annoyed him, he decided to overlook

her latest insult. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s true, Johnny,” said Giovanna. “It’s no suit. This is me. It’s who I

am.” Johnny looked at the two of them, but for once they weren’t laughing.

“I turn into a wereshark when the moon is full.”

“A wereshark?” It was Johnny’s turn to laugh. “Come on.” Then he

remembered Lacey’s story. She couldn’t have been serious. The rantings of a
teenage girl. He reached out towards Giovanna again and poked her sides a

few times. Hard as a- What? Shark?

“Could you stop that, please?” she said.

He dropped his hand to his side. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”
“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, can we get on with the
intervention?” said the old lady.

He ignored the aunt. “How the hell did this happen?” he asked.
“What do you think? I was bitten by another wereshark.”

“There are more of you?”

 “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t met any others. I only knew him and
he got drunk one night and played chicken with a cruise ship. He lost.”

“So you don’t have to be in the water?”

“I’m a wereshark. Half-person, half-shark. Water, land, both are good.”

“Do you eat people?”

She drew her snout back in shock. “What do you think I am? A

cannibal?”
“No.” Her aunt barged in. “You’re an alcoholic and you need help. The

first step is to admit it.”

“That’s not true,” said Giovanna. “I’m not going to admit that.”

“Who cares?” he shouted. “She’s a wereshark!”

The two of them stopped and looked at him.

“There’s no reason to shout,” said Mrs. Henderson.

“No reason to shout? Look at your niece. She’s a freak.”

“Oh, I’m a freak now,” said Giovanna. “First you’re crazy about me.
Then you say I’m a freak.”

“So, Johnny,” said the old lady, “speaking of freakiness, notice anything

strange about yourself lately? Big appetite? Heightened senses, particularly

smell? Strong sexual desires?” Her eyes bored into him. “An uncontrollable

urge to go for a swim?”

His mouth dropped open. He felt like his mother had caught him in bed
with his hand down his pants.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I told you you were kindred spirits. You cut
yourself on one of Gio’s teeth. You’re practically a wereshark yourself. One

good bite from Gio before the night’s over and you’ll be chasing minnows.”
 “Chasing minnows?” said Giovanna. “That’s good.” He stepped back.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “I’m not interested.” She waddled towards

him and stuck her finger into his chest. He backed against the wall. “You’re
just like all the other guys. Tell a woman anything she wants to hear, then as

soon as she turns into a wereshark, you dump her and move on to the next

one.”

“It’s not like that,” he said.

“You don’t have to worry about it, Johnny. I’m getting ready to migrate.

It’s just about mating season, you know. If you aren’t interested, I’m sure I

can find another shark who might be.”

“Fine. Go ahead,” he said.

“Maybe a great white. They’re pretty bad-ass.”

“Sure, lots of sharp teeth too. Don’t forget that.”

“That’s right. And big, powerful pectoral fins!”

“Brains the size of a pea!”

“Big, muscular jaws!”

“I might have known you’d go for that!”

“Hey, you two!” shouted Aunt Mary. “Break it up.” She placed her
hand on Giovanna’s snout. “Dummy doesn’t want to be a wereshark. Forget

about him.”
“I thought you were going to be nice to me,” said Johnny.
“That was nice.”

Giovanna said nothing. She turned her back to the two of them and
waddled to the open door she had emerged from. He heard the rush of waves

flow in and out. Her tail slid across the hardwood floor and was the last part
of her that disappeared down the stairs. Its thump from step to step grew
fainter as she descended. He could smell the ocean through the door. He had

a good idea the stairs led to the cave he had seen when he circumnavigated the
jetty in the dinghy. From there, Giovanna would dive into the ocean and he

would never see her again. Good. It was for the best. Aunt Mary was right.

He didn’t want to be a wereshark.

“No bourbon tonight,” her aunt yelled down to her, as if that were the
only thing in the world to worry about.

“I’m leaving,” he said to her back. He didn’t wait for her to turn around.

