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250 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 1993
In one of Balzic's blacker moods, he thought that the surest way you know something's dead was when somebody started talking about preserving its memory. There wasn't a coffin around that could match a museum for saying something was croaked. Coal-mining museums and steel-making museums to match Sea World or Disneyworld or a bunch of water slides? Given a choice on a hot day between being splashed by Shamu the killer whale or zipping down long wet slides into cold water, what family wouldn't positively choose to take their kids to look at a building full of miner's lamps and lunch buckets? Balzic had gotten roped into going to a railroad museum in Johnstown once. From his point of view, the pathology lab in Conemaugh General Hospital was cheerier. Wandering around in a dingy building in bad light, looking at rails and spikes and gandy dancers' hammers was about as much fun for him as looking at a corpse with no ID.