Kirk graduated from St. Stephen’s Preparatory School four years ahead of me. After a truncated career in the Marine Corps—a Force Recon unit—he spent several years working as a commercial diver, both in the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico. Kirk owns an earthmoving company now, but he devotes much of his time to kayak racing on the Mississippi River. Guys like Kirk never quite adjust to civilian life, and thus are usually open to pushing the envelope, especially in a good cause.

“Mayor Cage,” he says by way of answering his cell phone. “Don’t tell me—research question for a novel. Could I really cut somebody’s throat with a Visa card?”

“Not this time.”

“You’ve finally found the funding for my white-water park?”

“Uh … no. Sorry.”

“Then what the hell are you bothering me for?”

“Are you in the mood to break the law?”

There’s a brief pause, during which I hear Susan Werner singing “Barbed Wire Boys” through the phone. Then Kirk says, “What you got in mind?”

“A little creative trespassing.”

Kirk grunts. “Sounds mildly interesting.”

“With some diving at the end of it.”

“Now I’m getting a chubby.”

“Are you familiar with the Jericho Hole?”

“I’ve studied it on maps. That’s private property.”

“I’m aware.”

“What you looking for, Penn?”

“Bones. Human.”

“A body?”

“Just the bones.”

“How old we talking?”

“Forty years.”

Kirk gives a skeptical grunt. “That hole was created when a levee crevasse opened up long ago. The river’s probably swept through there several times over the last forty years during flood stage. That would have scoured any bones out of there.”

“From what I understand, quite a few corpses have been dumped in that hole over the years. But the guys we’re looking for may have been wired to something before they got thrown in. An engine block, for example. They might even be locked inside a car.”

“Well, that would certainly help.”

“Do you know how deep that hole really is, Kirk?”

“No. Maybe forty to sixty feet.”

“Can you search it for me?”

“When you need it done?”

“Yesterday.”

“Why did I ask? I’ve still got my lights and equipment. How close can I take my truck without being detected?”

“No idea.”

“Hang on … I’m checking a topo map. I know a crop duster who works that area. He can tell me the lay of the land. Is the property owner the type to shoot first and ask questions later?”

“Again, no idea. But I’d suggest treating this more as a Force Recon mission than a commercial diving job. This is beyond the call of duty.”

“You know what I say to that.”

“What?”

“Oo-rah, motherfucker! Beats the shit out of pushing dirt all day. Who’s the dead guy?”

“Two civil rights activists. Vietnam vets.”

“Even better. Let’s haul those ground-pounders up and make somebody pay.”