Police Brutality

Tristan James should get an award just for making *Police Brutality* feel like a fever dream you can’t wake up from. His narration is the reason this book doesn’t just *sound* like a thriller—it *feels* like one. Hazard’s voice, that distinctive blend of world-weariness and dark humor, is delivered with such precision that I could close my eyes and believe I was standing in Hazard, Missouri, watching the slow rot of a town that’s rotting from the inside out. James nails the rhythm of Ashe’s writing, too: the long, coiled sentences that unspool like inevitable doom, the staccato bursts of dialogue that crackle with tension. It’s a masterclass in pacing, where even the pauses feel deliberate, like the narrator is holding his breath right along with Hazard. That said, the production isn’t flawless. There were a few moments where the bass levels dipped too low during Hazard’s internal monologues, forcing me to lean in like Hazard might’ve noticed. And while the story’s slow burn is its greatest strength, there were times—just once or twice—where the deliberate pace risked losing me entirely. But Ashe’s world-building and James’s performance kept me locked in, even when the plot meandered through Hazard’s labyrinth of half-truths. The real kicker? The ending isn’t just satisfying—it’s *necessary*, a gut-punch of a conclusion that reframes everything you thought you knew. If you’re the kind of listener who likes their thrillers with a side of moral rot and a narrator who doesn’t just *read* the story but *lives* in it, this is your next obsession.