The walk back should have been tougher in the dark, but he could see

every detail like it was day. He ran. Wereshark? Are you kidding me? His

mind wandered back to the image of Giovanna transformed into a shark, back

the beach the night before, back to GoGo’s the first time they met. Big

mistake. Without paying attention, his foot caught on a rock. As he tripped

and fell, his ankle twisted and he cried out. He lay on the path while he caught
his breath.

Based on the searing pain, he anticipated the worst – a severe sprain,

possible break. He would have to hobble back to town. He flexed the ankle
several times in multiple directions. Nothing. No swelling. No pain. He

stood and put weight on it. Nothing. Was he invincible? Was he a wereshark
himself? No, she hadn’t bitten him. The tooth had cut his finger, but it wasn’t
the same as a bite. She had to bite him.

He pushed the thought out of his mind. He had to get the hell out of
here, off the pier and back to a bar. Kelly’s would be open. The water pulled

at him again. Every wave creeping into the cracks of the pier extended a
malevolent fin towards him. He picked up the pace again and ran faster than
he had ever run before. He had to escape the sea. At the base of the pier, he

reached around the fence and swung his leg to the other side. Almost safe.
He kept moving at a quick pace across the parking lot. He had almost

reached the far side when he heard a whisper on the wind. “Johnny?” The

wind at his back had kept him from recognizing the out-of-place odor in the

air. It was Hank Wilson. “Johnny, is that you?”

A shadowy outline grazed the ground to his left. “Hank?” He moved in

a diagonal towards him. As he did, the odors become more obvious, not just

Hank’s sweat, but other, stronger odors. Hank reeked of coffee and whiskey

and fish and GoGo’s jelly doughnuts. Johnny slipped into the trees, hurdled a

log, and kneeled down beside him.

“Hank, what are you doing?”

“Waiting, Johnny. Waiting.” Hank had torqued onto his right side,

propped up by an elbow. In his left hand, Johnny could see a gaff, no doubt the
same one Hank had beside him the previous night. He pointed the gaff in the

general direction of the lighthouse. “What were you doing out at the

lighthouse?”
Johnny had no idea how Hank had figured out Giovanna’s secret.

“What are you waiting for?”

“For it.” Hank looked at Johnny with wide eyes, like it was the most
obvious thing in the world. “The shark. I found its tracks in the sand and

waited for the sun to come up so I could follow them. They led out there.” He
pointed the gaff at the lighthouse again.

“The lighthouse? Hank, there’s nobody out there but an old lady and her
niece.”
Hank sat up without a wave of emotion. “I’ve got a feeling about this,

Johnny. It’s out there. They may be hiding it, but it’s out there.”
Johnny looked across the parking lot at the lighthouse. What were his

options? He had to play along, only the humor had gone out of it. “What do

you plan to do?”

Hank raised the gaff and tightened his grip on it. He didn’t have to say a
word. Johnny knew what he meant.

“Listen, Hank, you don’t have to gaff her,” he started then caught

himself. “I mean ‘it.’”

Hank’s few remaining brain cells fired. He tensed his features into an

agony of thought. “You think it’s a female, huh?”

“No,” he said. Good one, Dodson. “I don’t know. Whatever it is, there’s

no reason to gaff it.”

“Of course there is, Johnny,” Hank said and sat up. “She stole my coffee
and doughnuts.” He had latched onto the feminine pronoun. “And a bottle of

Jim Beam. On top of that, the liquor store’s offering a five hundred dollar

reward.”
“And those are damn good reasons,” he said. He hadn’t heard about the

reward. “But maybe I can talk to it, reason with it, get it to replace the bottle
and doughnuts.”
Hank pondered this for a moment, the training wheels turning.

Johnny checked his pockets. “And throw in, say, a hundo.”

