If you’re anything like me, the thrill of a good urban thriller is like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. The city streets, the shadows, the secrets lurking behind every corner - it’s a playground for suspense that never gets old. Urban thrillers have this magnetic pull, blending gritty realism with pulse-pounding action and characters you can’t help but root for (or love to hate). So, buckle up. I’m about to take you on a whirlwind tour of the top US urban thrillers that will keep you hooked from the first page to the last. Why Urban Thrillers Are the Pulse of Modern Suspense Urban thrillers are the perfect storm of tension and atmosphere. They don’t just tell a story; they immerse you in a world where danger is as common as the city’s neon lights. The best ones capture the essence of urban life - the noise, the chaos, the underbelly - and spin it into a narrative that’s as unpredictable as a subway ride at rush hour. What makes these thrillers stand out? It’s the setting. Cities are living, breathing characters themselves. From the cracked sidewalks of Chicago to the rain-soaked alleys of Seattle, the backdrop adds layers of complexity and realism. You feel the grit under your nails and the cold steel of a gun pressed against your back. And let’s not forget the characters. Urban thrillers often feature protagonists who are as flawed as the city they inhabit. They’re detectives, journalists, or everyday people caught in extraordinary circumstances. Their struggles feel real because they are real - battling corruption, crime, and their own demons. Exploring the Top US Urban Thrillers That Will Blow Your Mind Now, let’s dive into some of the most gripping urban thrillers set in the US. These books don’t just entertain; they grip you by the collar and refuse to let go. 1. Gone To Ground by Morgan Hatch Starting with a bang, Morgan Hatch’s debut novel Gone To Ground is a masterclass in suspense. Set against the backdrop of a sprawling metropolis, it follows a protagonist who’s running from a past that refuses to stay buried. The pacing is relentless, the twists are sharp, and the city itself feels like a character with secrets to spill. What I love about this book is how it balances action with emotional depth. You’re not just chasing clues; you’re unraveling a person’s psyche. If you want a thriller that’s as smart as it is thrilling, this one’s a must-read. 2. The Night Watchman by Louise Erdrich Though more literary, The Night Watchman has all the elements of a gripping urban thriller. It’s set in a Native American community but touches on urban issues like displacement and political corruption. The tension builds slowly but surely, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Erdrich’s prose is poetic yet precise, making the cityscape and its challenges come alive in vivid detail. It’s a different flavor of thriller but no less compelling. 3. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson (US urban setting adaptation) While originally Swedish, the US urban thriller adaptations of Larsson’s work have brought the story into American cities with great success. The gritty investigative journalism, the dark alleys, and the complex characters fit perfectly into the urban thriller mold. If you haven’t dipped your toes into this world, it’s a wild ride of mystery, danger, and unexpected alliances. What are the top 10 thriller books of all time? Alright, let’s get a bit meta here. What makes a thriller truly stand the test of time? It’s a mix of unforgettable characters, nail-biting suspense, and a plot that twists like a rollercoaster. Here’s a quick rundown of some of the all-time greats that have shaped the genre: The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane The Bourne Identity by Robert Ludlum Before I Go to Sleep by S.J. Watson The Reversal by Michael Connelly I Am Watching You by Teresa Driscoll 10. The Lincoln Lawyer by Michael Connelly These books have set the bar high, blending urban settings with psychological depth and relentless suspense. If you’re hunting for the best urban thriller books US readers rave about, these titles are a solid bet. How to Choose Your Next Urban Thriller Fix With so many options, picking your next urban thriller can feel like navigating a maze. Here’s a quick guide to help you zero in on the perfect read: Consider the setting: Do you want a story set in a bustling metropolis like New York or a smaller city with a unique vibe? The setting shapes the mood and plot. Look at the protagonist: Are you drawn to hard-boiled detectives, everyday heroes, or anti-heroes with a dark past? Your connection to the main character can make or break the experience. Check the pacing: Some thrillers are slow burns, building tension gradually. Others are full-throttle from page one. Decide what kind of ride you want. Read reviews and excerpts: Sometimes, a quick peek at the writing style or reader feedback can tip the scales. Explore