Antonio released water, followed by a great white, into the deep of the pool from the semi truck’s tank.

The water from the valve crept into the shallows, about 8 feet down in the empty pool, wetting Tommy’s cheek and clothes. The cool feeling woke him, shocked. Getting to his feet, he glanced around until he noticed the deep side of the pool. The shark’s fin glided on top of the clear water.

He ran to the nearest edge of the pool, but before he could jump a shot fired and he flinched back.

Above the pool, Antonio smoked a jointed with one hand and held a revolver in the other. He was dressed for a funeral, black head to toe and hair that waved over his aviators.

“Jesus, Antonio! What? Why!?” said Tommy. The water rose to his ankles now.

“That’s my line, you piece of filth,” said Antonio. He dropped the joint bud and smashed under his shoe.

“I’m sorry. You want a cut of what I stole? You hear me? I’ll show you where I stashed it!” he said, water heading toward his knees.

“It’s a little too late for that, Tom.”

Tommy started thrashing through the water, yelling, crying, and making a commotion. Nearing the edge, he lifted his hands over the pool’s edge. Another shot from the revolver, this time through Tom’s right elbow. He jerked back and screamed in pain toward the sky as his blood dyed the water around him a clear red.

“Is this it?” Tommy stared at Antonio, tears streaming down his cheeks and holding his bleeding arm. The water was much higher now.

“Yes. I’m sorry about being you’re executioner, my old friend. We know how these things go.”

Antonio watched with dry eyes as the water rose and the shark swam to Tommy. Target number 12 eliminated.