Joe R. Lansdale - Act of Love

ACT OF LOVE

Joe R. Lansdale

Flyboy707 eBooks

Flyboy707 eBooks

No Copyright 2011by Flyboy707

No rights are reserved. All part of this book may bereproduced in any form and by any means without the prior written consent ofanyone.

Icreated this eBook directly from my scan of the original 1981, first edition,first print, hard-back Act of Love.

Noportion of the text (i.e. the actual words of the author) of my ebook has beenaltered in any way. I have only added an authors Forward to the book that Icreated from two book descriptions from publishers of the original novel.

Iendeavored to duplicate the book as closely as possible, while making thiseBook a retail-like format for your ereader device. I keep as closely aspossible to the paragraph and sentence structure, page breaks and chapterstarts. The page breaks you encounter throughout my ebook are exactly howthey appear in the original novel.

Dueto how ereaders function and displays ebooks, as well as, how the final conversionto an epub occurs, there are certain places within the original scan that I hadto alter so that it would look correctly on your ereader. My ebook was testedon a Nook Color primarily and also on an iPad 1 and 2.

Finally,my wish is for you to have a pleasurable reading experience!

Flyboy707

September,2011

In 1981, Joe R. Lansdale, then anoted short story writer, published his first novel, a paperback originalentitled Act of Love. A ferocious account of the search for a killerknown as the Houston Hacker, Lansdales debut was written years before theHannibal Lecter phenomenon left its mark on American popular culture, yearsbefore the serial killer novel became a distinct and highly marketable publishing category. Thirty years after its initial appearance, this pioneeringnovel continues to exert a raw but undeniable narrative force.

Set in the vividly evoked urbansqualor of Houston, Texas, Act of Love moves with great authoritybetween the disordered mind of a compulsive killer and the increasinglydesperate perspectives of the policemen who hunt him. In the process, it offersa detailed portrait of a complex murder investigation and anatomizes a cityunder siege, a city held hostage by a latter day Jack the Ripper.

As long time Lansdale readers willnote, Act of Love introduces the soon-to-be-familiar figure of homicidedetective Marvin Hanson. More importantly, it introduces, in embryonic form,some characteristic authorial virtues: the deceptively effortless prose, theflawless sense of place, the graphic depiction of inhuman violence, and thecasually profane, instantly recognizable Lansdale humor. Unavailable for fartoo long, Act of Love makes a welcome reappearance in this deluxeanniversary edition, which includes the definitive text of the novel, a newintroduction by the author, and a never before published short story featuringMarvin Hanson. The result is a significant and necessary act of rediscoveryand an irresistible gift for Lansdale aficionados old and new.

ACT OF LOVE

Thescreeching of tires frightened Tommy, who was being followed by the bluevanits lights slicing into his Grand Prix like a razor.

"Crazyfool!" Tommy said as the van bumped the back of his car.

"What'she doing?" cried JoAnna, tossed forward into the dash. She clung to Tommyand fastened her seatbelt as the van bumped them again.

"Christ,I can't outrun him I He's got something special under that hood!" Tommyscreamed, his speedometer nearing eighty. "Ever seen someone take a rightturn at eighty?" he asked JoAnna.

Thetires screamed and sparks flew out from beneath the car as the axle bounceddown and scraped the pavement. It mounted a curb and ended up in the soft dirtof a front lawn. It yawned and heaved but remained still. All Tommy and JoAnnacould hear was the whine of the engine and the whirl of the tiresas the vanquickly approached them and came to a stop.

Thevan door opened. A dark shape, a man, emerged, wearing a long coat, but a hoodcovered his face. JoAnna, looking out the back window, saw something in hishand. Something long and shiny.

Tommygassed the car in reverse and it bounced over the curb and into the street.

Inless than thirty seconds the van was hot on their tires again, pulling neck andneck. The driver of the van, his hood pulled up over his head, looked like somekind of monk.

"Why,Why, WHY?" JoAnna screamed.

Andjust as the van reached them, a tire on the Grand Prix blew...

Whoknows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

From the opening of The Shadow

Blood!Bah!

MichaelLe Faucheur

Itwill have blood

WilliamShakespeare (Macbeth)

Vivala Muerte! (Long live death!)

Millan Astray

Icould not love except where death,

Wasmingling his with Beauty's breath

Edgar Allan Poe

Ohlet me love you

withthis blade?

Inpassions lull

yourtiny breast lines heave,

Iwatch them fade

ForI shall dream of falcon flight and pray

forall consuming night and,

Iwill be your minute man,

andshow you love, I know I can I

Ohlet me love you with my blade.

Mignon Glass (The Psycho's Song)

PearlHarbor is not just the place the Japanese bombed; it has a namesake, sochristened for the blood that's been shed theremore blood than the originalPearl Harbor ever saw. It's a vicinity in the Houston, Texas ghetto called TheFifth Ward. It's just off Lyons Avenue (Soul Street) and Jensen, and if you'rethinking of suicide, or if you want to get cut from ear to ear, it's the placeto stroll late at night, jingling your money. For that matter, you don't needmoney. Saying goes, "There's folks down there can't sleep at night unlessthey've killed somebody."

Sodeath, blood and violence are no strangers to Pearl Harbor and The Fifth Wardghetto. It's a tight, black world crowded with both flesh and poverty; acesspool of despair. Over thirty-four percent of its residents live below thepoverty level compared with Houston's ten percent. The median income of TheWard is just over five thousand dollars, while Houston's overall average isalmost ten thousand dollars.

Thepeople of this ghetto, like ghettoes everywhere, are swamped in the darkness ofignorance, pain and destruction. But for all its seething hatred and explosiveviolence, it is endowed with a peculiar sort of pride fostered by emptiness anddesperation. A pride that allows its members to not only live in pain, but inoccasional joy... and sometimes it must share in something that is not quiteeither. Something that is certainly no joy, and something beyond the pain ofThe Ward's daily existence.

Somethingakin to horror.

Somethingthat did not end there, but began there.

Somethinglike the arrival of the cold, calculating madman who would come to be known as"The Houston Hacker."

SUNDAY... 11:58 p.m.

Thinkingback on the blood and her struggles, he had an erection.

Hecame out of the dark and into the weak glow of the street lamps; lamps longdirty and specked with the splattered ruin of kamikaze bugs. The ankle-lengthraincoat he had been wearing was now folded over the bloody bayonet and hisfreshly acquired treasure. The raincoat was tucked tightly beneath his arm.There was nothing hurried about his steps, but then his movements were not lazyeither. There was black greasepaint on his face, gloves on his hands and aclose-knit cap pulled tightly on his head.