Hank scratched his chin with the gaff. It wasn’t a bad offer at that. A

hundred bucks could buy a lot of doughnuts and coffee. He saw himself sitting
in his beach chair again, reading the paper, noshing on a big jelly morsel. Then
he saw his father sitting in his favorite chair, a hulking recliner, parked in front

of the TV, wiping the last morsel of powdered sugar from his lips. He saw
himself again, this time as a child, staring into the vast emptiness of a vacant

cardboard box lying on the floor where his father had tossed it. He would be

forever scarred by jelly.

He dropped back onto his stomach in the sand. “No thanks, Johnny, I’m
going to reel this shark in.”

Just like that, the conversation was over. He had nothing else to say to

Hank, and Hank had nothing else to say to him. Johnny stood. He had to

warn Giovanna.

* * * * *

Johnny was no runner, but he sprinted the whole way back to town. He

figured Giovanna with her gargantuan tail was a faster swimmer than he was a

jogger, but she would have to be careful and wait for her opportunity to go
ashore. He could stay out in the open, but not so out in the open that she
would see him. He concealed himself behind a dumpster in the alley in back

of GoGo’s.
If anyone saw him, how would he explain it? Taking out the trash?

Dropped a quarter? Looking for yesterday’s sports pages? He decided the

best excuse was that he had to pee. The old standby. He shivered. It was

getting colder. His breath hung in the crisp autumn air then dissipated to
nothing.
 “Boo!”
His whole body shook with a start. Focused on the other end of the

alley, his acute sense of smell overpowered by the pungent tang of garbage, he
had somehow missed Lacey stalking him. He saw her and relaxed. Lacey was

laughing out loud. There went the element of surprise.

“That was soooo great,” she said.

He took her by the arm and led her out of the alley and around the
corner. He looked back and could see nothing in the other direction. “What

do you want, Lacey?” he asked.

“That was exactly what I wanted.” She went on laughing. “You should

have seen your face.”

“All right, you got me. Is that all?”

“What are you doing behind the dumpster?” Her face became serious.

“You’re waiting for shark woman.”

“Lacey, there is no shark woman.”

She looked around the corner. “Is she going to raid the dumpsters?”

Johnny pulled her back. “I told you, there is no shark woman. I had to

pee.”
“Right. Do you have a crush on her?”

“Do I what? No. Are you kidding me?”

“You love her, don’t you? So how do you two do it? Do you lift her tail
in the air?” She was getting a huge kick out of herself. As much as he wanted

to, he couldn’t bring himself to get angry with her. “I’ve never seen it shark
style.”

“You’ve never seen it at all,” he said.

 “Not a guy and a shark, I haven’t.” She peeked around the corner again.
“If you’re going to wait for shark woman, I’m going to wait with you.” She

zipped away from Johnny before he could stop her and started off down the
alley towards the dumpster. He reached for her, but she scurried beyond his

grasp. He enjoyed looking at her tight ass on most occasions, but this wasn’t

one of them.

He caught up to her. “Lacey!”

“Shhh!” she said, “Sharkey might be here any minute.” He stood and

caught his breath, not sure how to handle her, not sure how he’d handle

Giovanna, not sure about anything. Did he love Giovanna? No, couldn’t be.

Infatuated, maybe, but love? No way. He was about to grab Lacey and escort

her pretty little behind out of the alley, when her head popped up like a cork

bobbing to the water’s surface. Her whole body stiffened, her mouth opened

wide, and she stared off into space over his shoulder. Her wide eyes faced

him. “Oh my God, it’s really her,” she whispered. “I told you, Johnny, she’s a
walking shark.”

Johnny ducked his head and peaked around the dumpster. Sure enough,

Giovanna stood in front of the back door of GoGo’s Doughnuts. She held
something long and dark. She hefted it up in both hands and stuck the end in

the door. A crowbar. Sounds of wheezing metal confirmed his suspicions.

She was going to break into GoGo’s for one last cup of joe and a stash of jelly
doughnuts. He ducked back.

“She’s a freak,” said Lacey.

