Creed is a psychopath. There is no moral play in this book, ala Dexter. No ambivelance, ala John Rain. The bedroom in Creed's residence is a jail cell unless he sneaks into stranger's homes and sleeps in the attics or basements. He has himself tortured just for the sport. He has sex with a girl barely older than his own daughter and is untroubled that he thinks about his daughter during the event. He considers it no more than a tough day at the office when more than a hundred innocent people including women and children die in bombing meant for him. He kills, or at least does his best to kill, a woman who is innocent of wrongdoing proclaiming that it's not his job to judge. He and his cronies participate in a "social experiment" where murder victims get to name other people they'd like to be killed. In his job as a killer for mobsters or midgets with delusions of grandeur he receives massive welfare from the federal government in the form of jet transportation, clean up crews, and secret weapons. But we're supposed to like him because he's good with kids and can bake popovers. That this author is free to walk the streets gives me the creeping willies.