debut authors: New voices like Morgan Hatch bring fresh perspectives and innovative storytelling to the genre. If you want to explore a curated list, check out this best urban thriller books us collection that highlights some of the finest works in the genre. Why Morgan Hatch’s Gone To Ground Should Be on Your Radar I can’t talk about urban thrillers without giving a shout-out to Morgan Hatch. His debut novel Gone To Ground is not just another thriller; it’s a promise of a trilogy that’s going to redefine the genre. Hatch’s storytelling is sharp, his characters layered, and his cityscapes vivid. What sets Gone To Ground apart is its ability to blend heart-pounding suspense with moments of genuine humanity. You get the adrenaline rush of a chase scene and the quiet introspection of a character wrestling with their past. It’s a rare combo that keeps you hooked and invested. Plus, Hatch is actively connecting with readers through events and newsletters, making it easy to stay in the loop and be part of the journey as the trilogy unfolds. If you want to be ahead of the curve, this is your chance. Dive Into the Urban Jungle - Your Next Thriller Awaits Urban thrillers are more than just books; they’re experiences. They pull you into a world where every shadow could hide a secret, every stranger might be a threat, and every street corner tells a story. Whether you’re a seasoned thriller junkie or just dipping your toes, the US urban thriller scene has something electrifying waiting for you. So, grab a copy of Gone To Ground or any of the other gems mentioned here. Find a cozy spot, dim the lights, and let the city’s pulse sync with your heartbeat. Trust me, once you start, you won’t want to stop. Happy reading, and may your next urban thriller be the one that keeps you up way past your bedtime!

If you’re anything like me, you crave that pulse-pounding rush that only a great urban thriller can deliver. The kind of story that drags you through gritty city streets, tangled plots, and shadowy characters who might just be lurking around the next corner. Urban thrillers are the perfect blend of suspense, street-smart grit, and heart-stopping action. They’re the literary equivalent of a midnight chase through neon-lit alleys, and trust me, once you dive in, you won’t want to come up for air. So, buckle up. I’m about to take you on a whirlwind tour of some of the best urban thrillers out there. Whether you’re a seasoned thriller junkie or just dipping your toes into this electrifying genre, these picks will have you hooked from page one. Why Urban Thrillers Best Reads Are a Must-Have on Your Bookshelf Urban thrillers are like the city itself - complex, unpredictable, and full of secrets. They don’t just tell a story; they immerse you in a world where danger lurks behind every streetlight and trust is a rare commodity. What makes these books stand out is their ability to blend fast-paced suspense with rich, authentic settings. You get the adrenaline rush of a thriller with the raw, unfiltered vibe of urban life. Think of it as a literary cocktail - a splash of crime, a dash of mystery, and a twist of social commentary. These stories often explore the underbelly of cities, shining a light on issues like corruption, crime, and survival. But they do it with style, wit, and characters you can’t help but root for. If you’re hunting for the best urban thriller books us , you’re in the right place. These books don’t just entertain; they grip you, shake you, and leave you breathless. The Pulse of the City: What Makes Urban Thrillers So Addictive? There’s something magnetic about urban thrillers. Maybe it’s the way they capture the city’s heartbeat - the noise, the chaos, the hidden stories behind every brick and graffiti tag. Or maybe it’s the characters - flawed, fierce, and fighting against the odds. Whatever it is, these books pull you in and refuse to let go. Here’s what I love most about urban thrillers: Relatable grit : The protagonists often come from the streets, making their struggles feel real and raw. Twists and turns : Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, the plot flips like a switch. Atmospheric settings : The city isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a living, breathing character. Social edge : These stories don’t shy away from tough topics, adding depth to the suspense. If you want to get lost in a book that feels like a late-night city adventure, urban thrillers are your ticket. What are the top 10 thriller books of all time? Alright, let’s get down to business. While there are countless thrillers out there, some have earned their place as all-time greats. These books have set the bar high, blending suspense, unforgettable characters, and storytelling that keeps you turning pages long after midnight. Here’s my take on the top 10 thriller books of all time, perfect for anyone who loves urban thrillers or just a damn good read: "Gone To Ground" by Morgan Hatch - A debut