Mr. Mercedes

This is one of those stories that pulls you in and doesn't let go. You always want to know what's around the corner, wondering what new twist will jump out.

In the beginning you learn about the sad, desperate lives of those standing in line outside of a great meeting hall.

They are standing in a twisty line, waiting for a weekend job fair to open its doors. Some of them have been there all night, and in the early morning fog, they crawl out of their sleeping bags to stretch. A young woman with a baby struggles to stay awake. A kind, older man in a tattered denim jacket standing nearby helps her calm the baby. They don't know each other. But he's a kind man, and offers her his sleeping bag. She crawls inside it, with her child, thankful for relief from the cold damp air. 

Off in the distance, the sleepy group hears a blaring horn. It's foggy; no one can see past the curb. None of them give the sound a second thought.

Suddenly, a giant black Mercedes burst through the fog. Barreling through the vast almost-empty parking lot, it aims straight for the crowd.

The people scream. Realizing they are in deadly peril, they scramble in vain to get out of the death path. It’s almost impossible, the crowd is packed tightly in a very small space, the old and weak are trampled.

Some escape with injuries: an arm torn off, a leg broken; but many more are killed, their bodies cold on the ground in the light of the rising sun.

One year later...

Retired detective Hodges sits in his old decrepit recliner, the repetitive daytime television blaring in his living room. He slowly fondles the gun in his hands. He's pondered many times the thought of offing himself. His life is over. He’s alone. He has nothing left to offer the world. There were a handful of cases left unsolved when he retired; they stick in his craw, irritating him. But most irritating of all, is that of the “Mercedes killer.”

He sighs, a heavy, weary sigh, and slowly drinks another beer.

He hears the metal mail slot in his front door clink. Wearily, he trudges to the door, leans over painfully and picks up a handful of mail. It’s mostly junk mail and some ridiculous nonsense about AARP.

But then, he notices an odd envelope. There is no return address; the label is printed, leaving no traces of it's origins.

Curiously, a strange sense of foreboding settles over him. And he opens the letter.

What follows is a delightfully twisty tail of suspense and mystery. You need to read it for yourself.

I never read any Steven King book before 2014 and this is the second book of his I've read. I "read" this via Audible, I finished it only a couple of day; I listened every free moment I could.

Mr. Mercedes, Stephen King, 2014

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series.