This is the ongoing story of the romance and hijinx of Davis and Kitty Winthorpe.
This is how I met Harry—new page, new chapter, new life.
I was on my way to see a new client. I’d turned up a taker who was loaded with bucks, power and influence. What a connection this was going to make!
For some reason September tended to be slow for me. I had been glad to hear the phone ring. It was Sunday afternoon and I had no work lined up for the week ahead.
“Winthorpe!” the voice had said.
“My name is Davis Winthorpe.”
“I need you to do a job for me!”
I wondered if everything this man said ended with an exclamation point.
“How did you find out about me?”
“I know people who know people! That’s enough said. Word has it you’re honest, clever and can keep your mouth shut! How about that?”
“That’s the word alright,” I replied. I didn’t know if I was being truthful or not. His description was new to me. Maybe the word was true, then again, maybe not.
“You want to work for me?” he continued.
“Maybe you could tell me what you need.” I spoke with a calm, soft voice. I wanted to offset the bravado of the other man.
“Fair enough. Meet me at my office at one-thirty tomorrow! I’ll tell you then. You be on time! My name’s Harry Snapp!”
“Harry M. Snapp?” I blurted. This time I spoke with the exclamation point. The phone was dead, but I knew the name.
Everybody knew Harry M. Snapp, if this was he. Snapp owned about half of Louisville. Well—that’s an exaggeration. He was into apartments, restaurants, warehouses and who knows what else. Snapp would buy properties no one else could use, and make money. He would tear down good stuff and put up drive through donut shops. Developers often found that a critical parcel of land belonged to Harry M. Snapp, and they would have to pay him a dear price. The man had built an uncountable number of office complexes, motels and strip malls. Some people said Snapp would not stop until all of Louisville was under asphalt and concrete.
I had an uneasy feeling. I didn’t know what the man had in mind and I was afraid that I might be out of my league. You see, I do odd jobs for people. That about sums up the way I make my living. I’ll tell more later, but right now you need to know that I take on whatever comes next. Day to day, week to week I do tasks.
Using the Internet, I looked up Harry M. Snapp in the databank at the University of Louisville library.
“Highest and best use. That’s all there is to it!” He was quoted as saying. “Buildings, land, ideas, concepts. If you know what to do with it, you buy it! If you don’t know what to do with it, you buy it! Hell, it’s all the same. If you buy enough you make enough. They’re not making any more damn land, and buildings are just sticks and bricks! It’s ideas and concepts that make them valuable! Hell, I bought a damn restaurant over on Preston highway. People told me it was one stupid move. I tore the place down and sold the corner to McDonald's. Didn't put a penny of my own money into it! Made seventy-five thousand on the deal. You do that enough times and people stop calling you stupid!”
The article was straightforward. The man sure had plenty to say, and he said it the way he pleased. Some swear because they have nothing to say. I got the feeling Harry Snapp swore because he enjoyed it.
I knew the man was nobody’s fool and could connect me with some very important people. I couldn’t afford to pass up this contact. I also knew Snapp had lots of power and ruined people just because they got in his way. If I did business with this man, I’d better be careful.
“You be on time,” he had said. I wondered why the rush. I figured I had a task before me, and I was anxious to meet the man.
Downtown Louisville is a pleasant place, if you like downtown. I was on my way to Three Riverpark Place. Harry Snapp had offices on one of the upper floors—All of one of the upper floors. I figured he owned the whole building.
I drove by twice. There were no parking places to be found on the street and I hated parking under the Belvedere, so I took another turn down Sixth Street. By the time I parked, I was three blocks away. I didn’t care. I liked being downtown, and relished the walk. I got out of my car at one-twenty in the afternoon, September 6, Labor Day. The year was 1993.
As one walks north on Fifth Street, Three Riverpark Place is not that much to look at. It sits on Main Street, dwarfed by much taller buildings around it, though it does present an architectural punch unique among surrounding structures.
I walked faster as I got nearer to Snapp’s building. The words, “You be on time!” still rang in my ears. As you get close to the building you can tell it is made out of raw steel. The peculiar brown color is rust. An architect was quoted as saying that it was forming a patina. I knew it was rust.
Snapp’s floor was impressive, but not overstated. It had too much glass and aluminum for me. It had the aura of one of those places you go into and come out owing someone a good chunk of money. One door was simply marked, “Harry M. Snapp.”
I reached out and put my hand on the door. If I had simply turned around and walked away, I would still have my life. I would never have known the difference. I could have avoided the insanity, but I wasn’t that smart. Like a fool, I walked in.
Let your children enjoy the wonders and adventures of pets that join a family, bringing joy and heartwarming moments to their everyday lives. This story is about Tubby and Riley, two dogs who needed a good, loving home.
Love, romance, innocence, intrigue, danger, and lust. Life is complicated, and love even more so. Life, and love, can be hazardous to a lady's health. Especially if she's fallen in love with a married pop star.
