Midlife makes all professionals reevaluate their work, and serial killers are no exception, as Dorsey’s ninth sagely demonstrates.
Serge A. Storms (The Big Bamboo, 2006, etc.), South Florida’s deadliest creature not living on federally protected swampland, is afraid he’s losing his touch. Not sexually, of course. He can still give randomly selected waitresses and state-park employees multiple orgasms without a pause in his conversation with his stoner bud Coleman. Not musically, as the sheer volume of his monster amps attests. And certainly not adventure-wise. He’s ridden the eye of Alex, Cristobal, Danielle and Esteban—every hurricane in this unusually active season to strike his beloved home state. But when an article by his old nemesis Agent Mahoney in Florida Law Enforcement Quarterly suggests that Serge’s neurological idiosyncrasies may cause him to age prematurely out of his chosen field, Serge plans “the Elvis of comebacks,” with special attention to upstaging a copycat killer who calls himself “The Eye of the Storm.” And what Serge wants, nobody—not his long-suffering psychiatrist; not Coleman, in his periodic walks on the psychedelic side; not crime reporter Jeff McSwirley, whom Serge kidnaps briefly, just to show him a good time; not Metro Tom, McSwirley’s protective editor; not even Mahoney—can keep him from getting.
Despite dizzying time-shifts and a mounting body count, Serge’s flight from his own mortality is, as usual, riotous fun.
