The Cult Of Killers

The Cult of Killers, by Donald MacIvers
No month stated, 1976  Leisure Books

This lurid Charles Manson cash-in has become scarce over the years, probably because Justin Marriott spotlighted it The Sleazy Reader #8. I luckily managed to get a copy several years ago, but am only just now getting around to it – I’m not often in the mood for Manson-themed books, as I’ve never been much interested in the guy. I also put it off because I suspected this would be another of those Leisure winners where the back cover copy had nothing to do with the novel itself…and it turns out I was correct.

At any rate, The Cult Of Killers (the title page doesn’t have a “The,” by the way) is like a sweat mag yarn taken to novel length, and by that I mean the latter-era men’s mags, the ones from the early ‘70s that featured sleazy yarns about killer hippies and Satanic cults. Stories that were written in first person, purportedly by escaped victims of the cults. This book follows the same template, as “Donald MacIvers” is not only the name of the author but also the name of the character who narrates the book – the idea being that this is his own story, in his own words, of his escape from the Manson “cult of killers.” Unfortunately the spine of the paperback ruins the conceit, as it’s labelled “Fiction!”

I couldn’t find out who really wrote the book – it’s copyright Nordon, aka Leisure/Belmont Tower, and the Catalog Of Copyright Entries was no help. But as I read the book I began to experience déjà vu, as the narrative voice was very similar to a novel I read a few years ago. My suspicion is that the author of The Cult Of Killers is the same author who wrote The Rock Nations: George William Rae. In my review of that one I speculated that “Rae” might’ve been a pseudonym, as the book was copyright the publisher, but now I’m not so sure, as there are too many similarities between it and The Cult of Killers.

To wit, The Rock Nations is ostensibly a novel about the rock scene, about a guy going to all the major rock festivals of the day, but in reality it turns out to be a hate-filled polemic on practically everything, narrated by a bitter young counterculture type from Boston. The Cult Of Killers is ostensibly a novel about a murderous Manson cult, about a guy’s escape from the killers, but in reality it turns out to be a hate-filled polemic on practically everything, narrated by a bitter young counterculture type from Boston. More importantly, the narrative voice of the two novels is identical. For example:

The ride was smooth and fast. The cabbie was a young black guy and he didn’t talk at all. I hate the blabber-mouth hackies who bore you to death bullshitting about who they hate and who they like. Who cares? He turned across Twenty Third Street and I saw a girl I used to know. At least I think I did. 

We grew up together and she’s the first girl I ever made it with. There were all these good-looking girls. Blondes, ones with big tits, others with cute asses. But the good-looking ones were usually uptight. They would kiss with their teeth clenched. Strong-jawed Janes, you know? But this chick, Moira, she was really something.

This could’ve been lifted directly from The Rock Nations, but it’s from The Cult Of Killers. The two novels are very similar in how they start off in one direction but then get mired in incidental bitchery, lending the impression of an author angrily bashing the typewriter keys and using the plot as an excuse to take out his anger on the world. The knowledge of Boston and New York’s slummier areas is also strong in both books. I’m now suspecting that George William Rae followed a sort of Manning Lee Stokes career path: he published his own material in his early career but eventually ended up writing pseudonymous books that were copyright whoever hired him. Another clue might be Confessions Of The Boston Strangler (Pyramid Books, 1967), another book credited to George William Rae – which would indicate that Rae was familiar with both Boston and with murderers.

Well anyway, enough armchair investigation. As mentioned the novel has the same sleazy vibe as one of those “I escaped a hippie death cult” men’s mag stories, even opening the same way, with “Mac” telling us he’s now hunted by them, and beginning his story with the day he decided to get out of the cult. The book by the way operates in a sort of alternate reality in which Manson started off a nation-wide “Cult of Killers,” composed of drug-crazed fiends who do Charlie’s bidding, receiving his orders via telepathy or something. Unfortunately Mac never gives us much of a reason of why he even joined the cult in the first place, but the front cover doesn’t lie: Donald MacIvers is indeed a “sadistic killer,” who along with his fellow cult members has murdered innocent men, women, and even children. This really makes it hard to root for the guy, particularly given that, by his own admission, he basically joined the cult because he didn’t have much else going on!