“Don’t say that,” he whispered back. “She’s not a freak. She’s- she’s-

she’s-“ He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “She’s just a wereshark.” There. It
was out there. He peered back down the alley.
“JUST a wereshark?” Lacey was loving it. “You really love her, don’t

you?” She wanted to make him as uncomfortable as possible. “You’re in love

with a wereshark.”

The wheezing stopped. Giovanna swung her tail and swiveled to face

them. Johnny ducked back. He grabbed Lacey, wrapped one arm around her

midsection and covered her mouth with his other hand, muffling her sounds as
best he could. She struggled and moaned through his grip, but he held on

tight. He couldn’t see Giovanna, but he imagined her scanning the alley back

and forth for movement. An instant later, she was back working on the door,

prying with the crowbar. The door popped open with a crunch. He could hear

her cartilaginous tail slide into the shop. He let Lacey go. As he walked

towards the door of the shop, she fired the expected string of profanity at him.

“You’re not going in there without me,” she said.

He frowned. “I didn’t think so.”

Johnny slowed as he reached the door and peeked inside. The bakery in

back was in darkness, but he was surprised to see light between the edges of

the door leading to the shop in front. It was as though Giovanna didn’t care
about being caught. Lacey pressed her body against his back and looked over

his shoulder. He couldn’t see Giovanna, but he could hear her moving around
up front without any concern for being heard. He walked through the bakery
and pushed the door open, Lacey skittering behind.

Giovanna stood in front of the espresso machine, heating up the foam

for a large latté with a shot of vanilla. His hypersensitive nostrils inhaled the

aroma of java, vanilla beans, and doughnuts. Her back was to them, but he
had no doubt she knew they were there. “One for the Gulfstream?” he asked.
“You bet,” said Giovanna. She kept her back to him, focused on heating

the milk to the perfect temperature of one hundred seventy degrees.

“Oh my God, she’s a freak,” said Lacey.

“Lacey!” said Johnny.

“She’s right,” said Giovanna, “not everyone likes a shot of Jim Beam in

their latté’s.” She reached for a bottle Johnny hadn’t noticed, standing on the
counter. Jim Beam in a latté? He thought about it. That wasn’t a bad idea.

“But I think it perks it up a little bit.” Johnny told himself to focus. Giovanna

tipped her snout at Lacey. “Thank your Mom for me.”

Lacey stepped out from behind Johnny. “You ripped my Mom off?

You’re not just a freak, you’re a thief!”

At that moment, sirens blared. They came from the direction Morgan’s,

but it was only a matter of time before they reached GoGo’s. Lacey stomped

towards the door. “I’m going to get the police and bring them over here.” She
rushed out and was gone. Giovanna confronted him. “Are you going to run

and get the police?”

“No.”
“What do you want? Why did you come here?”

“Hank’s got a gaff. And he intends to use it. On you.”

She finished pouring the steamed milk into the cup. “What do you
care?”

He knew he wanted to say something to her, but he couldn’t put it into

words. He resisted. All he could say was “I care. I- I care a lot about you.”

Johnny was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. On the one hand, he didn’t

want to look at Giovanna. He wanted to think of her as a woman, a soft,
supple, beautiful woman, not a wereshark. On the other hand, he found

himself having inappropriate randy thoughts about naked weresharks. The

nakedness wasn’t the issue. As far as he could see, it must be common for

weresharks to walk around naked. In fact, it must be a challenge for a

wershark to find anything in its size. No, it was the urge to rush over and

plant one on her lips, maybe even sneak his tongue in there. Could it be he
had a wereshark fetish? He was ashamed of himself and struggled to block the

thoughts out of his head. “I might not want to be a wereshark,” he said, “but I

still care.”

She arched a critical eye at him, large and white with a deep black pupil.

Then out of the blue, she said, “Gotta’ go,” and sprinted through the plate

glass window of GoGo’s façade. She hit it like a torpedo and glass exploded

onto the street and the interior of the shop. Johnny turned his face and covered

his eyes with his forearm. When he looked up, he could no longer see her, but
knew she had made her way towards the canal, towards the safety of water. It

was a good thing her latté was in a waterproof thermos. He had done his part.

