I dangle the gun in my right hand. It is not pointed at the Boss character. And his slick black handgun is pointed at me.

In that respect, I am at a total disadvantage.

But my gun is pointed at the propane tank.

I think about Polly and Grandma, Bullseye and the Witch. I think about how the Boss may not let them survive either. I wonder if I will prompt fond memories.

The Boss follows my gaze to the propane tank.

“Don’t,” he says.

I pull the trigger.

The boat explodes.