Factor in his goofy pal Hunter, a pirate at Treasure Island with a taste for teenage girls, a fiancee getting her MBA at Stanford and the looming ghost of his sister Carly and it becomes clear that this Las Vegas is no playground -- it's a circle of hell.
It's a slick read. McGinniss doesn't spend much time developing emotional relevance for any of his characters -- there's no good or bad here, just levels of horrific degradation. Chase manages to rise above the cast by virtue of his ability to see how awful things actually are -- there is exhilaration found in watching the world come to a slow boil. The book's beginning actually takes place at the action's close, with Chase stumbling through a hotel suite, his face disfigured. The onus is on the author to make the ride getting here believable enough.
And that's where things tend to fall apart for "The Delivery Man." If the essence of drama is that man cannot walk away from the consequences of his actions, one must constantly suspend disbelief while Chase's world spirals into abject danger when he could find safety and security in fiancee Julia just a short Southwest flight away.