He had warned her about Hank. Why had she bolted like that? He couldn’t
figure it out, until he sensed movement behind him.

“KI-AAAAAAIIIIII ! ! !”
On sheer instinct, Johnny leapt to the side as a samurai sword chopped
down and severed the display case, spewing more glass into the air and onto

the floor. Puffs of powdered sugar formed a thin cloud. Half a doughnut
rolled towards him, jelly oozing from it like a fresh wound. GoGo stood in

back of the counter wearing the face of a raving maniac, or an ancient samurai.
Either way, he was dangerous. He extricated the sword from the remains of
the counter. Stunned, all Johnny could do was back away.

“Johnny, you stear GoGo’s jerry doughnuts. Now, it’s time for GoGo’s
revenge!”

Johnny felt certain that his severed body was well beyond any

discussion of reasonable amends. GoGo shuffled around the counter, sword

held straight in front of him. He narrowed the distance inch by inch and raised
the blade overhead. Johnny watched its slow ascent. In a rush GoGo charged

forward, slicing down through the air again. The jelly-curdling cry shrieked

out: “KI-AAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIII ! ! !”

Johnny sprang out of the way. The blade missed him and hacked a large

formica chunk out of a table he had hidden behind.

“GoGo, take it easy. You’re destroying the shop.” GoGo tiptoed closer.

“GoGo, stop, listen.”

But GoGo wouldn’t listen. He was in a samurai doughnut zone. He

sliced at Johnny. Up. Down. Side to side. Johnny danced away. His

unaccustomed speed saved him from the cuts, but in a short time GoGo’s

ferocious assault left him no room to escape. He fenced Johnny into a corner.
GoGo leveled the sword at him. “Sorry, Johnny, I rike you, but nobody robs

GoGo.”
GoGo brushed a piece of glass out of the way with his toe in preparation
for a final lunge. Johnny had only one defense. “GoGo?”

“Yes?”
Johnny grit his teeth. He had to say it. “I think I’ve fallen in love with

you.”
 GoGo’s face lightened. His jaw dropped and he relaxed his grip on the
sword. “Reary?” His voice had an effeminate quiver that caused Johnny’s

stomach to do a three-sixty.
“Yes,” he said, “you’re one sexy samurai.”

“Don’t pray with GoGo’s feelings, Johnny.”

Johnny could see GoGo’s grip relax. “I’m not praying.” He caught

himself. “I mean playing. You don’t think I keep coming back just for the
doughnuts, do you?”

“Oh, Johnny.” The point of the blade dropped. That was all the opening

Johnny needed. He leaped forward before GoGo could make a move and

tackled him hard, knocking the sword out of his hand.

“Sorry, GoGo, I lied.” He popped up and raced towards the giant hole in

the plate glass Giovanna had created. He sidestepped several large shards of

glass and tiptoed outside where Bluepoint’s Finest was waiting.

“Hold it right there, Johnny.” It was none other than Sheriff Tom Frieda.
Dressed in a dark blue kimono, he stood in front of his squad car. The lights on

the squad car spun around and around.

“That was some show you just put on,” he said. “I had no idea you were
so fast. Do you work out, Johnny? You must work out.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, Tom, I’ve got a routine I go through, all bodyweight
exercises and a little medicine ball. It keeps me pretty trim.” He didn’t want
to spend his time bantering with Tom, but he was caught. He didn’t want to

surrender. He wanted to go to Giovanna, to protect her, to make sure Hank

didn’t gaff her, and- and- to be with her, wereshark or not. He loved her.

Damn it, he loved a wereshark. He had to find her.

 “Bodyweight, huh? That sounds intense. I put in a little time on the
stairmaster every night, but boy, you’ve really got some moves. Maybe you

can give me a few pointers some time?”

