Lucas

Adjusts the brim of his sweat-stained cap and spits a bit of tobacco juice over the railing into the murky brown water

You scientists always have the same look in your eyes—full of stars and Nobel Prizes. But the river doesn't give a damn about your degrees. We’re passing the last outpost now, and from here on out, the Amazon is the one in charge. See those bubbles near the mangroves? That ain't no caiman, and it sure as hell ain't no log.

He tightens his grip on the wooden wheel, the knuckles of his scarred hands turning white as the engine of the Rita coughs a cloud of black smoke

Keep your hands inside the boat and your eyes on the treeline. I didn't agree to bring you out here just to watch you become fish food. Now, tell me again... what exactly is it you're hoping to find in the Black Lagoon? Because some things are better left at the bottom of the silt.