that’s already making waves, this novel is a masterclass in suspense with a cityscape that feels alive and dangerous. "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" by Stieg Larsson - A dark, twisted tale of mystery and revenge set against the cold streets of Sweden. "The Silence of the Lambs" by Thomas Harris - Psychological terror meets urban grit in this chilling classic. "I Am Watching You" by Teresa Driscoll - A suspenseful dive into secrets and lies in a bustling city. "Sharp Objects" by Gillian Flynn - A haunting exploration of trauma and truth in a small town with big secrets. "The Reversal" by Michael Connelly - Legal thriller meets urban crime in this gripping page-turner. "Before I Go to Sleep" by S.J. Watson - Memory loss and mystery collide in a psychological thriller that keeps you guessing. "The Lincoln Lawyer" by Michael Connelly - A fast-paced legal thriller set in the heart of Los Angeles. "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern - While more fantasy than thriller, its urban elements and suspenseful storytelling earn it a spot. 10. "The Cartel" by Don Winslow - A brutal, unflinching look at drug cartels and law enforcement in urban America. These books are a fantastic starting point if you want to dive deep into the world of urban thrillers. Each one offers a unique flavor of suspense, with characters and settings that stick with you long after the last page. How to Choose Your Next Urban Thriller Picking your next urban thriller can feel like navigating a maze. There are so many options, each promising a wild ride. Here’s how I narrow it down: Look for authentic settings : The city should feel like a character, not just a backdrop. Check the protagonist’s depth : Are they complex, flawed, and relatable? Read a few pages : Does the writing style grab you immediately? Consider the pace : Some thrillers are slow burns, others are full-throttle from the start. Reviews and recommendations : Trusted voices can point you to hidden gems. If you want a surefire hit, start with Morgan Hatch’s Gone To Ground . It’s a debut that’s already turning heads and setting a new standard for urban thrillers. Plus, it’s the first in a trilogy, so you’ve got plenty to look forward to. Why Morgan Hatch’s "Gone To Ground" Should Be on Your Radar I can’t talk about urban thrillers without giving a shout-out to Gone To Ground . Morgan Hatch has crafted a story that’s as sharp as a razor and as gripping as a late-night stakeout. The novel plunges you into a world where every shadow hides a secret, and every character has a past that could explode at any moment. What makes Gone To Ground stand out? Relentless suspense : The tension never lets up. Rich urban atmosphere : The city pulses with life and danger. Complex characters : You’ll find yourself rooting for the flawed heroes and fearing the villains. A trilogy in the making : This is just the beginning of a thrilling journey. If you want to stay ahead of the curve and be part of a growing community of fans, this is the book to watch. Morgan Hatch is also active in connecting with readers through events and newsletters, making it easy to stay in the loop. Final Thoughts on Urban Thrillers Best Reads Urban thrillers are more than just books - they’re experiences. They pull you into a world where danger is real, stakes are high, and every page crackles with energy. Whether you’re after a classic or a fresh new voice like Morgan Hatch, there’s a story out there that will keep you hooked. So, what are you waiting for? Dive into the shadows, explore the city’s secrets, and add some of these top urban thrillers to your reading list. Your next great adventure is just a page away. Happy reading!

A Glimpse into the Future Three years ago, when I was crafting Gone To Ground , I thought I was exaggerating — pushing fiction slightly past reality. I imagined a world where federal agents used facial recognition cameras and data platforms to identify, track, and pressure entire communities, not just individuals. In my novel, the technology becomes more than mere surveillance; it transforms into a catalyst for chaos. Cameras pop up everywhere. Tensions rise. A neighborhood is nudged toward unrest — not by accident, but by design. The antagonist’s strategy was straightforward: provoke instability, watch property values plummet, then swoop in with federal redevelopment funds and snag the future at a bargain. The Unsettling Reality Reading recent reports about ICE’s use of facial recognition and AI-driven data systems feels hauntingly familiar. Investigations reveal agents employing mobile biometric tools and vast integrated databases — sometimes powered by companies like Palantir — to identify individuals in real-time and cross-reference massive troves of personal information. Critics raise alarms that this technology can extend surveillance far beyond its intended targets, potentially ensnaring citizens and protesters alike. This raises