Cult.

This is Gifford in his scuzzy, neon-noir register: a chain of linked stories and drifters, killers, runaways, zealots, and damaged kids moving through a grotesque American South. When the murders start, it is up to one person to find out whether the murderer is a vampire. 

The book is one long richochet. Characters slide through one another’s stories, violence and absurdity keep changing shape, and the whole thing starts to feel like a panoramic map of national derangement rather than a conventional crime novel.

Contemporary reviews and publisher copy both frame it as connected stories or novellas rather than a single rigidly plotted narrative. Fun, good if you're getting into noir, or you're not into the airport crime fiction on offer but still want a good rollercoaster.