Hurricane Punch (Serge Storms Series #9)

( 93 )

Overview

Welcome to another typical summer in Florida, the season of the storms. Serge storms.

That lovable, under-undermedicated dispenser of truth, justice, and trivia is back with a vengeance. And not a weirdness-laced moment too soon.

His cherished home state is about to take a beating, and from far more than the way-too-routine conga line of hurricanes bearing down on the peninsula. Bodies have begun turning up at a disturbing rate, even for ...

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Hurricane Punch (Serge Storms Series #9)

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Overview

Welcome to another typical summer in Florida, the season of the storms. Serge storms.

That lovable, under-undermedicated dispenser of truth, justice, and trivia is back with a vengeance. And not a weirdness-laced moment too soon.

His cherished home state is about to take a beating, and from far more than the way-too-routine conga line of hurricanes bearing down on the peninsula. Bodies have begun turning up at a disturbing rate, even for Florida, and it looks like a brutal serial killer is on the loose, which highly offends Serge's moral sensibilities and he vows to stop at nothing in his juggernaut to make All Things Right . . . except if he gets bored or distracted by a cool souvenir or . . . or a . . . whatever.

But his path won't be obstacle free.

Agent Mahoney has picked up the scent. The obsessive criminal profiler--just released from a mental hospital where he'd been sent for getting too deep inside Serge's head--is convinced there is no second killer. Serge's personality is simply splitting from decades of burning with incandescent zest for everything under the sun. Then there's Coleman, whose triathlete approach to the sport of polyabuse binging just might derail the mission more than the entire police community put together.

The pace picks up. Winds howl, TV reporters fly around the beach, the Party Parrot parties on, and questions mount: Who's stalking Tampa Bay's most sensitive journalist? Did Tom Cruise go too easy on Matt Lauer? Do multiple orgasms improve storm tracking? Why is the feeding-tube guy so quiet? Will Molly ruin our antihero's dreams of playing the electric guitar better than Clapton? . . . All of which ultimately leads to the most pressing question on everyone's new-millennium lips:

What would Serge do?

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

Wyman has a daunting assignment: finding the right voice for Dorsey's larger-than-life antihero, Serge A. Storms, a likable, certifiably insane serial killer who rarely stops talking long enough to breathe. Wyman settles on just the right combination of tones for the screwball sociopath's generally amusing rants against government, the media, marriage and ignorant cops. At first, Storms seems like just another motormouth Florida crime crazy, but Dorsey makes us move past his verbal diarrhea to the oddly honorable, moral, blissfully happy man who just happens to be a raving wacko. Wyman undercuts the character's in-your-face boorish nattering with a redemptive exuberance and a winning joy of life. He also has no trouble delineating supporting characters like a dazed and reluctant newspaper reporter; a dim, dogged federal agent on Storms's trail; a pompous news executive; several neurotic psychologists; and another serial killer in the area. The result may not be a masterwork of suspense—there's never a doubt that Storms will prevail against knife, gun or twister—but you couldn't ask for a funnier guide to the Sunshine State, with or without hurricane. Simultaneous release with the Morrow hardcover (Reviews, Dec. 11). (Feb.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information
Publishers Weekly
Scathing humor strips the pretense off its targets like a hurricane in bestseller Dorsey's rapid-fire ninth thriller. Last seen in The Big Bamboo (2006), serial killer Serge A. Storms, who seems like all of the Marx brothers rolled into one, rumbles across Florida in a stolen Hummer with his usually drunk or stoned friend, Coleman. Serge follows one hurricane after another, driving in the relatively safe eye of the storm, pointing out fascinating bits of Florida history and only killing those who truly deserve it. That would include the guy in the car next to you blasting his music as well as the person price-gouging hurricane victims. The murders are accomplished in appropriately bizarre, if not graphic, fashion. As Serge evades law enforcement and perennial nemesis Agent Mahoney, his latest road trip allows him to skewer everything from President Bush to fast food establishments, with particular emphasis given to the foibles of the media (newspapers) for which Dorsey once worked. 13-city author tour. (Feb.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
It's hurricane season, and two serial killers are on the loose in Florida. Who else but Serge A. Storms to the rescue? With a nine-city tour. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
New York Times Book Review
“Hilarious”
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780060829681
  • Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
  • Publication date: 1/1/2008
  • Series: Serge Storms Series , #9
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: Reprint
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 277,808
  • Product dimensions: 4.15 (w) x 6.75 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Tim Dorsey

Tim Dorsey was a reporter and editor for the Tampa Tribune from 1987 to 1999, and is the author of fifteen novels: The Riptide Ultra-Glide, Pineapple Grenade, When Elves Attack, Electric Barracuda, Gator A-Go-Go, Nuclear Jellyfish, Atomic Lobster, Hurricane Punch, The Big Bamboo, Torpedo Juice, Cadillac Beach, The Stingray Shuffle, Triggerfish Twist, Orange Crush, Hammerhead Ranch Motel, and Florida Roadkill. He lives in Tampa, Florida.

