In this mystery suspence action thriller, you get to meet Billy Ross.
He has a mess to sort out, and is trying to keep his new pals out of Jail. They had a brainwave, and like all brain waves, it had unseen flaws. But on the surface, it was a brilliant idea! A foolproof way to smuggle large quantities of hidden drugs. This is what happens when you and your enlisted pals are bored doing night-time sentry duty in Kabul. Ship Afghani heroin into the states in bulk, get a dealer, and bingo, it solves all your money problems, Right? And how can you lose when you are only paying a thou for a kilo in Kabul that will have a street value in New York of ninety thou? Not that you would get that, but for one-third, say thirty thou, it’s still a good deal, especially when you can ship fifty kilos in at a time. And that’s one and a half mill for you and your pal’s pockets.
Only one slight problem. It’s not legal. And that raises questions about the sort of people you are going to be dealing with. They just might want some of the action. In fact, you can count on it. More than just paying you for the drugs. And how can you refuse? You want to stay in the business and stay alive and you don’t want to be a victim of your own success, do you? Especially as that success might have a prize of a wooden box, your size, buried. You just might need help to get out of this mess unscathed, like get the services of me. . .
Hi, I’m Billy Ross. A Vet, a lawyer, and a computer programmer. I’m also handicapped, courtesy of two ISIS bullets. One hit my arm, and while I was panicking, hurting, trying to stop the bleeding, desperately not wanting to die, another hit me in the leg, after first hitting the side of the Humvee. Tumbling in the air, the bullet shattered my femur, mangling the nerves and blood vessels on the way in. I don’t remember much after that as I was swamped and drowning in a deep, deep sea of excruciating pain. I wanted it to stop and was happy to die. The guys in my unit saved my life, and they shipped me out to a hospital in Germany. That second round did the damage. Permanently. I had dreams of becoming a cop after I retired from the army, but that was over. One leg is now shorter than the other. I have to walk slowly or my foot flaps on the ground. People see me walking and judge me as just another broken-ass gimp. But the worst part is the nerve damage and the painful, crippling spasms it causes.
After my discharge, I made the hard decision to start again. Uncle Sam was paying, so what the heck? I went to college and got a double degree; the first one in computer science, and then because of some hassles I’d had with the Veterans Administration, I did a degree in law and joined the ranks of the “98% who give the rest a bad name.” I become a lawyer. I think I’m a good one.
A Sally Rizzo calls and I go to the aid of her brother, Razz, a vet healing from horrific head wounds in the local vets hospital. Razz and his army sidekick Cutter, are in deep shit with some really bad guys who want to kill them. They and two others had a foolproof way to ship drugs in bulk into the states, initially for a business, but then they just got greedy. But someone has found out, and two of their pals have been brutally slaughtered. The criminal dealers now know of the scheme and are demanding part of the action. The deals are unraveling, but I have a card up my sleeve. I have a contact in the FBI, a trusted army friend, but I only tell him part of the story—I am now trying to swing a legal deal to protect everybody. Will it work? The criminals know what they want; the FBI knows what they want; but all I’m trying to do is protect all my new clients, me included. It’s a juggling act, and I think I’m going to drop the balls. . .