"It is not an ordinary job," the Frenchman had told me, "you may have to get your hands a little dirty." Here I am, Charlie fucking Whitman - still pissed from last night, driving a rental car with two retarded kids in the back, somewhere between Barcelona and Paris. I used to be an art dealer, I suppose I still am, but now I do bad things for good money. Everything has its price, and I think I've just found mine. "An obscenely comic tale." "Sickeningly surreal." "So gross I couldn't finish it." "Books don't come much darker than this."