This is Burroughs' most accessible, tightly knit work of fiction--a gruesome, hallucinatory exposition of the dying words of Prohibition mobster Dutch Schultz. Laid out as a stripped-down movie script it's almost as if this is the form that Burroughs has always needed--an enforced brevity which keeps the poetry of banality (weary evil) from becoming unendurably tiresome. After Dutch Schultz, a non-Mafia leader, was shot down in the Palace Chop House men's room by a syndicate hit man, he remained alive under police guard in a hospital for many hours. Doped with morphine, he rattled on deliriously while a police stenographer took down his every word--about 2000 of them--none of which made much sense to anyone. The "last words" are a kind of demented aria, full of unconscious gutter poetry ("A boy has never wept or dashed a thousand Kim"--what are Kim? we never learn). The Film-fiction however links up much of their weird outflow with incidents from Dutch's career and childhood, and there's a surprising aptness to Burroughs' interpretative guesses. Even more striking is his technical finesse in evoking the bloodsoaked era, the bullseye dialogue, the ghostly photomontage.?