We got to the bridge, and the three of us, not including Manny, worked out our game plan.
"I should go down to the rocks to film," Ira said. "I'll get a good view of him falling from there."
"Nah," says Howie, "let's go to the middle of the bridge—I wanna see him hit the water."
"If he hits the water," I reminded them, "we won't get him back."
Howie shrugs. "There's lots of boats goin' by, maybe we can time it so he hits a boat."
"We still won't get him back," I said, "and we might sink the boat."
"That'd look good on film," Ira said.
Now all this time I got this creepy feeling like we're being watched. But then of course we are being watched. Everybody driving by has got to be wondering what we're doing standing with a dummy by the guardrail of the bridge—but this feeling is more than that. Anyway, 1 ignore the feeling because we had important business here.
"We'll drop him onto the rocks," I told them.
"Yeah," says Howie. "Maximum breakage potential."
"Great. Howie, you stay up here on the bridge to push him over; Ira and me'll go down and watch."
We climbed down to the rocks and looked up to where Howie stood holding Manny by the scruff of the neck—it's a pretty high drop. I didn't envy Manny. Still that feeling of being watched just won't go away.
"Should I push him or should I throw him?" Howie asks.
"Do what comes naturally," I yelled back.
"I don't know," he says. "This is a very unnatural thing."
"Rolling," says Ira. " And ... action."
Howie backs up for a second, and a moment later Manny Bullpucky comes hurtling over the side of the bridge, arms and legs flailing like he's really alive, and he does a swan dive headfirst toward the rocks. WHAM! He hits the jagged boulders, and it's all over for him.