Miami Beach, Florida

Two surfers (Brent Cameron and Justin Thorne) paddle back out to the break at South Beach after each getting a great ride. Justin is blond and blue—eyed with a nervous demeanor. Brent has a darker complexion and is the most aggressive of the two. A third surfer (Michael Bernstein) paddles over to the boys. "Dude!" "Que Pasa?" "Nada Amigo." "So are we still on for tonight?" "You know it." Brent paddles for a wave and takes it. Michael eyes Justin and watches him squirm. Here comes another wave and Justin tries to take it, but Michael drops in on him and causes Justin to wipe out. He comes up and glares at Michael as he watches him get a great ride, a ride that was supposed to be his.

The doorbell rings. It’s Michael’s parents home. It’s a very nice home in the Bal Harbour neighborhood of Miami Beach. He goes to the door and answers it. It’s Justin and Brent who’s carrying a knapsack. "Hola!" "Glad you could make it." They shake hands. Michael invites them in as they make their way into the living room. "So, you guys want a drink or something?" "No!" Michael lights up a joint and takes a huge hit. He tries to hand it over to Brent, "Spliff?" Brent shakes his head no, "Let’s just get down to business." Michael leans back stoned, "You go the money?" Brent pats the knapsack. "It’s right here." "Let’s see it." Brent opens up the sack and lays several thousands of dollars wrapped up in ten thousand roles onto the coffee table. Michael counts it. "Now, you got the stuff?" Michael takes another hit and blows out the smoke. He stands, "I’ll be right back." He exits the room. Brent pulls a .45 out of the knapsack and stuffs it under the sofa pillow, which is directly behind him. Justin looks nervous now.

Michael returns with two kilos of cocaine. Brent cuts open one of the bags and tastes it. He looks at Justin and shakes his head. "Damn dude this is really good." "How come you’re unloading it so cheap?" "Let’s just say that I got a real good deal." Brent pulls out the gun and points it at Michael. "We’ll we’re taking it off your hands." " And if you make a move I will kill you." "I swear it I will." Michael raises his hands. "It’s cool dude." "Easy come easy go." Brent pulls a role of duct tape out of the knapsack. He tosses it to Justin. "Tape him to the chair." "I said tape him to the chair." Justin does.

Michael’s chest, wrists and legs are secured by the duct tape to the chair. "You guys won’t get away with this." "I swear I’ll come after you." "I swear it, I’ll have you killed." Brent takes the role of tape from Justin and places a piece over Michael’s mouth. "Wrong dude!" "You’re the one who’s gonna die." Brent pulls enough of the tape off of the role to wrap it around Michael’s head. Justin lets out a yell, "Brent, we weren’t supposed to kill him." "Shut the fuck up and grab the money!" Brent continues to wind the tape around Michael’s face until it’s completely wrapped around his head. Michael struggles terribly for air until he falls forward limp as he suffocates to death. Nervously Justin starts to panic. "C’mon let’s get out of here before someone catches us here." They grab the sack of money and the cocaine and run out of the home.

Brent and Justin are cruising the crowded Ocean Drive in an old Cadillac. "Listen you got to calm down man, we’re only half way home." "Why’d you kill him?" "Look, it was us or him."

Justin sits at a table slamming down a beer at the patio bar of the Carlyle Hotel on Ocean Drive. Not far off Brent is on the phone. He hangs up and walks over to the table to join Justin. Nervously, Justin speaks again. "So what do we do now?" "Just keep your cool." "He’ll be down in a while." "Have a drink and calm down." "It’s over." "We did it!" "Man, it ain’t over until it’s over."

A little while later a rough looking Colombian bodyguard type approaches the table. In broken English he speaks, "You come with me." Brent and Justin grab the sacks and follow closely behind.

They exit an elevator on the top floor. Again they follow the Colombian to the best penthouse suite. The door opens and Brent and Justin are checked for weapons. They’re lead out onto the balcony where a middle aged Spanish man with a mustache sits in a wicker chair. A hot young Latina gets up and leaves the three men alone. The doors to the balcony are closed, leaving the Spanish man alone with the two beach boys. Brent sets the bag down on the table. The man does not bother to open it up. He starts to recall an event that took place earlier in the week.

