My first novel The Wharf, penned together with close friend and fellow lost soul Logan McHenry, has finally reached publication. You can get it now on your Amazon Kindle, and on Kindle for Mac, PC, iPhone, iPad, Android, and most other devices in existence.
Tokyo, 2034 A.D. Japan has finally relaxed her borders to allow an overdue influx of immigration, and with it subsequent street crime and true multilingual diversity. The world’s first transition to an entirely cashless banking system has created a society completely reliant on the Personal Life Assistant™, or PLA, a mobile device that acts as phone, wallet, keys, identification and more. Over the course of roughly one week a story of technological security, financial terrorism and socioeconomic upheaval unfolds around a small cast of characters, including J., a hard-drinking American banker, Sana, a media personality and journalist, and Shade, an underground tech kingpin shrouded in mystery. The Wharf is a subversive, parodical black comedy and also a classic crime novel penned by two Americans with a combined twelve years’ experience working, studying and living in Japan.
The Wharf will appeal to lovers of Japan, proofed beverages, and dense literary fiction. It can be purchased for $2.99, and is completely DRM free.
To whet your appetites, enjoy the first paragraph of the novel:
In front of J. was an arsenal. Under his timely suggestion the heavier drinkers at the table had advanced from shōchū to whiskey. Aligned in order of height of glass and inversely in proof: a 34 oz. mega jokki–, brimming over with Sapporin Ultra Premium Perennial Harvest Malts, freshly replenished at the deft young hand of either Yuko or Sayaka or Erika; a tall, thin crystal flute, lukewarm Mandön forgotten after the evening’s commencement; a more typical, sturdier wine glass still full of awkwardly chilled house red, ordered by Keiko, Motomoto’s wife, who, on paper, held the title of Assistant Treasurer, but in practice was instrumental in brilliantly balancing the incongruencies of taxes and payroll, and was thus held in esteem and indebted by Motomoto’s partners, and was allowed to sit by the proud old man’s side at the company’s annual sōsetsu kinenbi kai1, displaying her fabled and admittedly pretty, if aged, face to her husband’s partners and subordinates whose own wives sat at home awaiting a less formal occasion; a light-blue-tinged and playfully warbled shōchū glass, a name-brand imo-jōchū spilled over its rocks; and last, but most potently-endowed, a proper and pristine, meticulously hand-polished, claymore sword of a tumbler, with perfectly spherical ice globe suspended in hyper-distilled amber spirit.
 lit. “Establishment Anniversary Party”