It was the end of August, the coast of Maine, a small little island with a sandy beach. The Felt family was having a celebration, the biggest summer party the state had ever seen. The mansion had been completed and his son was out of prison. Doctors, Lawyers, famous actors and even Mindy had all been invited to the occasion. Marcos Matters, FBI had also received an invitation as his undercover alias Minwell Maxdrill. He attended the party in a flashy new tuxedo, strutting over the beach like a cat, and drinking champagne. It was early in the celebration, and the tide was very low. A volleyball game was taking place further down the beach, and fire pits were burning hot barbecues.

“Care to join us?” said a well tanned woman beckoning him to a shady tent where sketchy activities were no doubt taking place.

“Sure what you sandy ladies got going on?” said Minwell Maxdrill entering and seeing three tables of games taking place.

“Oh, we were just playing cribbage for money” said the woman “I can teach you honey’.

“Sure,'' said Minwell sitting down at an empty table with the game board on it, but he was too drunk to learn this new game, throwing down his cards in the wrong piles, losing pins and eventually even his hostess who didn't have so much enthusiasm after 45 minutes spent in teaching the old dog a new trick. After that Minwell found himself back at the bar before he could stumble past a cotton curtain to sit at a poker table in a crowded smoke filled gazebo.

“Your call,” said the dealer.

“I’ll call,” barked a man in a big southern voice.

“I’ll raise you,” said a man in a white tuxedo, with dreadlocks and blue eyes.

The woman at the table laughed while taking a swig of her fancy mixed drink decked out in the freshest fashion clothing “Must be nice, playing with daddy's credit card” she said.

“Yeah I'm sure you do a whole lotta working" said Jr. back.

“Now Now partners, let's calm down before things get too feisty,” said Minwell, walking in and taking a seat at the table.

“He’s right,” said the big southern man.

“And what is your name good Sr.” said Minwell extending a hand for the man to shake.

“They call me Tex,” said , laying over the table in order to shake hands.

“Ah a Texan, lone star?” said Minwell before raising an eyebrow “what city you come from… Dallas?”.

“I'm from Mississippi,” said Tex laughing.

“And what exactly is your name, stranger?” said Felt jr. looking over questionably at the new man who was trying to join his game.

A loud alarm rang outside before he could get an answer.

“Full House here” said Tex, slamming his cards on the table.

“Nevermind that's the security system I'm out of here” said Felt jr. heading for the exit.

“Not so fast Marco Matter, FBI!” said Marco, taking out the silver pistol hidden in his red suit. Felt was on the ground apprehended again.

“Hostages come out of the tent and we won’t kill you” said a loud voice outside the tent.

Marco went opposite the direction he had heard the voice, crawling out from under the fabric to the other side, his gamble successful he remained hidden, then he aimed his pistol.

BANG, BANG! The would-be hostage taker was laying on the ground bleeding two bullet holes, accompanying him to hell.

“Marco Matters here, get me reinforcements now” he said yelling into his radio while running across the beach.

“Yes Sir” said the radio blaring.

There was another figure holding a gun at the end of the beach as the rest of the guests ran for cover. Marco shot at the man and he shot back before running for the mansion above.

“Stop him before he gets to my house” cried Felt sobbing as his party was ruined.

“FBI on the ground” said the FBI as they greeted Mr. Felt speeding right onto his beach with their fast boats, jet skis and drawn guns.

Marco Matters was already well over the suspect's heels standing at Felt’s newly built mansion. The suspect came out of the woods unaware Marco had taken the shortcut and was waiting behind a building. The other man was carrying a gas can in one hand, and had a sawn-off shotgun in his other while wearing a black ski mask, boots, and fishing gear with seaweed still clinging to him. Both men saw each other and took shots that missed. They dove for cover.

“FBI” said Marco, shooting his gun, which hit a plant pot destroying it.

“Maybe we can work something out,” the other man whispered from somewhere hiding in the bamboo, sounding scared.

“What's your name?” asked Marco.

“Jermy. Je-re-meh”

“That's alright, maybe we can work something out, Jermy” said Marco walking out from behind the building with his gun drawn.

The morning air was crisp and the birds were chirping. The other man was standing holding his shotgun. Marco gripped his gun as he saw the other man aiming, Marco aimed and fired, the other man fired too. Both tumbled on the fallen leaves, bleeding, and wounded.

“Mr. Felt you are being detained by the FBI because you colluded with these dead men for your own gain. We believe that you orchestrated the burning of your first house for money, then you had them burn up properties all over town, many of which you had personal stake in, now you have planned to burn your mansion again for even more insurance money by hiring goons to kidnap you so nobody would suspect a thing” said an agent with a balding head of hair and muscular frame leading them out.

“This is outrageous, lies,” said Mr. Felt as he was dragged off kicking and screaming into federal custody with his son; his glasses breaking in the struggle.

“Mr. Felt we were tipped off by your son taking out a 1 million gamble that you would be targeted again before the end of current year” said another agent with a ripped blue FBI jacket and khaki shorts escorting Jr. away down the sandy beach to the water.

“That bastard!” screamed Felt Sr. as he was put away on a waiting boat.

A boat that steamed out of Hogg harbor at a high speed. Sea splashing up from the boat, bumping up and down on the waves, hitting the prisoners with cold salt water as the swell at the hull foamed.