By Stephen King
As soon as upon a time, a fellow named Richard Bachman wrote Blaze on an Olivetti typewriter, then grew to become the desktop over to Stephen King, who used it to jot down Carrie. Bachman died in 1985 ("cancer of the pseudonym"), yet this final gripping Bachman novel resurfaced after being hidden away for many years -- an unforgettable crime tale tinged with unhappiness and suspense. Clayton Blaisdell, Jr., used to be constantly a small-time antisocial. None too shiny both, because of the beatings he bought as a child. Then Blaze met George Rackley, a pro professional with 100 cons and one sizeable proposal. the abduction may still burst off and not using a hitch, with George because the brains in the back of their risky scheme. yet there's just one challenge: by the point the deal is going down, Blaze's accomplice in crime is lifeless. Or is he? encompasses a formerly uncollected tale, "Memory" -- the riveting starting to Stephen King's new Scribner hardcover novel, Duma Key.
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Additional info for Blaze: A Novel
He’d tried it once or twice with her. Damn near worked. Good-looking vamp. Weren’t they all? She went back to examining the bodies. She decided Korzha must have fed on at least one of the dead guys, and that was why he wasn’t twitchy. “Lucky accident? ” she asked, still crouched beside the bodies. D. uniforms, dark blue and body-hugging, tended to fit poorly in the crotch. She had long legs, and her uniform pants kept riding up. “Well,” the vamp said in his smooth voice. ” Yeah right. If it weren’t for bad luck… “Vamps don’t have bad luck,” she retorted.
Eventually, though, she noticed the rest of her body: aching, throbbing—not in a good way at all—but definitely there. She didn’t dare move her arm for fear the pain would take off the top of her head, but she did shift her legs. Movement was good. Agonizing, but good. She lay on a hard and unforgivingly icy surface. But for her shoulder, which felt on fire, she was cold. She groaned. She could make noise—another bodily function retained. Movement and vocalization? Good. Jeez, her head hurt. Check that.
She prayed her assumptions then would be correct. That was what she was using to control the bot. With her back flat against the bathroom wall, she watched her spy’s data stream across her field of vision. According to the bot, it was in another room about four hundred feet square. There were no fluctuations in air pressure or temperature. Since only a fool relied on technology alone, Claudia tried to slip into what she liked to call her hyper-concentration mode, but the fuzz in her brain interfered.
Blaze: A Novel by Stephen King