“Whatever I can do, Tommy.”

“All right, Johnny, now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’m going to

have to arrest you. Chun Li’s waiting for me back home and if I don’t book

you in the next hour, I’ll be in a whole lot of trouble.” He pulled a piece of
paper out of his kimono. “Let me read you your rights.”

“Hold on, Tom, let me explain.”

Tom tilted his hurt face up. “Gosh, Johnny, I was just about to read you

your rights.”

“You can’t! You just can’t. You’ve got to let me go. Someone’s in

danger.”

The Sheriff sniffled. “I just hate it when criminals talk back to me.”

“Tom, I’m not a criminal!”

Low sobs built in the Sheriff’s chest. The kimono quivered. “Johnny, I

feel awful about it. Believe me.” He dabbed his eyes with the sleeve of the

kimono. “You’re the last guy in town I want to arrest.”

“Then don’t, Tom! I’ve got to get out of here and help someone.”

“Except maybe GoGo. He’s also a sweet guy. But-”

“Sheriff, you’ve gotta’ believe me!”
Tom’s shoulders shook and the tears fell. “Do you have to be so nasty

about it?”
Johnny smelled GoGo before he heard his scream. He marvelled once

more at his sharpened senses. It was impossible for anyone to sneak up on

him. He leaped to the side just as the blade whizzed past his shoulder.
Everyone else moved in slow motion. His reflexes were animal-fast.

“KI-AAAIIIIIIII ! ! !”
Johnny looked over his shoulder and saw GoGo with the blade held

high, preparing for another cut. Sheriff Tom cried. Johnny bounded past him

and away from GoGo. “Tom, put on your happy face!” he called out.

He had to get to Giovanna. Nothing else mattered. Nothing could stop

him. Nothing stood in his way. Except Connie. Her arms were folded across

her chest. Standing behind her was Lacey. She was looking at him with

wonder and an innocent smile. He assumed they had watched the entire scene

from across the street.

Connie shook her head. “Johnny, I’m breaking up with you,” she said.

“Connie, I’m in love with a wereshark.”

“See, Mom, I told you,” said Lacey.

“And you’re fired,” said Connie. His words sank in. “What?”
“I’m going to let her bite me, and we’re going to swim away together.”

“And you’re crazy.” Lacey’s jaw dropped. Connie cocked her head to

one side.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” he said.

Connie leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders. She stood
on her toes and pecked him on the cheek, then dropped to her heels and smiled
at him. “Good luck,” she said.

Johnny had no chance to respond. A charging GoGo, screaming with his

sword held high, interrupted him.

“KI-AAAIIIIIIII ! ! !”
 Johnny sprinted out of sight.

* * * * *

As he approached the fence surrounding the lighthouse, he knew

something was wrong. He crouched and sniffed at the ground, his nose inches

away from the convergence of dirt, sand, and rock. Hank Wilson had passed

this way. The smell was faint, but distinct. He estimated an hour or more had

passed. He raced to the fence. Hank had snipped the links and left a gaping

hole. He must have decided to leave the shelter of the trees and force the issue

at the cottage. Johnny strained to pick out the sounds of violence, of a man

gaffing a wereshark to death, horrible were-screams. He heard nothing. An

instant later, he was sprinting along the path, ready to do whatever he had to
do to protect the wereshark he loved.

He didn’t bother knocking when he reached the cottage. He slammed

the door open, expecting the worst. All sorts of macabre thoughts had raced

through his mind as he ran along the jetty. Hank might be barbecuing shark
steaks over a roaring fire. He might be bleaching Giovanna’s were-jaws in a
vat of lye. He might be photographing himself beside an inverted were-

carcass. Instead, he was half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, entangled in the

emaciated legs of Mary Henderson. They were necking like two schoolkids.

Johnny must have jumped a foot. His hair stood on end. He wasn’t sure
what kind of sound sneaked from his lips, but he knew it wasn’t a masculine

one. He shivered and closed his eyes.

