by Brad Rose
A few days after Jimmy got out of the joint, me and Angel “invited” him to come down to the beach with us for a swim. Though the weather is a little dicey this time of year, the ocean is beautiful—the waves, cool and shiny as a pile of new chips spilling on a gaming table. After we picked him up and drove to the beach, the three of us walked toward the water’s edge. I turned to Jimmy and said, “Hey, no hard feelings, man. It’s all water under the bridge.” The three of us swam out about a 100 yards, when, sure enough, grey clouds bunched up, the current shifted, and a sudden squall began to beat the face of sea with a punishing vengeance. Two rollers pushed me and Angel toward shore and by the time we caught our breath and turned around, Jimmy was gone. When we finally made our way back to shore and got to the car, I said to Angel, “At least this time we won’t have to make it look like an accident.”