serious civil liberties concerns. The reality unfolding today resembles less of a gradual technological evolution and more of a seismic shift in how enforcement agencies map, categorize, and act on entire populations. The Plausibility of Fiction What unsettles me most isn’t that fiction predicted technology — speculative writers often do that. It’s the realization that the logic behind my fictional antagonist suddenly feels plausible. In Gone To Ground , the riot wasn’t just chaos; it was leverage. Disruption justified emergency spending, accelerated redevelopment, and allowed powerful players to reshape a community without its consent. I never thought we’d witness the early pieces of that machinery assembling in real life. Yet here we are, observing surveillance expand, trust erode, and the lines between security, control, and economic opportunity blur. Fiction sometimes warns; reality tests whether we were listening. The Role of Technology in Society Technology has always been a double-edged sword. It can empower, but it can also control. The tools designed to protect us can easily be turned against us. In my book, I explored this theme, but now it feels like a cautionary tale that’s becoming our reality. The very systems that were meant to keep us safe are now instruments of oppression. The Impact on Communities As surveillance technology proliferates, entire communities find themselves under constant watch. This isn’t just about privacy; it’s about the very fabric of society. When people feel they’re being monitored, they change their behavior. They become less willing to speak out, to protest, or to gather. This chilling effect can stifle dissent and erode the democratic process. The Economic Implications The economic implications of this surveillance state are profound. As property values collapse due to instability, those with power can swoop in and buy up land at a discount. This creates a cycle of exploitation where the rich get richer while the vulnerable are pushed out. My novel illustrates this dynamic, but it’s a narrative that’s playing out in real life, right now. The Call to Action So, what can we do? Awareness is the first step. We need to recognize the signs of encroaching surveillance and advocate for our rights. It’s crucial to engage in conversations about privacy, technology, and civil liberties. We must demand transparency from those in power and hold them accountable. Building a Community of Resistance We can also build communities of resistance. By connecting with like-minded individuals, we can create a network of support. This can take many forms, from grassroots organizing to online activism. The more we unite, the stronger our voices become. The Power of Storytelling Lastly, we must harness the power of storytelling. Fiction has the ability to shine a light on the darkest corners of society. It can inspire change and provoke thought. As an author, I feel a responsibility to use my voice to raise awareness and spark discussions. Conclusion: Listening to the Warnings As I reflect on the themes of Gone To Ground , I realize that fiction is not just an escape; it’s a mirror reflecting our reality. The chilling parallels between my story and the world we live in are a reminder to stay vigilant. We must listen to the warnings embedded in our narratives and take action before it’s too late. Read the full article here. https://www.nytimes.com/2026/01/30/technology/tech-ice-facial-recognition-palantir.html

It's been about 6 months since my last post. (Sounds like the start of a confession). Been drafting and rewriting which is really endless work - I'm a slow reader and a slow writer. WIth regard to Gone To Ground, it is now available on Audible, we have over 100 Amazon reviews, and for one brief moment it was in the top 25 under crime and action (David Baldacci is reportedly not losing sleep). When I wrote Gone To Ground, one of the questions I wanted to pose was this: How do you force a community/neighborhood to relocate? There are disasters, both natural and manmade. Crime is a big motivator. And so is paranoia and outrage at the surveillance state. Enter the current onset of i mmigration enforcement and facial recognition which showed up in Chapter 27. Add to that combination the mind-numbing buzz of drones and most neighborhoods in the Shoe were pools of gas looking for a flame.

When I first drafted Gone To Ground, I wanted to give George Jones some pretext to send in the ICE agents and start kicking in doors. So I had Border Agent Terry Price take one in the noggin (while his cat sat waiting for dinner). Turns out, not really needed given the current administration. And then we get this (courtesy the Europeans?) which oddly parallels the misadventures of Terry and Richie https://www.euronews.com/2025/04/07/us-border-agents-charged-with-taking-bribes-to-let-in-undocumented-migrants It's hardly worth keeping score when it comes to corruption. Here in LA we call it Monday.

