How the fuck did I not know about Charlie Huston? I mean, I know everything, right? At least when it comes to pulp fiction I do. Or I’m supposed to. Hell, I’ve spent some of the best years of my life cracking its spine. And when I wasn’t reading it, I was being it — hard, fast and shady. And, yet, a kickass scribe who could be coming straight after my cold heart has been out there all along and I didn’t know shit about it.

But that’s the wonderful part of this wild world — you find something new every day. Otherwise, I’m sunk on stale. And, even as adept as I claim to be, stale is no easy stench to get rid of.

Thank Zeus there’s no danger of that with Huston’s The Shotgun Rule (Ballantine, $21.95), one of the raunchiest pieces of fresh I’ve come across this year. Like a new cut you just wanna pick at, remember how you earned it in the first place.

This is the kind of new that old souls write — dig? Something deep, something knowing, something steeped in the way we live — and the way we die.

The setup’s like this: summer of ’83, Northern Cali ‘burb, four teens on the eve of their senior year. The teens — George, Andy, Paul and Hector — a quartet of Davids against the Goliath that is drugs, crime, boredom, poverty and those weepy dark secrets even closets can’t keep.

George is the leader of the pack — smooth, confident, quick; he’s a natural, and the foursome looks to him for their Tao. Andy’s his younger brother, though you’d only know it from the lengths George goes to protect him. In fact, Andy’s unlike George in every way — clumsy, unsure and physically slow. Maybe it’s the 20-sided die he’s forever fingering or his ruminations of Pythagorean theory. Whatever it is, this brother is bro in blood only.

Or is he?

Paul likes to fight, a lot, and he’ll take on all comers, or goers or whatevers, regardless of size or number. He’s also in a lot of pain, the kinda pain that takes a cigarette burn to kill, or at least to put at bay till the roar subsides.

Then there’s Hector, the mohawked Mexican who finds transcendence in Suicidal Tendencies. Hector loves his mom and his sister, and he’s deathly devoted to his friends. If you wanted one word to describe this cat it would be courage.

Like all good tall tales, Shotgun comes with some ferocious anti-heroes. In this case it’s the Arroyo brothers — Fernando, Ramon and Timo: three terrorizing wannabe gang-bangers from the wrong side of everywhere. They stick, they jab, they maim. Then they do it all over again.

I shan’t spoil the story (as always: Buy the book) except to say it begins with the theft of a bike and ends in a bed of lye. For BMX bandits like the Shotgun four, the former’s enough to rile all kinda payback; for situations such as those Shotgun creates, the latter’s about the only way to resolve things.

Huston says: “There’s generally a reason why people do shitty things.” These are those reasons.

I’m not the first person to peg part of Shotgun’s blast to Cronenberg’s broodingly explosive The History of Violence, nor am I the first to find pellets of Lord of the Flies in its wounds. I’ll add that this is the kinda trigger Welsh might pull if he’d happened across some of Coupland’s wonderers, pumped some blood into — and out of — those naval-gazing veins. It’s angsty and violent, truthful and bold. In other words: It shoots, it hits and it floors you.

I reached out to Huston and hit ‘im with a few either/ors. This is how he hit back:

Chandler or Hammett?

So, basically, which of my parents do I love more? Sorry, Dash, I have to go with Ray.

Leonard or Ellroy?

Ellroy, specifically the L.A. Quartet.

Fante or Bukowski?

Never read Fante. Have read all of Bukowski’s prose. Chuck by default and by pure love.

Coupland or Welsh?

I wanted to write my answer in Scottish dialect, but I’m not drunk enough. Welsh.

Guns or knives?

Knives.

Love or lust?

Love, man. Always love.

Beer or whiskey?

On the rocks with a splash of water, please.

Crank or coke?

It’s like you’re asking, “Your life or your money?”

Truth or dare?

Truth. That’s the scary shit.

L.A. or N.Y.?

Whichever one I’m in.

What are you reading now?

On the Road: The Original Scroll.

Favorite new crime scribe?

Megan Abbott and Theresa Schwegle.

All-time pulpiest writer?

Chandler.

Find out more about Charlie Huston at http://www.pulpnoir.com/.

Comments? E-mail letters@miamisunpost.com.

Hood is online at therealjohnhood.com. Comments? E-mail letters@miamisunpost.com.