Winthorpe sticks his nose in too far and is marked for murder in paradise. It all started with a flower on a mother's grave.
Prologue
The Fat Man deftly worked the controls of the Quicksilver MX ultralight aircraft as he banked slowly to make his approach and fly under the Kennedy Bridge. He held the craft steady and continued on through the shadows of the Second Street Bridge. The December day was perfect—still and crystal clear. A smile creased his weathered face as he diverted his eyes to the skyline of downtown Louisville. He turned his focus back to the glassy surface of the Ohio River and eased the controls forward—toward the water. His smile broadened as his wheels touched gently on the rippling river surface. The Rotex engine whined as he pulled up to touch down again—twice, three times. This was more fun than he had expected.
Mitzy Ellis strode across the deck of the riverfront bar to serve a double Gentleman Jack to a stranger at the rail. It was his second. She served all comers without prejudice, but secretly held a little disrespect for those who came to Louisville, Kentucky and ordered Tennessee whiskey. She studied his figure. She didn’t care for his choice of poison, but she did like the cut of his butt. “Cute,” she said. More than that, he looked like money. “There ya go!” she said, as she sat the whiskey down.
The man made a grunt that resembled a thank you.
Mitzy wondered about this stranger. She wondered why he chose to go out on the deck on this crisp December day. She wondered why he seemed to have nothing more on his mind that watching the river do its thing. Why was he alone? He might be a real looser. On the other hand, he might be a man worth getting to know. She lingered beside him for a moment. She smoothed the curls of her red hair while staring at his classic profile and then turned to lean upon the rail. She gazed into the cold water as it flowed slowly by.
“Who’s the guy in the airplane?” the man said. His voice was firm with a hint of a sensual growl.
Mitzy followed his gaze to the ultralight coming under the bridge. “That damn fool is at it again! I don’t know his name. I think he’s some hot shot trying to make up for having a too small pecker! He flies down here and pulls this stunt. By the time the police show up he disappears.” Mitzy froze. Her jaw went slack. “Oh, my God! Did you see that?” She heard the stranger say something, but her mind was blank as she stared at the empty surface of the Ohio. She turned to speak. The highball glass rested on a twenty-dollar bill. The stranger was gone.
The Fat Man panicked the instant the motor popped once and quit. Only the sound of cold water rushing over his feet filled his ears. The flood rushed over him, washing his scream away. The fragile airframe buckled and the nylon covered wings slapped together as they slipped beneath the swirling current. In an instant the Ohio River resumed its form and wandered on as it had through ages past. In the dark below the Fat Man was first enshrouded by the crumpled wings and then plummeted into the deep as the wings swept away. He clawed at his harness and he spun disoriented, aimlessly, hopelessly, eternally into the flow. Into the dark he fell. Metal crunched and broke away as his body slammed into the steel side of an ancient, sunken barge. The engine of the mangled craft scraped along the hulk, sweeping into a passage beneath the rust and decay. Fat Man followed, broken and lost. The twisted wings came too, into the hole—following, folding, wedging, packing, hiding. The muck of the Ohio collapsed behind the intruding mess. The water cleared as a cloud of debris swirled away.
He’s there. He’s still down there—the Fat Man—never to be seen again.
The Hole in the Bottom of the Sea
Chapter One
Life persists in the constant process of things slipping away. We are replenished from time to time, but never in equal kind. Even that which enriches us exacts a cost, leaving no such thing as pure gain. This belief is the essence of the story I am about to tell, for in this chapter of my life I experienced wonderful events that few can claim. In the end of the matter, however, I was diminished as a man. I never asked for these events to happen; yet they came to me fair and square.
There’s a children’s story about an egg so badly broken that he could not be put back together again. Tragic was the fate of Humpty Dumpty, but we would never have heard of him, if he lacked the courage to go upon a wall. Maybe he was courageous, or maybe he was foolish, but he is my kindred spirit. My name is Davis Winthorpe. I’m the Humpty Dumpty man.
Boom! Pain! Blackness!
After an RPG attack on their barracks in Afghanistan, corpsmen, Amber Fox, Luke Owens , Wade Scott and Ross Miller wake up in an Army hospital in Germany.
Thus, begins a months long recovery for all of them. A
