EM Faustus. Private Eye. He's back. Back in trouble. Someone from his past wants him dead. Someone from his past wants him in the frame for murder. And then dead. Death doesn't want him because it means more paperwork. His business partner wants him to wear a chastity belt And everyone hides when he asks for a light. Add onto that a case that doesn't actually have a client. Another case is being run by the Office Receptionist. A Gaggle of pneumatically enhanced Nuns who want him dead. A guy in a Rubber Chicken Suit who wants him dead. A collective of Marxism Daemons want him more than dead. Plus a new dog that is definitely going to the pound as soon as he gets around to it. Oh... and the guy writing the chapter headings is having a breakdown. Still... He's got coffee, smokes, Hot Women, Casual Violence and Massive Property Destruction. Just another day in the Office. Yep. Welcome to the third EM Faustus novel, filled with the usual naughtiness. Red Hot Women. Casual Violence. Massive Property Destruction. But this time, something new. This time around there is something resembling a 'PLOT'. As one reviewer said... Back OFF Girls This dick is MINE I don't typically fall for the chain smoking, coffee swilling, homicidal (in a good way) bad boy types, but I make an exception for E.M. Faustus every time. Another foray into the murky half-world of the differently alive, with the hottest and most arse-kicking PI this side of the underworld. (Or should I say "that" side of the underworld? I'm never quite certain.) For whatever reason, whenever I put down an E, M. Faustus story, I find myself transmorfed into some type of helpless halfwit dame with ginormous jugs who says things like "EEK " and "Jeepers my gams hurt ." Guess you'll have to read it to understand. Go on - have a read and fall in love a little. Just remember - THIS 1940's gumshoe is MINE Mrs. Holt-Lowrey