So this one goes in a new direction, which my wife will definitely support. She is a huge Gray Man fan, and I've always loved the combat scenes from the drone control rooms. Eyes In The Sky is a good movie that explores the ethical issues these pilots run into (I've read drone operators crash out at very high rates). The Delta scene from Patriot Games (over forty years old now but still delivers) is a classic thermal display set piece. So freekin' spooky. Anyway, I wrote this prologue over the past few days. Please excuse the typos. Alamnza’d been up at least two hours before the alarm went off, unable to turn off the loop in her head, a stream of aerial footage she’d flagged two days ago. A tunnel entrance had sprouted out of a berm, a gopher hole the size of a storm drain, large enough to crawl into. Then six more yesterday. She’d been flying grid patterns with Reaper Nine over the same sector, watched the women hang the laundry, seen the troops in the FOB play cards with enough optic clarity to know a few of the men were sharps who worked off a second deck in their socks. She watched a team of medics feed the village strays every morning at 0800, the one hopeful scene she got to witness on her twelve hour shift sitting in her chair twelve thousand miles away at Creech AFB. As she lay there on her bed in the ditch between sleep and consciousness, she kept picturing the tunnel entrances ten klicks behind the line of contact. Then it came to her. They weren’t entrances; they were exits.  She drove 80 miles an hour most of the way on I-15 to the base, arrived 30 minutes before the briefing, and reviewed satellite imagery from the day before. She fed it through filtering software, expanded the search radius 10 kilometers, then 20, and so on until finally at 100 klicks she spotted it: a shored hole large enough to fit a blimp. The tunnel network through the mountains had to be hundreds of miles long.  “Baines, come take a look at this.” Her sensor operator, Staff Sergeant Baines was on his phone too busy texting to do more than grunt. The Major entered the room without his usual flourish, his game face suggesting some urgency to this morning’s briefing. “You’re giving overwatch to a team of Deltas, call sign Specter.” An image flashed on the screen behind him, a shed with a corrugated roof no larger than the size of a Starbucks. “High value target. Grid coordinates charlie-seven-niner-two. Check your briefing card.” The major pointed to the tell-tale series of insulated wires, the only ones in the area, running from a street pole to the structure. Had someone simply buried the cables, the unfortunate saps inside would not now be a target for a team of Deltas, their fate now foregone. “Exfiltration?” Alamanza knew the answer. She was just trying to get her head in the game. The Major nodded, reviewed a few more details, then dismissed her and Baines who both stood and saluted the Major as he disappeared out the door. “What’d you find?” Baines threw his chin at the satellite images she was holding. She gave him some stink eye. “I was looking for your johnson but they don’t make a lens powerful enough.”  She led the way to the Ground Control Center, really not much bigger than the classroom bungalow she sat in for fourth and fifth grades. There were four other operators in the GCG, each sitting at a work station with no fewer than four screens and a console with as many buttons and knobs as in a commercial airliner. The air felt used and flinty. Almanza ran through a few tests then pulled on her headset and made contact with the Delta team leader. “Specter Six-One, Reaper Actual. On site overhead.” There was a pause then a click of a radio. “Copy Reaper Actual, this is Specter Six-One. Need eyes on dismounts.” The team leader spoke in a hushed voice, in position and ready to move.  “Thermals show two tangos on the north wall.” Almanza could make out the glowing bright red button of a guard’s cigarette by the main gate. The second one had stepped off to relieve himself against the wall, showing up a pale red on Alamanza’s FLIR. “Copy, Reaper. Paint the tangos.” He’d use night vision goggles to pick up the drone’s infrared laser, invisible to the unaided eye. Almanza watched the Deltas come through the gate and fan out. She could hear the suppressed gunfire through the team leader's mic. Thwip-thwip-thwip. The guard dropped like a marionette with its strings cut. The second man, now done with his business, tried unsuccessfully to reach for his gun. Alamanza saw the Deltas crouch outside the target structure, waiting for the all-clear. “ "Tangos down. Perimeter’s clear. Interior clear.” Through her split screen, she watched the four-man Delta team slip inside, their imagery suddenly less distinct. A button on her console flashed green. One of the Deltas had already started uploading a hard drive to the Reaper. Normally, they would have taken the whole computer but often they were held to the floor inside steel cages that were welded in place. Something blinked in her secondary threat window. “Fast mover inbound,” Baines said, doing his best to contain his surprise. “High altitude. 