Chapters (110)
- Cover
- ALSO BY J. TODD SCOTT
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- PROLOGUE
- I
- II
- PART ONE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- PART TWO
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- PART THREE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- PART FOUR
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- EIGHTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- I
- II
- III
- IV
- V
- VI
- VII
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Excerpt from LOST RIVER
- LITTLE PARIS
- DILLON
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
I modeled my Librado Rivera and the events that befell Chayo and Neva on the 2014 Iguala disappearances. I leaned hard on Ryan Devereaux’s article “Ghosts of Iguala: How 43 Students Disappeared,” which was published on The Intercept, and on a lengthy, six-part series by Francisco Goldman in The New Yorker that thoroughly chronicled the story of the Ayotzinapa school students, and the complicated and controversial aftermath of the attack. My story is fiction, but the well-researched reporting by Messrs. Devereaux and Goldman lays out all the facts, as well as anyone can know them.
For my next story, I’m going to step away from the Big Bend for a bit. I’m finally heading home to Kentucky and I figure Chris, America, and Danny are due for a welcome break.
Trust me, there’s still plenty in store for them.
Until then, I hope you’ll follow me . . .
Excerpt from LOST RIVER
Keep reading for an exciting excerpt from J. Todd Scott’s next novel, LOST RIVER.
LITTLE PARIS
A FEW HOURS BEFORE . . .
Little Paris Glasser stares right into the dead man’s eyes and tries to see himself in them.
Danny, or maybe slow, stupid Ricky, once told him such a thing was possible, but this dead Mexican’s eyes are flat and black, reflecting nothing at all.
Truth be told, they’re downright creepy, like they’re painted right on the wetback’s skull.
A dead doll’s eyes.
Little Paris almost reaches out a hand to rub over one of ’em; to wipe that dead man’s coal-black stare right off his skeleton smiling face, smear it on his fingers like fresh paint, like fresh blood, but thinks better of it and instead takes another hit instead from his little homemade pipe, a GE sixty-watt bulb, and lets that hot taste of crank and CRC Bee Blast Wasp and Hornet Killer mule-kick him hard in the chest.
He flickers and flames, blood catching chemical fire.
He holds a mouthful of acid smoke, and it’s like he’s done swallowed a whole nest of pissed-off yellowjackets, buzzing around now inside his heart and head and behind his own dark eyes.
Goddamn, he finally breathes out.
Goddamn.
—
The sun’s barely up, just peeking over Crown Hill and hardly casting any shadows yet, but last night still hangs on stubbornly beneath the shingle oaks and cockspurs like a drunk not quite ready to leave the party.
Little Paris ain’t sober yet either, has barely slept a wink in three days, with that crank coursing through him and Danny’s ghost and all them others calling out his name and his daddy forever pissing and moaning about this and Jamie always whining about that and Hardy at his too-young-to-know-better age playing the damn fool lately and raising a ruckus.
Everyone looking for a piece of him and a taste of their own, including these here damn wetbacks.
Well, less one, anyway.