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by Rex Miller
Description: Stephen King hails Rex Miller as "terrifying and original." Slob is his debut novel, the story of a man who thinks of himself as Death. A man who likes to feast on human hearts, spilling blood wherever he goes. Jack Eichord is the detective who must hunt this human monster and genius killer. Years of working as a homicide detective for the Chicago Police department has hardened Eichord to things that would make most men turn and flee. But even he is not prepared for the labyrinthine search underground, as he trails the killer and his hostages through the sewer system of the city. Eichord thinks that he is beginning to understand the diabolical man and his patterns of violence...but can he guess the next victim in time, before it is too late for the woman he loves?
eBook Publisher: E-Reads, 1987
eBookwise Release Date: April 2001
72 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [314 KB]
Reading time: 201-282 min.
"Terrifying and original. . . Almost too crudely terrifying to be read . . . but it is too compelling to put down. . . . Marks the debut of a writer able to bring the dynamite in both hands. . . . A cause for rejoicing." -Stephen King
"It's got muscle it hasn't even used yet. It's the place where old John D. used to work before Travis McGee got winded. Cain and Dutch Leonard and Jim Thompson and Jim Tully sing in these pages. Caniff's rhythm and smart talk, Hemingway's mean, Alfie Bester's cinematography. It pulls the plow, this writing." -Harlan Ellison
"Terrific! Rex Miller writes like a truck-driver tailgating you at 80 mph. . . . [Chaingang] induces genuine panic-making you read faster than you wanted to--too scared to go on, too terrified to stop." -Graham Masterton
"Rex Miller is terrific. [Chaingang] scratches itches I didn't know I had." Marion Zimmer Bradley
"Graphic . . . unsettling . . . brutal . . . hypnotic . . . gritty . . . riveting!" -Rave Reviews
"We need these periodic trips into the human heart of darkness. Rex Miller undertakes this journey with uncompromising language and story. This is no fairytale vision of evil. This is the real thing." -Steve Rasnic Tem
"Literally mind-stunning, a Hitchcockian chase through one man's modern underworld!" -John Coyne
"Words like powerful, visceral and monstrous don't even begin to describe the kind of book SLOB is. There is a primal energy at work here that won't quit. When you open this book you are grabbed by the throat, yanked down into darkness, and dragged along on a gut-churning ride. From there, it's a nonstop journey to the final page." -Thomas F. Monteleone
"Flashes of real brilliance . . . scenes so chilling, so repugnant, so seamlessly portrayed in their intensity that they can't help but tear a reaction from the reader . . . Astonishing." -Charles de Lint
"Cheerfully malevolent . . . [Chaingang] was an abused child who then went through the meat grinder of state care, became a murderer, a Vietnam vet and, finally, a serial killer. . . . Fans for whom Stephen King doesn't write fast enough . . . should have a ripping good time." -Publishers Weekly
"A tour de force . . . tasty as a blood sundae. The only question is, What does Killer Miller do for an encore?" -Alan E. Nourse
"Intense, ugly, effective, and eerily persuasive. Rex Miller is a writer to watch!" -Piers Anthony
Her first awareness of him is a presence. Unseen. A stench. It comes around the corner before him, preceding his physical entrance in a sickening downdraft that washes over her and she recoils from the smell which is a combination of rank body odor and sewage and sulfurous stink of rotten food, and it assails her nostrils with the foulness of evil. Then seeing him she flinches again, fighting to regain her composure, resolutely, politely, trained to serve the public, a smile fixing itself to her mouth as he approaches the counter in this awful, stinking swirl of poisonous air.
He grunts out a monosyllabic name, not his real one, and she mumbles something as she hands him his order and checks the amount. It is exactly forty dollars to the penny. She tells him and he produces the money. He hands her the exact amount in filthy, sweat-soaked, crumpled bills that she can barely stand to touch. She thanks him, ringing the order on the cash register and vowing to wash her hands immediately. He swoops up the large sack of food in a giant paw and lumbers away, leaving behind the stinging, terrible odor and the paralyzing, heart-hammering fear of some imagined and unspeakable threat. To her he will always be "forty dollars worth of egg rolls."
He is the one they called CHAINGANG in Vietnam. He was the one who they said back in Marion had taken a human life for nearly every pound of his weight, and he weighed nearly five hundred pounds. He is death personified, demoniacal, unstoppable, bloodthirsty, and very, very real. He wrenches open the door of the stolen car and tosses the sack of food into the passenger seat as he crashes down behind the wheel, the springs groaning in protest. He thinks how easily he could have killed the aloof woman behind the counter in there. How pleasant it would have been to sink a sharp object into her throat, ripping down across the breasts and then the abdomen and then gutting her and taking the parts he liked the best. And the thought of this fills his head with a scarlet roar.
Copyright © 1987 by Rex Miller