A novel with a brilliantly pithy first chapter ("Fuck you.") that quickly goes downhill. The plot, an ex-mercenary pot dealer must deal with the kidnapping of his friend by a Mexican drug cartel, is timely and intriguing, but the author's prose is ridiculously awful. It's the writing of a unhip man trying desperately to sound hip. A person isn't missing, he's 404. A guy doesn't have a bad attitude, he has a 'baditude.' Unfortunately, the entire novel is written in this kind of pseduo-slang tripe.