This opening part is almost squirm-inducing in how grungy and gross it is; Mac and his fellow cult members live in total filth and squalor in a Lower East Side apartment, and per tradition for any crime novel set in Manhattan it’s a sweltering summer. Mac wakes up from a nightmare and beside him on the bed is Big Esmerelda, aka Big Es, a “big fat blonde broad” cult member who carries a .45 strapped to her meaty thigh. Mac casually informs us that he “fucks” Big Es a lot, as he has so many other women in the cult – as well as some of the men, per Charlie’s encouraged switch-hitting. Leading the gang is Crazy Mary, a thin brunette with a slight build who emanates an aura of evil comparable to Manson’s; Mac implies that she’s basically a female Manson. And also she apparently does receive ESP directions from her unholy master, as Crazy Mary and her gang will mysteriously track Mac wherever he goes around the city, always at his heels.

The author also well captures the pure evil of Mary as she closes in on Mac, suspecting something’s up with him. We don’t get much explanation – in fact Mac’s pretty vague about most everything – but he’s had his fill of the killing and the blood and he wants out immediately. It’s all clammy and sweaty and smelly in the grungy room, the other killers surrounding Mac at their leaders’s behest. There are only a few of them, and they aren’t much brought to life: there’s some nameless guy new to the group, a couple other girls, but sad to say this is all we’ll see of any of them. Even Crazy Mary! This will be her only “real” scene in the entire book, with Big Es doing all the heavy lifting. This is a shame because Mary has the potential of being a great villain…she’s apparently pretty, other than those crazy eyes, and also has “big breasts” for a slim girl, but amazingly enough Mac does very little to exploit any of this; Crazy Mary exists more as a representative of Manson, directing her minions from afar.

Big Es speaks for Mac’s innocence, and Crazy Mary temporarily calls off her plans to kill him – the idea being, the cult sees life as so meaningless that they’re doing people a favor by killing them. However someone who runs from the cult would warrant a much more lasting punishment before death, hence Mac’s terror that Crazy Mary has figured out that he plans to run away. But again it’s hard to give a damn about Mac because, by his own admission, he’s murdered various innocents. At any rate he and Big Es are ordered to go out and steal some groceries. The author certainly knows New York City, and at times attains almost a Len Levinson vibe with topical details of the various streets, to the point that it almost comes off like a guided tour of mid-‘70s Manhattan. Big Es and Mac end up in a place off 9th; Big Es goes into a routine of pretending to choke, but instead of stealing groceries Mac makes a run for it.

Here we get the first glimpse of the unintentional humor the novel will attain. For despite being “passed out” on the grocery floor mere moments ago, Big Es is right behind Mac moments after he dashes out of the store – not even hampered by the fact that she’s a “big fat broad.” Yes, she’s immediately seen Mac run out of the store and she instantly gives chase, her sharpened knife ready to gut him. Mac jumps the subway gates and is promptly caught and arrested, relieved to be taken into custody and away from the waiting Big Es. Another big problem with The Cult Of Killers is that our narrator is a murdering cultist…yet it never occurs to him to fight back against his former comrades. He just runs like a dog until the very end, when he belatedly realizes: “Hey, I can fight them -- that might keep them from chasing after me!”

It was at this point that I began to suspect “Donald MacIvers” was George William Rae, or whoever wrote The Rock Nations. There’s a random digression on prison life as Mac is taken through various levels of custody, with equally-random diatribing throughout, including a super-random bit where a famous young black man is thrown in the same jail as Mac and the cops are worried. But then Mac’s bail is paid for, and Mac knows it’s Crazy Mary looking to get him back on the streets so she can kill him. So a freed Mac does what most any other “cult member on the run” would do…he goes into a public bathroom and propositions the first dude who looks like he’s come in here looking for a gay fling. Off they go to a hotel, where Mac gives the guy a bj for some cash.

