Never again. That’s what salvage diver and sometimes private eye Jack Flynn said the last time he did some broad a favor and almost got his ticket punched. Now, this broad, Maureen, a lawyer of all things, she’s got another gig for Jack. A favor she calls it. And, big surprise, Jacks got his tit in a wringer once again. What a sap. Another easy job, she tells him. Simple. Like taking candy. Tells Jack this Richie Rich client of hers wants to hire some grunts to do a salvage job for him. Find some sunken treasure. OK. Sounds easy enough. Kinda thing Jack does all the time. Only this rich bastard, Charles Pumpernickel, a real Master-of-the-Universe type of guy, refuses to tell anybody what this particular treasure is. Big. That’s what he tells them. It’s really, really big. Like it’s friggin’ charades or something. Guy’s keeping his cards close to the chest, pissing Jack off big time. Now, ordinarily, Jack would tell a dope like Charles to go pound sand. Ordinarily. Thing is, Jack, broke as usual, sure wouldn’t mind getting his hands on some of Charles’ money. So along with Pumpernickel and his entourage of fake friends, hangers-on, and some really, really hot chicks--c’mon, it’s a guy novel--Jack takes a fleet of salvage boats, mega-yachts and party boats to an island off Key West for what has to be the weirdest salvage job of his life.