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Braineater Jones

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No memory. No pulse. No clue.The undead private eye everybody calls “Braineater Jones” has an axe to grind. Somebody plugged him and dumped his corpse in a swimming pool. Worse yet, his memory’s gone. He has no idea who killed him or why.But he’s damn sure going to find out.With a smartass severed head as a partner, Jones hangs up his shingle in the city’s undead quarter. When he’s not solving cases (poorly) Jones is always looking to keep his flask full. Prohibition is in full swing, and the dead need alcohol to function. Without liquor they become mindless, flesh-munching ghouls. (In a word: braineaters.)Everything will probably be fine. The investigation into his own murder probably won’t point Jones toward the city’s most important bootlegger. And even if it does, it’s not like he’ll risk cutting off the hooch just to seek justice for himself, right? No one man’s life is worth unleashing a cannibalistic orgy of violence. Right?Cracking this case will be a tall order, but one thing’s for sure: whatever happens, Braineater Jones isn’t getting out of this one alive…

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FOREWORD
FOREWORD   BRAINEATER JONES is not high art. In fact, it is meant to be nothing more than pulpy horror fun. Nevertheless, I feel obliged to warn and inform my readers that this book contains the sort of racist, sexist, and bigoted characters that were commonplace to the era in which it takes place. In researching this novel, I was faced with a stark reality: the 1930s was a time of intolerance. Novels of that era jarred my modern sensibilities. Racism, homophobia, and sexism weren’t just institutional; they were also casual and woven into the warp and woof of everyday life for every strata of society. I had a choice: either whitewash the past and somehow attempt to ignore every issue of gender, race, and sexuality relevant to that time period, or address them and try to do so in a way that was true to life. You can probably guess from the fact that I have written this foreword that I chose the latter. Readers who are familiar with the literature of the 1930s, and the noir genre in particular, will hopefully be more accustomed to this sort of language and behavior, though, I hope, will never be desensitized to it. For everyone else, please just bear in mind that these characters, including the narrator, are of a different era. If I nevertheless give offense, I sincerely apologize, and the responsibility is mine and mine alone. Okay, with the heavy stuff out of the way, I hope you enjoy this book, my first, and I will leave you with the advice my father gave me on my wedding day. “Son, if you ever read a book about Nazi zombie robot detectives, try not to take it too seriously.” Stephen Kozeniewski P.S. If you happen to come across a term you don’t recognize—either 1930s slang or jargon specific to the world of Braineater Jones—please check the glossary at the end of the book prior to sending me irate letters.

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