The Leap of Faith (Paperback)

Killer Mike and the Blood Slugs - The Leap of Faith
(The Blood Slugs #4)

Sometimes you ask for a sign. What happens when you get one?

Mike hasn’t been feeling well since his last murder spree. Too many things went wrong that night by the lake. Worst of all, the slugs didn’t get their fill. Between the haunting yet beautiful visage of his last victim and the slug’s slow but relentless pursuit, he finds himself divided against his own bloody desires. He’s had enough of the suffering. Is Mike ready to plunge the knife again, or will he take the plunge himself?

In one world, “Killer” Mike Fontaine is the lead singer/rhythm guitarist for an infamous post-hardcore punk band, Killer Mike and the Blood Slugs. In another, darker world, he is a serial killer. For every record that the band releases in their world, the real Killer Mike will take a life in his own.

Is this the last of those records?

“The new KMBS record testifies to monumental growth in creativity, maturity, and sincerity for the band. “The Leap of Faith” lures you in with hypnotic, macabre dirges, only to leave you breathless by the triumphant end.”
– Jack Rogier, Music Critic, Shikaakwa Moon

Liner Notes: Even though the last time hadn’t gone as well as Mike would have hoped, he had gotten a decent little boost off the kills. Not long after, he proved himself at his job, where he had been able to talk clients into making investments, even from his role as a client service representative. During his first weeks, the managers discouraged all new CSRs from upselling customers who had called in with complaints. Their job was to calm the customer down and leave all sales to the agents. He had been with the company over a year now, so he started doing it anyway…and with a rate of success that some bigger wigs found quite impressive. In November of ‘92, one of the higher-ups invited him to a retreat at a fancy hotel way out on the edge of Barrenview. He had not wanted to go. Felt like he shouldn’t. The town was more than an hour away, out in the boonies somewhere. Besides, he hated gatherings. However, when he objected, the suit who had invited him said, “I know you want to skip the retreat. You want to go to the ‘big turkey dinner’ with your family. Who doesn’t? Do you think the winners are with their families on Thanksgiving? No, winners make war plans while others celebrate and get fat.” Mike, rather than listening, had been fantasizing about digging the guy’s eyes out with the knife in his pocket. The Thanksgiving comment threw him for such a loop that he had almost laughed out loud at the idea of going to the ‘big turkey dinner’ with his family. The point was clear, though. This retreat was some kind of loyalty test. Despite his loathing and vague apprehension, he went. The whole affair ended up being less of a business thing and more of a woodsy men’s retreat at a cabin for tourists. The kind of retreat where men do yoga and listen to a philosopher talk. The kind where they finally open up to other men about their insecurities so they can inspire each other to be better people. Better men. He, a killer, couldn’t believe how pent up everyone else was, how grateful they were for this ritual of secret vulnerability. There were so many tears. So many sincere pats on the back. When it came time for him to share, he had to make up some dramatic story about how he accidentally killed his grandma’s dog by running it over. How the guilt and the shame—don’t forget the shame—had crippled him ever since. His acting was good. He almost cried for real when he got to the part about how the shame kept him from ever picking up the guitar again, a part that hit a little too close to home. Mike was secretly embarrassed on behalf of the poor idiots who were offering him kind words of affection and affirmation. The higher-ups seemed impressed. That was all that was important. They pulled him aside late Thursday night to promote him, right there at the retreat, telling him he would see a huge bonus and a better payrate starting the very next check. After another day of “success-focused” male bonding, there was a big supper on Friday night. When he tried to leave right after the meal, everyone else had insisted on drinks. Now, in his car, after pulling an Irish goodbye as soon as he thought no one would notice…