![]() Suddenly, a string of murders intertwines these women’s lives in unexpected ways. If you drive along that avenue in West Adams, you might not suspect that, nestled among the likes of Antique Stove Heaven and the Barack Obama Global Preparation Academy, there’s a whole other economy devoted to every manner of vice that can be exploited for a buck, from chop shops to no-tell motels and bars that double as drug emporiums. It is in this milieu that “these women”-a restaurateur, a vice cop, a young “dancer,” an aspiring performance artist and her mother-all ply their trades. This is where Ivy Pochoda, author of 2017’s mesmerizing Wonder Valley, set her latest stem-winder of a thriller, These Women. ![]() While the myth of Los Angeles stretches from the surfer-magnet shores of Malibu to the Hollywood sign and the last tie-dyed hippie enclave of Laurel Canyon, it is also a city that bears a scar: Western Avenue, which runs LA’s length until it crashes into Los Feliz Boulevard. In some ways, this is the ironic underbelly of the Hollywood-starlet face that Los Angeles presents to the world. Sometimes it’s drought, sometimes mudslide, but it’s never something cheery like spring. Anyone who has lived in Southern California for more than six months will already have heard-or will soon hear-a dad joke about its seasons: fire, flood, earthquake and that other one. ![]()
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