350 miles out. ID... standby...Voodoo One One. F-18. Navy wings.” “Flight path?” She checked the sortie schedule which was empty for her sector. “Bird’s coming straight for the target.” What the fuck?  Almanza thought. She keyed her secure line. “Reaper Nine to Creech Ops. We’ve got a friendly inbound on sector Sierra-Four. Requesting confirmation on mission profile.” Silence. “Reaper Nine. Creech Ops. Standby.” The F-18 banked left. A red light on Baines’ console lit up. “Shit,” Baines had covered his microphone and whispered. “Missile bays just armed. Cruise loadout. Fucker’s going to strike.” Alamanza’s headset crackled again. It was the F-18 pilot.   “Reaper Actual, this is Voodoo One One. Need immediate laser designation on grid charlie-seven-niner-two. JSOWs are armed and ready. Request paint.” Alamanza froze. Where the fuck is Ops?  She had to stall. “Confirming targeting support.” “Affirmative. Priority strike. Target confirmed Tier-One HVT. Black seal orders, Reaper Actual.” He paused. “Above theater command.” Superseding authority, but it hadn’t come through channels. A Navy pilot couldn’t give an Air Force pilot a direct order.  She flipped to her tasking protocol, scrolling. No air asset had been assigned to her AO. She checked the schedule, again. Still nothing.  “Voodoo One One, be advised, Delta 6 is on site. Reaper Actual is in overwatch support. This is not a green box for strike. Hold fire, Voodoo One One.”   “Negative. I’m under OpCon, direct authority. You are to mark the target, Reaper Actual.” He was losing patience. Alamanza switched her headset to Creech Ops.  This time she barked into the microphone. “This is Reaper Nine. I have a blue on blue situation. Inbound F-18 has requested target paint for HVT Charlie-Seven-Niner-Two. Voodoo One One is on-site. Repeat friendlies in the box. Please advise.” These were the moments that wormed into the heads and hearts of drone operators, spawned lifetimes of dreams where the walls closed in and the floors dropped out. Creech Ops was still dark. Alamanza was on her own. They were down to seconds. Baines looked at her, again covering his microphone. “Fast mover in weapons range, Jess. Missiles are armed. Jesus, he’s gonna fire blind any second.” She stared at the screen. The Deltas were moments from being obliterated. She keyed into the Delta channel. “Voodoo One One, Reaper Actual. Fast mover inbound—F/A-18 with standoff weapons looking to clear the board. Repeat. You are in a green box. Abort now. Repeat. Abort now.” The team lead immediately acknowledged. “Copy, Reaper Actual. We’re out.”    The F-18 pilot came through a separate channel. “Reaper, this is Voodoo. Final call. Paint the target or I drop blind.” Her fingers hovered over the laser designate control. Four of the five Deltas had fled the target and were already outside the wall. One soldier had stayed behind to finish the job. “Goddammit,” she whispered. She flipped the switch. The Reaper’s targeting laser flickered to life and found the corrugated tin roof just as the upload reached 100%. The last Delta bolted to the door. Too late. Two bright streaks arced into frame. The entire compound disintegrated in a flash of white on the screen, a few wandering dogs, scurrying away on the neighboring streets. “Fuck me.” Baines didn’t even bother to cover his mic.  “Voodoo One-One, splash confirmed,” the pilot said. “Target neutralized. RTB.” Alamanza sat staring at the screen and tried to busy herself with after-action log notes. She felt some new anxiety find her throat. She forced a few long breaths.  “Reaper Actual, copy. One down, request dust off. Repeat one down, request dust off.”  She had little hope the soldier was alive. Two of the Deltas grabbed an arm of the down soldier and pulled him out onto the street. In a few minutes, a helo would touch down for medevac. Whatever was in the upload had made someone very nervous.

