When an expat vanishes in 1995 Almaty, a web of hustlers, spies, and broken lovers begins to unravel.
Buried secrets rot faster in the sun.
When an expat vanishes in 1995 Almaty, a web of hustlers, spies, and broken lovers begins to unravel.
When an expat vanishes in 1995 Almaty, a web of hustlers, spies, and broken lovers begins to unravel.
When an expat vanishes in 1995 Almaty, a web of hustlers, spies, and broken lovers begins to unravel.
Husks is a noir mystery set in 1995 Almaty, Kazakhstan, where the collapse of the Soviet Union has left behind a city full of ghosts, hustlers, and opportunists. When Murphy, a charismatic Australian ski school director, vanishes without a trace, his disappearance sends shockwaves through the city’s tight-knit expat community. At the heart of it all is Capo’s, a dive bar turned confessional, where the walls are draped in fading flags, the poker table is stained dark with old blood, and the regulars are never quite what they seem.
Frederick, the volatile owner of Capo’s, balances charm and collapse, holding court while the bar swallows him whole. Natasha, a femme fatale with a bruised-peach handbag and a thousand lies, plays both sides. Victoria, a scarred diplomat’s daughter, watches everything from the shadows. As betrayals surface and old secrets resurface—including the death of a girl during a summer lake trip—the city itself becomes a husk, hollowed out by greed, memory, and guilt.
Who killed Murphy? Or did he vanish to escape them all?
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A man lies dead in a frozen field, half-covered in snow, his lips parted mid-thought like he still has something to say. There are no headlights, no witnesses, no last words—just a lone figure digging a grave in the dark. The wind moves like breath through stalks of dead sunflowers. Rusted Soviet harvesters loom like beasts. Somewhere above, a crow watches. This is not just a burial—it’s a warning. Murphy was the kind of man people owed things to. Or feared. Or followed, even when they knew better. As his body vanishes under a blanket of soil and silence, questions begin to surface: Who buried him? Why now? And who will be the first to lie about what they know? Chapter One of Husks opens not with explanation but with absence, with a city about to wake and realize it’s lost one of its most dangerous men—and with it, the thin balance holding everything together.
Frederick owns the bar but cannot hold the room. He is too generous, too loud, always chasing a spotlight that keeps slipping away. Natasha is a bruised peach in heels, seductive and unreadable, collecting secrets like poker chips. Victoria lingers in corners, a ghost in silk, watching with eyes trained to see what others bury. Louie, the bar’s jester with a camera, catches everyone at their worst, then laughs like it means nothing. They drink together, flirt, fight, and forget, but none of them are safe. Not from each other. Not from what is coming. And they are only four among many: Brooklyn, the exiled professor with Wall Street scars; Aaliyah, the waitress with iron patience and a memory like a knife; Fat Sex, the jolly East German who laughs too loud and knows too much; and Richard Brick, the posh Englishman clinging to ruined deals and fading charm. Capo’s is full. And the walls are listening.
Capo’s is Almaty’s answer to the Star Wars cantina, flags from fallen republics hanging like surrendered ghosts, a fake eagle sagging in the corner, and a poker table whose green felt is stained so dark it looks like dried blood. The jukebox wheezes between Dire Straits and Kino, and the regulars are diplomats, dealers, washed-up skiers, and drifters looking to forget. Frederick built this chaos with his own hands and a wallet full of someone else’s money. It’s his sanctuary and his trap, a stage where he plays the charming host while dying inside. Murphy’s barstool still sits empty, lording over the room like a ghost no one mentions. Capo’s holds stories in its wood grain—betrayals, affairs, and the slow disintegration of men who thought they were in control. For Frederick, it’s the last place he feels seen. But the longer he stays, the more the bar owns him. Capo’s doesn’t let anyone leave whole.
Husks is a noir mystery built for cinema—visually rich, emotionally layered, and set in one of the most striking, underused film landscapes in the world. It opens in a frost-covered sunflower field beneath a veiled moon, where a lone figure buries a man named Murphy. No witnesses. No words. Just wind, metal, and memory. From there, the story unfolds across Kazakhstan’s breathtaking terrain: the sweeping green fairways of the Naurtua golf course, where power is bought in silence; the steam-drenched intimacy of Almaty’s tiled bathhouses; the dazzling white slopes of Chimbulak, where betrayal unfolds at altitude. On Kok Tobe, a cable car becomes a floating confessional above the city lights. At Lake Kapchagai, a drug-fueled summer dance turns fatal beneath the blazing sun. The steppe—wild, open, eternal—frames the ancestral world of Gulmira, where horses move like spirits through gold. Every location tells its own story, textured and unforgettable. Husks is more than a film. It’s a cinematic experience—rooted in mystery, steeped in beauty, and shaped by a country that deserves the spotlight.
At a summer party on Lake Kapchagai, a girl disappeared. Now, months later in Almaty, her memory haunts the city’s expats—resurfacing through whispers, a red scarf, and a string of betrayals no one’s ready to confess. Something happened that day. And someone knows why.
Keith Krag is an American novelist whose work blends noir intrigue with post-Soviet grit. A graduate of Florida Atlantic University with a degree in history, he spent a decade living in Almaty, Kazakhstan, from 1995 to 2005—years defined by cultural upheaval, unlikely friendships, and the moral ambiguities of expat life. His days were split between the white-capped mountains and the green fairways, while his nights unfolded in poker rooms, makeshift casinos, and a real-life bar known as Capo’s, where he worked and watched the city’s undercurrents pass through in glassware and whispers.
That bar, and the people who moved through it, became the inspiration for Husks, his debut novel: a layered, ensemble-driven mystery shaped as much by lived experience as by the cinematic influences of Lawrence of Arabia, Miller’s Crossing, and The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. With a voice steeped in atmosphere and contradiction, Krag writes of men and women caught between reinvention and ruin—stories born from the poker tables, the mountain air, and the half-truths we carry between countries.
He now lives on Cape Cod, where he continues to write—and occasionally lose at poker
Murphy’s disappearance cracked the surface. Lies festered, loyalties fractured, and every buried sin began to bloom. What followed wasn’t justice. Just the slow unraveling of truth.
A haunting ensemble of damaged lives and vanished truths. Everyone’s running from something—until one man disappears and the lies they lived by start to rot.
Murphy disappeared, but his secrets rotted on. Betrayal bloomed. Lives unraveled. What remained of them wasn’t truth or love—only the husks of who they’d been.
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