A dreadful "hero" who fucks - through underage girls and the developmentally disabled, even - and kills his way through a seedy Los Angeles underbelly depicted with all the nuance of an air horn.  The worst part of it is that it isn't any fun. By the time his shapely secretary is raped to death and he finds the mutilated corpse you are just disgusted by the whole thing.  I've got no issue with sex as a driver in fiction - the best Shell Scott mysteries have just as much of a parade of horny Californians eager to jump into and out of beds, swimming pools, showers, and baths with our hero - but Scott (at his best) is a goofball, and you don't get the impression from this book that Hunter has ever spent a moment of his life where he didn't hate every woman on earth.  Or maybe that's the author's point of view shining through.  Good thing I got this free during a big sale. Awful.