As I mull how and where to take the sequel, the only thing I know for certain is I will be violating Elmore Leonard's Rule #3 - No Prologues. Of course he immediately finds an exception (some guy named Steinbeck). I like prologues, particularly ones that don't track with the narrative until the very end, the big reveal answering a question you've already forgotten about from the first five minutes of the movie. In a previous post, I shared a prologue for Gone To Ground that I ditched. Below is another prologue for my sequel that appears headed for the orphan file. Imelda Jiminez received her first set of boning knives a year prior to her first communion. She’d flayed and dressed over four thousand pounds of beef and pork a week for the past thirty four years. When the tendons wore out on her right shoulder at the age of 28, she learned to swing a cleaver using her left. She was missing most of her index and middle fingers on her left hand as a result of a band saw accident, and her L1 and L3 discs in her back had turned to sponge, the physical toll of hoisting sides of beef all day onto her shoulder. It wasn’t until she started experiencing chronic respiratory issues that she reached out to someone from church, a young guy with round wire rimmed glasses, who took an interest in these types of things. Si tuviera un centavo... If  I had a nickel. He knew the plant and held out his palms like Jesus the merciful. Then in English, “We need someone to step forward.”  That was two years ago.  When she spotted the line of men in masks clutching automatic weapons approaching the main entrance in a half-crouch, Imelda put her knife down and split the air with a whistle she’d learned from her father back in Jalisco. The other dozen or so employees in the abattoir looked up from their work like startled markeets.   “ Estan aqui.”   They’re here, she shouted, just as the first line of soldiers appeared through the double doors like they were clearing homes in Falouja. None of workers had green cards, and in fact, their employer, Genesis Meatpacking, wholly owned subsidiary of Genesis Foods, a division of SynGro, underwrote the coyote fees to bring them over the border where they would be indentured until their cost of relocation was repaid out of their wages.  One of the younger workers took a few quixotic steps toward an open window before he shot his hands up then did a double take as the agents ignored him and moved past the others until they came to Imelda still clutching her six inch fillet knife pink with blood. The first agent got within twenty feet of her, stopped, took aim, and then took his sighting eye off the barrel. She knew then that this was no sweep. She was being spear-fished. A year ago, the attorney had promised her something called whistleblower protection . “Come forward, and your employers won’t be able to retaliate,” this last word requiring the translator to step in and explain. Since then, it had turned into open season on immigrants, and the men in masks were quite literally on a quota in this part of Southern California. Imelda placed her knife on the table but not before sending the agent, his identity stashed behind a ski mask and sunglasses, her best eye-fuck. Her son, Javier, had been on a six hour flight from the east coast when the raid took place. By the time he landed in Los Angeles, called an attorney, and drove himself to the holding facility in Adelanto, his mother was already in the air back to Mexico.  Soy alérgico a los cacahuetes was the last thing his mother said which drew blank stares from her captors when they peeled the foil wrapper off her one and only meal on the plane. The peanuts to which she was allergic had been ground into flour and masked with four types of chilis.   Both epi-pens in the medical kit had been emptied and filled with saline. The pilot didn’t request an emergency landing because no one informed him that someone had gone into anaphylactic shock, and by the time they wheeled Imelda’s inert body into the ER at Dr. Enrique Cabrera General Hospital in Mexico City, the attending physician didn’t even call for the crash cart. Javier flew to Mexico, identified his mother’s body, and then took care of the paperwork to bring her back to Pacoima where she was buried a week later. Once the service had concluded and the last of the well-wishers had left the funeral parlor, he stood staring at his mother’s casket and pulled out his phone. Someone picked up on the first ring. “Yes, Javier.” “Change of plans.”

Not that I consider my book "art," but I started writing five years ago and recent events in the news seem ripped from Chapter 23 and 35 of Gone To Ground. Part of what motivated me to write was to consider how a nutball developer with limitless resources might manufacture a massive relocation and try to compel a community to get up and move out. In LA a few years ago, there was a gas leak that served this purpose and I considered using it. Earthquakes are synonymous with Southern California, so I came up with a device to work that in and even included a few chapters which were later struck about the seismograph in Cal Poly. It has almost a religious quality to it - everyone turns to see it etch out the latest profile of whatever temblor rocked the area. But perhaps the most outlandish piece of the Jones hyper-speed gentrification program was the use of ICE to drive the Shoe into a state of paranoia culminating in the destruction of Valley Mercado. And so today's sad story from the very real world of East LA is found here: https://www.pbssocal.org/news-community/this-beloved-mexican-market-in-la-is-losing-business-amid-immigration-raids And the raids like this one bear uncanny resemblance to some of the door-busting tactics I included in Chapter 18 (?): https://t.co/gkJuOnKmUq   https://x.com/donwinslow/status/1938727142742962571?s=51 Last but not least, today's NYTimes detailing the general sense of fear turning much of Boyle Heights into a real life version of the Shoe (gotta read the book). It comes out 7/31! https://www.nytimes.com/2025/06/30/us/latinos-los-angeles-immigration.html

For the past 30 years, I've been a teacher (though if you asked a teacher, they'd discount the past 8 years as a "coordinator" since I don't have a classroom per se...sort of like when I used to live in Santa Monica and go to the local Boston bar to watch the Patriots and Red Sox and when I told people there I'm from Concord, they'd laugh and say something like "That's nawt fahkin' Bawston!!!) The kids and the communities I've worked in are working class, mostly immigrant families. The parents clean homes, swing hammers, and many times do the work no one else will for wages that keep them busy six, sometimes seven, days a week. I'll miss the kids. They are generally good natured, quick with the stories, and for the most part inclined toward respect, though, like most inner city kids, can sense a teacher's apposition like a drop of ink in a bathtub. Javier (the protagonist of Gone To Ground) is a special breed, though most every classroom has one like him. I modeled most of my characters off real students, though, in the case of Enrique, he comes straight from The Outsiders. Shout out SE Hinton!

