James Lawler

The Dark Side of Dingle

• Broschiertes Buch

Produktbeschreibung

Riveting stuff that leaves one wanting to know more and more!If you are an addict of books about murder, mayhem and perversion; in other words, the "dark side of humanity"; in the author's own words; "the beast that lies dormant within all of us," then this is for you. Every one of us has a dark side, but it is usually kept hidden. Barry Dingle's twin brother was dumped on the steps of a church by his crack-addict mother who then kept his twin brother, Barry. He murdered his stepfather in a drunken rage at the age of sixteen, where he then went on to a life filled with lust, drunkenness, perversion and murder. The plot is full of twists and turns as he rampages through the US and deviously and gleefully avoids the clutches of FBI agents, Jacob Levine and Russel Reed. The big question on your mind should be... Who will be next?...

Produktdetails

• Verlag: Olympia Publishers
• Seitenzahl: 220
• Erscheinungstermin: 25. Januar 2018
• Englisch
• Abmessung: 203mm x 133mm x 12mm
• Gewicht: 231g
• ISBN-13: 9781848979727
• ISBN-10: 184897972X
• Artikelnr.: 50900147

Autorenporträt

I was born on an old farm in 1934, just a thin layer of plaster and weathered clap-boards stood between us and the elements; we nearly froze in winter and roasted in summer. The putty had long ago peeled off the windows leaving the rusty brads holding the glass in place; We heated with an old wood stove and in winter Papa kept the fire burning throughout the night to keep us from freezing. Any liquids left sitting around would crust over with a thin layer of ice by the time morning arrived but we had heavy quilts. I can recall turning over frequently in my bed on those cold, blistery winter nights to warm the other side of my body. We had no plumbing or electricity, we fetched our water from a hole in the ground and the toilet was a little shack out back. We were dirt poor, we didn't own much of anything, just the clothes on our backs and some odds and ends of furniture but somehow we managed to survive. For entertainment we had an old wind-up record player, a Victrola, and in the evenings us kids would lie on the floor in front of the old pot belly stove gazing at the flames behind the tiny window in the door, while we listened to Papa tell stories. We endured many hard-times and looking back now, oddly enough, I miss those hard-times; we all pulled together as a family. I'm eighty-three years old now and like my dad, I too love to tell stories.