“Well well well, look who it is, Hanky-poo.”
 “I see, Mary-kins. I see.”
Hanky-poo? Mary-kins? Johnny didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to

imagine Hank Wilson and Mary Henderson lip-locking on the couch. He

opened his eyes. Hank untangled himself and stood. Mrs. Henderson rested

her pincushion of a noggin on the back of the couch and stared up at the

ceiling. Time to change the subject. “Where’s Giovanna?” he asked.

Hank grabbed his gaff, the gaff only a few hours earlier he was going to
plunge into a wereshark, from among the andirons and poked a few embers

around the fireplace.

“Probably guzzling another bottle of Jim Beam, no thanks to you,” said

the old lady. “What do you care?”

“I love her,” he said. “I want her to bite me. I want to be a wereshark

just like her. I want to have little baby weresharks and raise them all on Jim

Beam, jelly doughnuts, and café latté’s. I want-”

“Enough already,” said Hendy, “she’s downstairs.”

“In the were-cave, Johnny.” Hank looked up. “I’ve got my girl,” he said.

“You go get your wereshark.” He extended the gaff. “Good luck.”

Johnny shook it. “Thanks, Hank.” He yanked open the door that led to
the cavern and plunged down into the darkness. His strong sense of smell

guided him. He knew she was there, and he was sure she knew he was there.
The stairs ended in a low corridor, moist and musty, smelling of seaweed. A
light breeze blew against him and he could hear the percolation of the ocean

against the rocks. A dim light in the near distance indicated the way. He
reached for the rock wall on either side of him and walked towards the light.

As he got closer, the tunnel expanded into a grotto, and the grotto
opened to the sea via a wide fissure. He had spotted the opening the day he
rounded the jetty in the dinghy. He surveyed the interior of the grotto.

Glimmers of light reflected off shallow pools of water. Empty bottles of

bourbon and empty cartons of GoGo’s doughnuts littered the floor of the cave.

Several half-eaten doughnuts lay in the pools, dunked but unfinished.

Giovanna emerged from the shadows and stepped on one.

“You crushed it,” he said.

“Cream filled.” She ground it under her heel and the white cream misted

into the dirty water. “It’s not the same.” Her arms were crossed and her

torpedo-head faced away from him. One of her eyes looked him over. “What

do you want?”

No sense in waiting. “Bite me.”

She harumphed. “I wouldn’t bite you if you were covered in chum

cologne.”

“I love you, Giovanna.”

“What?”

“I love you,” he said. “You and your big gums and your razor sharp

teeth and your caudal fin. I love the way you guzzle your Jim Beam, and can
pound more jelly doughnuts than any frat-boy in America. Giovanna,” he

splashed through the puddle. “I love you. Bite me.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yes.”

“Okay. Give me your forearm.” He held out his arm. “Close your
eyes.” He looked at her, then at his forearm, then did as he was told. “Don’t

worry,” he heard her say, “it won’t hurt. Much.”

 The next thing he felt was an excruciating pain shooting up his forearm
like a bolt of electricity. He could hear himself screaming. He opened his

eyes and the cavern swirled around him like a cyclone. His knees buckled and
he fell. He dreamed of water, of floating, of being towed by the tide farther

and farther out into the ocean, of waves lapping over him, over his sleek

hydrodynamic body, his long tail swishing behind him like a lazy blade of

grass in the breeze.

“Hey, are you awake yet?”

He looked over at her shark-head bobbing up and down in the surf and

he knew he wasn’t dreaming. He felt his head. Sure enough, it was smooth

and hard and pointed like a torpedo. He swished his tail. Sure enough, it was

wide and powerful. If he could reach, he was sure he would have felt a big fin

on his back. There was no doubt about it. He was a were-shark.

“I’m hungry,” was all he could think to say.

“How about some jelly doughnuts?” she said.

“GoGo’s?”

“But of course.”

“Let’s do it.”
He was ready for at least a dozen.

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