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Read an Excerpt

Hurricane Punch

A Novel
By Tim Dorsey

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2007 Tim Dorsey
All right reserved.



Chapter One

Tampa

The consistently inventive positions of the hurricane-flung bodies validated the chaos theory, particularly those equations involving trajectory, procrastination and trailer parks. Certain corpses seemed purposefully arranged, the rest very much not. Some appeared to have been scattered by mortar strikes, others peacefully reclined like stuffed pandas on a child's bed, still others looked like sick practical jokes being played on the recovery crews. The disturbing circumstance of one particular body, the next to be discovered, was no accident.

But wait, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Let's back up. . . . June 1.

The opening day of the Atlantic hurricane season was like any other: dire predictions in the media and cheerful sales at the home-improvement centers.

How people ramped up for hurricanes depended on experience. If you'd been through a direct hit, you didn't fool around. Plywood, gas, go. Those with small children were the first to bolt, followed by seasonal residents, who had more options. The old-timers went one of two ways: Most had developed keen instincts and knew precisely when to pull the trigger; the crustier stayed put no matter what and were interviewed on CNN. Newer residents forgot to charge up cell phones; the wealthy scheduled unscheduled vacations; families gathered family albums; insurance executives canceledcoverage. Prescriptions and sandbags were filled. Some believed in the power of hoarding canned meat; others lost faith in electricity and withdrew massive amounts of cash from ATMs. Door-to-door entrepreneurs purchased chain saws for the brisk post-strike downed-tree business. There were the tourists, who stared bitterly at unused portions of multi-park passes; sailboat owners, who spiderwebbed vessels to docks; the motor-oil-baseball-cap people standing in the beds of pickup trucks, making everyone wonder by loading the heaviest, most worthless shit; and college students, whose hurricane preparation consisted of not knowing a storm was coming.

The memories of 2004 were supposed to greatly improve public awareness. Charley, Frances, Ivan, Jeanne.

Since then, authorities found less trouble getting residents to heed evacuation orders. But not a lot less. The culture of complacency had deep roots in nearly four decades of borrowed luck. There was one ten-year period from 1975 to 1985 when but a single hurricane made landfall in Florida. The next seven years saw only three more. Meanwhile, thousands of new communities and condos sprouted along coastlines with the growth-speed and sturdiness of spring-shower mushrooms.

Then 2004. As many hurricanes that had struck during seventeen years pummeled the state in less than six weeks.

A lot of residents learned their lesson and installed the latest storm shutters. Others drank beer.

Then 2005.

Dennis, Katrina, Rita, Wilma. Another wake-up call. Someone hit the snooze alarm.

Hurricane shutters were already up on an old theater in Seminole Heights. It was now a low-rent professional building. A clock ticked on the wall of an upstairs office, postmodern feng shui. Two people sat in white leather chairs, facing each other twenty feet apart. Only one could see the clock. That was by design.

A self-assured woman with pulled-back strawberry hair folded her hands on top of a small notebook. She smiled with genuineness. "What are you thinking about?"

"It's dark in here."

"The shutters are up," said the psychiatrist.

"I know," said Serge. "A big one's already on the way, and it's only the beginning of June. It's all I've been able to think about."

"The anxiety's perfectly normal. Especially after the last few years. I've been seeing a lot more patients--"

"Oh, I'm not worried," said Serge. "I'm cookin'! I love hurricane season!"

Her expression changed. "Why?"

"Potato chips."

The doctor took a deep, poised breath and looked down at her notebook. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Serge slouched in his chair. "I was in the neighborhood."

"I just moved to this office. That means you had to look me up."

"Happened to be reading the Yellow Pages."

"Give yourself more credit. The last time we saw each other, you were involuntarily committed. This time you came on your own. You're taking steps."

"See? And you wonder why I've been away so long. You still think I'm crazy."

"That's an unfortunate term we don't like to use."

