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    One Way Tickets, a Dwight Manning Adventure: A Dwight Manning Adventure, #1
    One Way Tickets, a Dwight Manning Adventure: A Dwight Manning Adventure, #1
    One Way Tickets, a Dwight Manning Adventure: A Dwight Manning Adventure, #1
    Ebook129 pages1 hour

    One Way Tickets, a Dwight Manning Adventure: A Dwight Manning Adventure, #1

    By John Hunter

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    About this ebook

    "A retired combat veteran leads discount heroes on a suicidal rescue attempt in the Caribbean."

    An emotionally unavailable retired combat veteran living in south Florida gets a call in the middle of the night telling him his younger, Ugly American, brother has been kidnapped in the Dominican Republic. Paying the ransom is the last thing on his mind. With the eager assistance of a small group of discount heroes, he initiates a reckless and daring rescue attempt which will leave a trail of death, destruction and a little grand larceny to benefit the advanced study of veterinary science.

    "The Caribbean has never been more deadly."

    This character driven, slightly dark and quirky with a dash of humor Action Adventure was inspired by something my older brother, a retired Marine Corps combat veteran, said to me before I traveled overseas to host a workshop, "Don't go over there, get in trouble and make me come get you out."

    One Way Tickets is a novella containing about 22,500 words—a good quick read for those who don't have the time for a big fat novel which can become the house guest that stayed too long. Enjoy the read.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJohn Hunter
    Release dateJul 16, 2018
    ISBN9781386215448
    One Way Tickets, a Dwight Manning Adventure: A Dwight Manning Adventure, #1
    Author

    John Hunter

    Sent away to school to get a fancy education, my family proudly referred to me as bilingual for an uncanny ability to speak both Standard American English and my native Cracker. After graduation from a large brick and mortar university, a curious nature and an overactive imagination have led me down many paths in life: Former Peace Corps Volunteer, sales engineer, packaging design consultant, recovering golfer and more recently, an award-winning and produced scriptwriter. As a writer, I enjoy telling slightly dark and quirky stories with a dash of humor.

    Read more from John Hunter

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      Book preview

      One Way Tickets, a Dwight Manning Adventure - John Hunter

      1

      Atropical moon shines down on palm fronds and the rusted tin roof of a minor Caribbean brothel near the city of Boca Chica in the Dominican Republic—one of many destinations in the island’s busy sex tourism business.

      Colored lights, music and laughter pour out and into the street from the weather-worn building. In the center of this brothel is a large room with a red tile floor. Radiating from this central room are narrow hallways leading to small cubicles. Inside these small rooms are bare light bulbs and soiled mattresses on metal frame beds.

      The women who work here come in all shapes and sizes. Their ages range from early teens to grandmothers with jet black dyed hair. Some are tall, others short, some have muffin tops, some are stylishly thin and even strangely attractive. There is even a small boned he-she in the mix. Whatever floats your boat. These working girls come in every hue and shade imaginable. Most lounge around painted tables. Others huddle in groups of two’s and three’s or lean against the walls. They all scan the room looking for some unmet desire.

      Some of these ladies pass their time by dancing the Merengue, the most popular dance on the island. Some dance alone, others dance with men, still others dance with each other. Their movements match the rhythm of the music. The game plan is quite straightforward. It is, after all, the world’s oldest profession. The idea is to lure some man down one of the narrow hallways and into a cubicle for a little bump and tickle. The incentive for the girls is, of course, money. In theory, the more money they take in, the more money they make. In reality they make very little. After the house takes its cut, their take-home pay is never more than a pittance. Perhaps enough to buy some sorry boyfriend a cheap gift, a pack of cigarettes, some candy or a small bag of drugs. Ultimately, they never make enough to escape the brothel or make a real life for themselves.

      Balmy Dominican breezes blow softly through open windows, but they give little relief from the humidity. Barefooted children run around outside. They giggle and peek through open windows and doorways hoping to catch a glimpse of their mothers, aunts or sisters doing their job.

      The women puff on cigarettes, but don’t seem to take any pleasure in it. Perhaps it is just an affectation they think makes them look more alluring or maybe just another filthy habit like their jobs. Who knows? They wear false smiles and force gay, insincere laughter. They bat their eyes at Latin men who drink ice cold beers and pasty white tourists anxious to learn if their little blue boner pills really work.

      The surrealistic Caribbean carnival mood of the room is broken by the loud crash of a beer bottle hitting the floor. The noise startles the crowd and interrupts the flow of normal activities. Everything comes to a sudden stop as if frozen in time. The crowd momentarily turns its attention to one stumbling drunk man named Enrique, a twenty year old Latin of mixed decent. He looks down and sways over his broken beer bottle. A puddle of beer spreads beneath his feet. He struggles to keep his balance. He raises his face and breaks into the crazed laughter of a drunken fool in a fool’s paradise. Enrique looks around for an enabler and shouts in slurred Spanish,

      Houston, we have a problem.

      Quickly bored, the crowd turns away and ignores him, knowing he is not worth their time. They go back to flirting, dancing and drinking. Enrique sways. He yells again and points at the floor.

      Hello. This is serious, my friends. Will someone please bring me another beer? This one seems to have crash landed.

      Totally amused with himself and smiling, Enrique staggers to a nearby table where a group of his friends are sitting. He shrugs his shoulders, raises his hands with palms up. He yells at them in Spanish.

      Hello, Enrique to Earth. I need a beer.

      One of the men at the table gets up, ambles over, hands him a beer, slaps him on the back.

      There you go, bro, try to hang on to this one, OK?

      Enrique hoots and spins around. He toasts everyone in the room, but no one seems to notice or care. He is not the only drunk in the room.

      At a table in a dim corner sits Teddy Manning, a typical Ugly American tourist. He peels the paper label off his beer bottle. He wears loose fitting cargo shorts and a brightly colored, short sleeved, tropical shirt—the kind with some combination of palm trees, hula girls, pineapples or flowers. He has already had enough, but he continues to drink. He swigs his beer like a man in the final stages of sloppy drunk.

      Seated next to Teddy are four working girls. One appears to be no more than ten or twelve years old. While this is technically illegal on the island, no one in an official capacity ever checks. The women sit on the edge of their seats and pretend to be interested in every slurred utterance made by this drunken bore. The fact that several of the women don’t understand a word of English is unimportant. As if addressing college fraternity buddies, Teddy lectures the group. He pounds on the table with his fists to emphasize his slurred ramblings.

      Coldest damn beer and prettiest girls.

      He looks around the table and shakes his head from side to side.

      You can take your Las Vegas and Atlantic City and shove them up your ass. For me…

      With a smug look on his face, he points at himself with his thumb.

      This is the place. For my money, there’s no bigger bang for the buck...

      He grabs the rear end of the girl sitting closest to him. She jumps around in her chair as he continues to grope her. Teddy throws his head back and brays like a jackass.

      No other place in the world like it.

      Teddy pokes the tabletop with his finger to indicate this specific location. He orders more beers for the table. The girls giggle and thank him profusely. He looks around the table, nods and accepts their adulation. He seems oblivious to the fact they don’t care what he is saying. In fact, they’d be delighted if he would just put some money on the table and leave, but they have their orders—keep ‘em happy.

      More beers arrive. Teddy grabs the one in front of him, gulps it down. He slams his empty bottle on the table. One of the girls slides her untouched beer in front of him. Teddy does not notice her slight of hand. The only thing he sees is more beer. The other girls follow suit. Teddy drinks them

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