Bayou Savages may be the most accurately titled novel I’ve read in a few years. The story takes place in the humid environs of New Orleans and the Mississippi River, aka, the bayou, and most of the characters are savages. Not savages in the Last of the Mohicans way, but in the Scarface-style NC-17 way, where men bereft of morality commit unspeakable acts.

New Orleans being my favorite city not named New York, I’ve always found it seductive. NOLA Triad are similarly seductive in the way they draw the reader into their tale of an art heist conducted to perfection by a quartet brought together by the one thing they have in common: the rough and tumble community that produced them. Triad unreel this story at a casual but intimate pace, as if they are telling it to you on a stroll through the Big Easy while they point out the interesting parts of the city. Except the city isn’t beignets and Mardi Gras beads; it’s NOLA’s scruffy cousin, New Orleans East, hugged up against Pontchartrain and brimming with not exactly society’s finest. Beyond the razzle dazzle of flashy and sadistic criminals, Bayou Savages takes you through the myriad chambers of New Orleans that tourists never see—or at least don’t realize what they are seeing.

Having read [XXXX]'s previous work, I was prepared for his style and delighted to see he hasn’t changed. Writing with NOLA Triad didn’t diminish his unique Hunter S. Thompson-esque, almost-gonzo technique. If anything, the collaboration enhanced it. And as is often the case with [XXXX], his fiction reads more true-crime than crime fiction. Because it has to be fiction … right?

In a city full of colorful characters, Bayou Savages unveils its contribution to the galaxy of underworld figures who captivate—and horrify you—with their flair. The story is narrated by Ray, a writer who serves as the reluctant narrator who remains aloof and often inscrutable as he dutifully narrates a tale that at times seems otherworldly in its deeds and goals. Even so, Ray, like any writer, can’t help but to become involved with the people and events he observes, which of course makes him an accessory to a crime. In one ever-expanding discussion about how “meta” our protagonist’s role is—one that nearly reaches absurdity—Ray remarks that, “Nothing makes me more depressed as a writer than the idea of writing about a writer writing.”

As a writer myself, I can only add: Meta, indeed.

As in any good heist story, Ray is thrown together with the unlikeliest of teammates: Jimmy Nguyen, New Orleans’ “most notorious” criminal and gun-runner who works the streets with impunity; Carter Champagne, a wealthy techno-geek who soured on Silicon Valley and returned home; and, Manivong, a psychopath who is a native Laotian reared in Tennessee. Their mission is to sell a stolen painting for millions—without being killed by the local mob, deported to Vietnam (in Jimmy’s case), being arrested, or killed in other ways in the simmering resentment and violence of New Orleans East.

Bayou Savages is a strong cup of coffee and not for the faint-hearted, but more importantly, it’s a love letter to a city that has seen more than its share of tragedy yet found a way to flourish. And, like the city, the key for these deeply flawed characters in the story is the love of the people who inhabit it.

—Phillip Thompson, bestselling author of Not Dead Enough