"I like to use it," said Serge. "You want to talk about crazy? I knew this caseworker who was checking on a guy in a St. Pete transient hotel. One of those beautiful old places with the striped awnings over the sidewalk. But that's another tragedy, another day. My friend knocks on the door and doesn't get an answer, so he tries the knob. Unlocked. He goes in, and there's shit everywhere. I don't mean trash or PlayStations. I mean real shit. The smell hit him like a shovel. The guy he's looking for is sitting in the middle of the floor wearing nothing but one of those hats with the moose antlers, singing Peter Gabriel--Shed my skin!--playing with more turds, sculpting little bunny rabbits. He's got a whole bunch of them lined up on the floor in an infantry formation like some kind of Easter-morning nightmare. My friend says, 'Tito, you haven't been taking your medication, have you?' Then he gets hit in the chest with a shit-bunny. But he tells me he likes his job because it's something brand new every day. In my thinking, there's good brand new and bad. Know what I mean?"

"And this story is important to you how?"

"That's crazy. I just want someone to talk to."

"Then let's talk. How have you been? Do you recognize the improvement?" "Not really."

"I can," said the doctor. "When we first met, you were wearing a straitjacket."

"Since then I've learned to dress for success."

"What about your medication? Have you been taking it?"

Serge squirmed into a different slouch. "Those pills made my head thick. I was turning into my friend Coleman. You know how you are the first few seconds after waking up in the morning? He's stretching it into a life."



Continues...

Excerpted from Hurricane Punch by Tim Dorsey Copyright © 2007 by Tim Dorsey. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 93 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(59)

4 Star

(20)

3 Star

(7)

2 Star

(2)

1 Star

(5)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 93 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 4, 2008

    A reviewer

    Leave it up to Serge A. Storms to go on a killing spree in the middle of a major hurricane, just to prove to the police that he hasn't gone soft! And as always Coleman, is at his side....the man who spends his life in the state just waking up. I absolutely recommend this to anyone with a sharp sense of humor and a love of fast- paced, well timed events!

    2 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 17, 2012

    Baconfires

    Lol bacon fries........i havent ate lunch yet thats how i made my name.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted March 26, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Fun read

    Recommend for those that like a funny book that reads well. Non-stop antics keep you entertained all day.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 24, 2014

    Lat fi Last for Ezumalid's Journey

    Ezumalid finally got the ability to talk again. He looked at the surroundings. A fireplace at the south side of the cabin, and a kitchen in front. Two sleeping bags were for Anya, and the man who was named Marco. Marco had volunteered his sleeping bag for at least a week already, and Ezumalid felt guilty. He should be going now. Ezumalid asked Marco where was he, and Marco had answered they were underground. When he told Marco he was leaving, Marco reluctantly showed him the ladder that led overground. "Soldiers are coming," he told Ezumalid, "You better be careful." Ezumalid had his magic back but never had told Marco and had healed from that scorpion sting. Marco had warned him many of them wandered the deserts of Elias.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted August 24, 2013

    Always a fun read!

    Always a fun read!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 28, 2013

    Not Dorsey's best book

    DORSEY is ,however, still outwriting other authors. A most rewarding way to end day.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 24, 2012

    Mistyclaw

    Where is everyone?

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 8, 2012

    Hollyleaf

    She stumbles into the camp. "Mistystar? Mistystar! Help!"

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 6, 2012

    Badgerpaw

    Are we moving camps or are we staying?

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 6, 2012

    Weedclaw

    Sits

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 5, 2012

    Riverfur

    A small blue-gray she cat pads in. She looks around and turns, revealing her soft blue eyes. She sighs and says, "I am Riverfur. May I join this clan? I have traveled in hope that this clan will welcome me. I am looking for a mate, and would like kits." She scans the cats, and sways from exhaustion.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 5, 2012

    Can I Join?

    A heavily pregnant queen pads in. Her kits were 3 moons overdue. She had grey fur and blue eyes. "I am Windyheart."

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 6, 2012

    Shadowrose

    Cries and slowly mes her way to the new territory

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 5, 2012

    Silverfang

    Bonjur everyone

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 4, 2012

    A pregnant cat

    A black pregnant shecat stumbled into camp. "Im giving birth!"

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 6, 2012

    A

    Ambertail wails,cuddling the cold bodies of her kits.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 29, 2012

    YO CLICK ME

    You wana find out if someone you know in rp u know in real life! Go to cheese first result talk to fireburn thx!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 30, 2012

    Willowkit

    Willowkit~ She watches, tilting her head.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 29, 2012

    Ahs

    Ok. She took them. Here pine green eyes were filled with pain.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 6, 2012

    Dragonflame

    I quit rhis clan nobody listen to ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 93 Customer Reviews

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