"It's curtains for you, Lotten!"
Mark Lotten knew his death was close as he walked into the mob's meeting and was immediately cornered by the boss, Mickie. Lotten had been spying on the mob for the cops. Like Al Capone's accountant before him, Mark was the financial record keeper who squealed and got caught. "De ding is, Marco, you get to choose how you want to die." All fifteen mob members laughed.
"I dink you should drown him. Swim with deh fishies." Mark Lotten was a former cop who went undercover to bring this mob to justice. But luck ran out on him. "Lotten" was his real last name, but the mob knew him as "Marco Luna." He tried to prepare for his death. He had already written his will and given it to his wife and prepared for everything he had provided for her and his two boys.
Six hours later, the entire mob members tied Mark up and drove their way to the local marina near San Francisco Bay where they rented an old run-down yacht. "Boss, who's gonna pay for it?" one of the gangster's asked. "It's comin' out of Mark's account!" Micki exclaimed, laughing hysterically. Everyone else in the mob felt obligated to laugh like their boss or they might suffer the same fate as their victim.
Mickie and only four of his henchmen stepped onto the cheapest yacht they could buy. One of the goons brought a deep pail and another who was tall and strong heaved a large sack of pre-mixed cement and a jug of water. As they put the cement and water down, Mickie turned on the yacht and guided it out of the port to an area a few miles out to sea.
The goons poured the cement and water together in the pail. As it began to get harder, Mickie pushed Lotten next to the pail and forced his feet in. After fifteen minutes, the concrete became too hard for Mark to move his legs and feet. "Are you ready to die?" Mickie asked the condemned man.
Mark looked ahead with a stoic face and said nothing as he prepared his soul for death. For months he knew his death was coming and he was ready to meet His Maker. He looked down at the water which waited for him seven feet down. Mickie and two of his men lifted the heavy pail filled with concrete and Mark in it and threw it overboard.
"Bombs away!" Micki yelled laughing. Mark fell into the water feet down and sunk quickly. The mobsters looked down for a few seconds making sure they couldn't see him. Satisfied that Mark wouldn't be a problem anymore, they chatted a minute, congratulating each other. Mickie turned the boat around driving it one hundred feet away closer to the marina. Then they saw large bubbles rising from the ocean. To their astonishment, they saw Mark's head rising to the surface. Within seconds, Mark's entire body was seen rising quickly to the surface, moving quickly up through the water. His feet were still weighed down in the pail. The gangsters were immediately spooked as they watched him rising up from the water, moving at least fifteen miles an hour on top of something huge and dark beneath Mark.
"Wh-what is that thing?" One of the thugs said as he saw Mark had landed on the bridge of a large nuclear submarine. As they stared at Mark standing on the bridge of the sub, their eyes opened wide in disbelief. Yet, Mickie wasted no time pulling out a machine gun that was resting on a chair next to him. He opened fire, trying to aim at Mark, but couldn't get a bead on him since the entire sub was moving quickly upward.
But U.S. naval crew inside the sub heard the pinging of the bullets.
Believing their sub was under attack, two or three members of the crew received immediate orders to launch a torpedo at the "thug boat." Within a minute a torpedo was launched. When the thugs saw the torpedo moving directly toward them, they knew they were doomed. Right before being blown to kingdom come, they saw Mark staring at them, smiling from a distance, extending his middle finger.