As if this weren’t random enough, it gets even more random – the dude leaves and Mac stays in the room a bit, wondering what to do. Then he gets a phone call, and it’s the guy he was just with: turns out this dude promptly went to a gay orgy, where one of the guys got a Coke bottle stuck up his ass(!!), and would Mac mind coming over to try to get it out? I mean WTF?? Folks this actually happens in the book. Mac’s been called for the job because his new friend just assumes he knows what to do…and sure enough Mac does. He rolls on over, arranges some towels on the floor, then punches the Coke-bottler in the face…and the dude starts “instantly shitting,” which dislodges the bottle. So now you know what to do if you ever find yourself in such a situation…

The author gradually gets back to the plot at hand; Mac might be from Boston but he knows people all over Manhattan, and through various calls he’s put in line with a safe house he could use. Only problem is it’s owned by the Mafia, and if Mac wants to stay there he’ll have to do courier jobs for them. For some inexplicable reason Mac’s against this, even though he joined a friggin’ cult because he didn’t have anything else to do. What makes it all the more ridiculous is that Mac’s set up with a drop-dead beauty who comes over for some (mostly off-page) sex, after which the mob guy tells Mac that the girl will be his if he takes the courier job with them. But Mac says no, and leaves…then comes to his senses and tries to go back. Unfortunately Big Es is there, the first of many ensuing instances in which she and the other cult members magically appear.

At this point it’s a somewhat tense thriller as Mac rushes all over the city, Big Es always appearing no matter where he goes. Finally he realizes he should just leave the city, and gets on a bus to Boston. Surprisingly here the author delivers what is by far the most explicit sex scene in the novel; a brunette beauty named Trish sits on the seat beside Mac, and after a little conversation she asks him if he wants to screw, right here on the bus. It’s a pretty hardcore sequence, complete with the novel means with which the girl ensures Mac’s, uh, seed doesn’t stain her dress (spoiler alert: it involves her mouth). Trish develops into what could be the main female character in the novel, even though she’s unceremoniously dropped from the text: she’s a hooker whose pimp was arrested, so now she’s going to Boston to stake out new grounds.

The author develops a somewhat meaningful relationship between the two; Mac and Trish spend a few weeks living together, while meanwhile she tries to find a new pimp in Boston’s sleazy Combat Zone, which we’re informed is ten times sleazier than Times Square. Yet even here Big Es shows up! Trish is shuttled off to a nice job at a fancy whorehouse, and nothing else is said of her. For by this time Mac’s finally realized he can fight back, and gets himself a .38 and a hunting knife. His confrontation with Big Es and a few other cult members is capably handled, with Mac shooting and dicing the freaks, and it makes you wish there’d been more stuff like this throughout the book.

But instead…the narrative deflates like a burst balloon…we’re geared for more vengeance-dispensing, particularly a comeuppance for Crazy Mary, but Mac jumps forward in time and says Big Es has posthumously become a hero in the movement, and now the cult is even more determined to hunt him down and kill him. He’s written this book in seclusion, you see, and tells us he might consider the FBI’s offer of security, though he doubts he will. The book is so sloppily plotted that Mac tells us Crazy Mary even tracked him down to a small town he was hiding in, and then he flashes back to an interminable ramble on how he arrived in said small town – yet he never bothers to tell us about Crazy Mary’s arrival! Instead the novel ends with him newly arrived in the town, fearing that Mary will inevitably show up…something we know will happen, as we were just told about it several pages before!

At this point The Cult Of Killers limps to a close. As a “cult member on the run” tale goes, it’s an abject failure; too much of it is comprised of random asides, pontificating, or bitching. The characters are not sufficiently developed to make you care for them, and as I’ve mentioned a few times now it’s impossible to root for a guy who himself is a “sadistic murderer.” However the topical details about Manhattan and the Combat Zone are great, and the author – despite the poor plotting and whatnot – can definitely write. But then, The Rock Nations was also well written, despite being a bore of a book.