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Back The Devils You Know Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. PRAISE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  45. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  46. SNEAK PEEK: EXIT .45

He thought Andre would have an answer to that, but he didn’t. The train glided along through the dark. In the distance beyond their reflections, great yellow matrices of city lights, flattened by perspective. He heard Andre exhale, and then he smelled it, as if the man had rotten meat stored beneath his tongue. The rails clicked along in their endless, patient count, and the first movement was in Andre’s eye—a sharper focus, a narrowing—and then his left hand came out of the coat pocket and the switchblade popped open in the same motion. It was a jab move, and the point was coming for his throat. Vincent tipped left and brought his right forearm up to sweep the knife hand aside, and at the same time he rose to his feet. In his right hand he held a pen—the pen he’d taken from the green room, ERIN JONES and today’s date printed on one side. He brought the point down into Andre’s neck, and then felt his right side buckle as the switchblade went into the stab vest. Vincent jabbed again with the pen and felt the nib go deep this time—through the soft point at the corner of Andre’s jaw—and with his left hand he palmed aside the sawn-off shotgun as Andre drew it from the duffel bag. The shot blew the glass out of the window. People were screaming, and Andre stabbed him again—lower—and Vincent dipped his knees to take it on the stab vest, and with the heel of his right hand he rammed the pen home the full six inches, and that was it.

Someone had pulled the emergency brake. The train was slowing, and an alarm was ringing. People behind him were still screaming, and then a woman said, ‘It’s okay, he’s dead. Look, he’s dead.’

Vincent knew the doors would have locked with the alarm, but he could always leave via the broken window. Stay in a motel, and then deal with all this tomorrow. Tempting, but he didn’t imagine it would win him any favours.

He sat down and waited to be found.

THIRTY-NINE

THIRTY-NINE

His surfboard had been in the back of the Range Rover and had taken a couple of bullets. Vincent could tell by inspection that the buoyancy was compromised. He bought a replacement at a second-hand store—a six–two short board. Some of the wax looked prehistoric, but there was nothing more than superficial damage.