"I’m sorry that the young man had to end his life so suddenly." "You’d think that he’d learn that you don’t bite the hand that feeds." "He’s given a great chance to make some money and he got greedy." "Now look where it has gotten him." The Spanish man speaks more firmly to the beach boys. "Let this be a lesson to you." The Spanish man reaches into the sack and takes out two stacks of money. He places them on the table in front of each of the beach boys. "This is a small token of my appreciation." "Now I have a real job for you." Justin speaks, "It don’t involve killing no one else does it?" Brent kicks Justin from under the table. "I’m sorry for my friends impoliteness." "Apologize Justin!" "I’m sorry." "I assure you it won’t happen again."

The Spanish man begins to speak of a plan. "Tomorrow night you will go to Nassau." "There you will find a boat waiting for you." He yells for one of his men. "Enrique?" Enrique enters the balcony. "Go with him." "He will tell you what you are to do." "If all goes as planned, by this time tomorrow night you will both be millionaires." The beach boys stand and follow after Enrique. But not before pocketing their money.

Michael Bernstein’s parents arrive home to find their darling son tied to the chair. His mother let’s out a scream.

The beach boys are bar hopping the South Beach nightclubs. They’re completely wired on coke. They pick up a couple of chicks. The party goes on all night until the next morning. At sunrise they’re playing in the surf with two starving models they picked up earlier that night. They exit the water and go to some beach chairs. They do more lines of coke, grab some surfboards and head off to ride the early morning surf.

A small plane lands in Nassau.

The beach boys walk down a dock where they find a fishing vessel waiting for them. On the boat they each do some more lines of blow.

It’s late at night. The boys are commandeering the fishing vessel somewhere between Miami and Nassau. The wind blows and the ride is a bit rough. Finally, a huge freighter appears on the horizon. "The light from the freighter now guides these two beach boys toward the vessel. "Do you think this it is?" "Do you see any other boat out here?" "Man, this gives me the creeps." "No kidding."

The fishing boat pulls up alongside the freighter and a light shines onto the vessel. Voices speak in Spanish toward the beach boys. "What are you doing here?" "Why are you here?" "We were sent by Mr. G!" Small armies of workers start to carry huge bails of marijuana down a latter and onto the fishing vessel. The boat pulls away.

As the boat makes its way back toward Miami Beach the winds begin to pick up.

With the lights of Miami Beach now visible and the storm growing, Justin gets seasick at.

The boat takes on water from a wave and the right engine goes out. Then the bilge pumps stops operating. Frantically, Brent tries to use a manual pump. It’s useless as the waves continue to fill the boat with water. The beach boys toss some bails of marijuana from the boat in an attempt to lighten the load.

The fishing vessel takes on more water as the waves pound at the hull. Chugging closer toward Miami the left engine goes dead. A set of waves pound at the boat and it begins to sink rapidly. Brent is thrown from the bridge of the boat and breaks his leg. He’s then tossed overboard by a wave as one of the towlines wraps around his broken leg and pulls him under with the fishing vessel. His screams are deafening. Justin grabs a life vest and jumps into the water.

The next morning the ocean is calm and flat. Justin barely clings onto life as the sun rises in the East. The ocean is filled with debris from the fishing vessel. Bails of marijuana cover the surface of the ocean. A coastguard vessel approaches the wreckage.

The coastguard pulls Justin into the safety of the boat. Handcuffs are placed around his wrists. "What’s that for?" "For conspiracy to smuggle an illegal substance." An officer approaches Justin. "Are you Justin Thorne?" "Yeah." "Do you happen to know where we can locate Brent Cameron?" Justin sinks, "Yeah, about a mile down." He points to the bottom of the ocean. The officer continues to speak, "You’re under the arrest for the murder of Michael Bernstein."

The coastguard vessel heads toward the 5^th street inlet. Surfers can be seen riding the break.