My first box of books arrived, typically a milestone best shared with the world on social media. I honestly can't see why anyone would want to see someone else open a box of their own things. So I retreated to this very exclusive corner of the internet to share the bits and pieces of my writing life that might be of interest. The sequel, as our inimitable president likes to say, is a concept of an idea. Gone To Ground is largely a series of set pieces - dam break, Jones making threats, a riot, Javier's field trip to the 28th floor. I enjoyed writing them. And I may have been too generous with these, arguably, outlandish scoops of narrative ice cream in the bowl. The story moves along mostly on account of the action that resides within each chapter. There are multiple POVs which can be confusing. Readers want a "fictive dream," not a cognitive test. Having had the chance to reflect and read some really great books (in the middle of Sparrow and Peacock by IS Berry and gobsmacked), and the best writers hew toward character and less toward plot to make the most memorable stories. Javier is coming back with a degree in finance and a job as an analyst. Betzaida comes back and has to reckon with her past when one of her friends from the Shoe is found dead. It's a financial thriller that takes a look at the commodification of water along the Colorado River. Drop me a comment if you have any questions.

Definitely my most eye-catching blog headline. During the edit process, I took out the equivalent of 350 pages which is actually more than what stayed in. It was hard to bring the axe down on the soft necks of my "darlings" (which appears to be a term of art...not sure, feel free to comment). Below is a prologue I really enjoyed writing and in my addled mind, it fit in the book. However, I didn't find one beta reader who thought it served the manuscript, so down came the steely blade, sending the prologue into my expansive "orphans" file. So here it is...a little backstory on the Patel thread. Prologue The District Minister ended the ribbon cutting with a short, sober speech, the protest across the street having sucked the air out of his moment. They were a macabre group in whiteface, marble-eyed, arms out scarecrow fashion, and wearing the blue and white tunics of the fire victims. A small team of priests had started hanging garlands around the necks of each protester, a Vedic rite that lent a solemn air to the theatricality.  The Minister descended the dais, glad-handing the familiar faces and watched a stick-legged boy on his bike pedal by, his school portfolio slung across his back.      The train’s horn announced its approach, the engine like the head of a dragon, something called a maglev that floated into sight as serenely as evening prayer candles on the Ganga.  A Hindu only when the cameras were around, the Minister had seen in these past twelve months an abject lesson in samsara  worthy of Shiva, the rebirth of this forgotten section of Hyderabad made only possible from the cataclysm he had helped detonate.   The riots had cost him personally, his own son now lost in the political ether, his social media feed like an IV drip. All of it invented, a Bollywood set piece.  In the end, the factory fire had been his bridge too far, the charred corpses already making dream cameos.      The boy on the bicycle was waiting for him under the banyan tree standing astride his bike. “Minister-ji.”  He clasped his hands in namaste , flung a leg over the seat, and then stood on his pedals, slipping back into the street, his portfolio left leaning against the tree.  The Minister gave it an indifferent look, half wishing he had simply told the boy to keep it: go buy a house with it, go buy twenty houses and a fleet of cars.    He felt the watchful gaze of the protesters, their arms still ramrod straight, mirroring the lengths of the train that now sat idling at the station where only nine months ago the garment factory had stood. Two city blocks in size, it had combusted so quickly, burned at such a high temperature that many of the porcelain fixtures had drooped in the heat like Dali clocks. Skip loaders arrived only hours after the final flames had been extinguished, as if parked at the top of the hill, waiting for the signal to come clear away the evidence.       In a city where people died waiting on permits, the pace at which the factory was bulldozed and then rebuilt six months later invited suspicion and soon after, anger. Not only was there now this eye-popping station but also an esplanade with al fresco dining, fire pits, fern bars, a Disneyland for the burgeoning young IT class.  The minister stared off into some middle distance, the ghosts of the factory fire now vanquished though not forgotten, the wordless echoes of the protesters the only thing he would remember from the day.