It’s opening game of the football season at Florida Field, and Monk DeVane, a former teammate of Zack Chasteen’s, invites Zack and his girlfriend to a halftime party in one of the exclusive skyboxes. But they find chaos---there’s a bomb under the chair of Darcy Whitehall, Monk Devane’s boss and the rakish Jamaican owner of Libido, a chain of anything-goes Caribbean resorts.

The bomb turns out to be a dud, but someone is putting the squeeze on Darcy Whitehall, and Monk DeVane enlists Zack to help protect his employer. When Zack arrives in Jamaica things quickly go to hell---more bombs (this time, for real), gnarly Jamaican politics, and the kinky diversions at Libido, where the prime spectator sport is watching guests frolic on the naked flume ride. As if that weren’t enough, Zack’s snooping around puts him in jeopardy with Freddie Arzghanian, king of the Caribbean money launderers.

Suspenseful, laugh-out-loud funny, and with larger-than-life characters, Jamaica Me Dead is Bob Morris at his wicked best.