Maybe time has dimmed the earlier Rex Miller style in my brain, but this book seemed a bit more...mainstream...in the writing. I remember a certain fondness for Miller run-on sentences and descriptives that were both hard-hitting and, somehow, touching. The former wasn't in this book, and hopef...
The man is a hulk of angry, flabby, flesh, housing a genius intelligence that is ever inventing new and twisted ways to inflict pain on others. Torturing and killing innumerable victims with impunity, he still wasn't clever enough to keep himself out of prison forever. They drugged him, beat and ...
Daniel "Chaingang" Bunkowski is five hundred pounds of bone-crushing malice. He walks upright like a man, but that's about his only similarity to a human. He has the brilliant, twisted mind of a genius and the refleXes of a predatory animal with an unquenchable thirst for savagery. The story that...
In a steamy city, murder has never before been so icy. And as the toll of unsuspecting victims continues to climb, the search is on for the cold-blooded killer. Jack Eichord, serial-murder detective, is out to melt the man with the murder machine, but Jake's following an elusive trail of victims ...
Jack Eichord considers himself an "average" serial murder specialist, trying to make a new life for himself and his wife in Atlanta. But then he finds a frightening pattern of murders developing--a pattern leading toward Atlanta from Chicago where he had left a vicious murderer for dead!
Charles Maitland of Symington, Maitland, Eaves, and Cox turned the page and scowled. Nobody called him Charlie anymore. He had outlived his only cronies, the one or two in the firm and at the club who had enjoyed that particular distinction. The article in a decidedly left-wing newspaper was a bi...
Streicher might or might not prove to be, would have been insufficient to pull Jack to St. Louis. The gangland type action might not have reached out for him. It was a thing of one too many coincidences. Bad vibes. Rankling hunches. The St. Louis kills were firebombings. Some shootings. But no EY...
The water he'd remembered to put in the bowl outside was still there but the dog food he'd managed to set out was gone. That was the bright spot of the day. When he got to work, made even more paranoid by the attempted sniping of a Dallas cop car in one of the predominantl...
— unfinished latrine graffiti I look straight ahead without seeing. I know if I had the eyes I could see the jungle and Charlie coming, the quarter moon that’s out there somewhere hiding behind the blackness, fields, tree lines, horizon, river, and beyond. Somewhere out there is the “Demilitarize...