SIN WALKS INTO THE DESERT is a short, violent story of loyalty and revenge. The dialog is terse and fits perfectly with a title character whose fluency is in his skill with a gun rather than his words... SIN WALKS INTO THE DESERT is a taut, suspenseful tale without a wasted word or scene.
Exciting as hell. I can't wait for the full review to come out.
Sin sizes up friends, enemies and strangers based on the weapons they carry. So I spent time making sure I got them right. Apparently that showed. Kirkus' review stated the book was a "sterling achievement, featuring an ultracool protagonist and doting descriptions of all types of guns." And one reviewer on Goodreads wrote:
I found myself involuntarily getting an adrenaline high as the author's descriptions of stealth tactics and firearms fluency in the face of evil forces brought back long-forgotten memories.
Sin carries a Beretta Px4 Storm. It's not just an awesome gun. It's a metaphor for the complex relationship he has with his larger-than-life uncle, who is known as el Viejo. Here's excerpt from the opening pages, in which Sin gets ready to make a late-night journey to his girlfriend's tattoo parlor.
In the hallway he stopped, extended one foot backwards, caught the door before it latched shut. Something didn’t feel right. His eyes flashed up and down the rows of doors, registered ceiling lights that had blown out and corners with indistinct shadows behind them. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.
Sin went back inside and opened up the drawer.
El Viejo had Berettas so Sin’d wanted a Beretta. But el Viejo’s were M9s, classic military sidearms chambered for 9, so Sin asked for the new model, the Px4 with a rail on it and the smooth black slide, rounded and mean, space age almost. And Sin wanted it chambered in .40, not 9. DA/SA please, with the exposed hammer. And fullsize even though he intended to carry it tucked inside skinny jeans because fuck that compact shit. El Viejo’d given him that and also a custom-molded leather IWB holster for it.
It was about the best gift ever.
Sin clipped the holster inside his jeans, brass checked the gun and seated it. He tugged his t-shirt down. It pretty much covered his belt and even if he leaned the wrong way, what was anybody going to say? This was Arizona, after all. Sin stepped out of his tiny rented hole-in-the-wall apartment and thought, “I didn’t grab a spare clip.” And then he thought, “Fuck it. For real this time.”
He let the door latch behind him and went off into the night.
In City Book Review's story about Sin Walks Into The Desert, they gave it four out of five stars, praising almost everything but dinging it for "the overuse of unnecessary expletives." I guess I see their point.