Verwandte Artikel zu Seven Demons: Aidan Truhen

Seven Demons: Aidan Truhen - Softcover

Truhen, Aidan

 
9780593311622: Seven Demons: Aidan Truhen
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593311620 ISBN 13: 9780593311622
Verlag: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

Jack Price and his Seven Demons, the most dangerous and feared assassins in the world, are taking on the bank heist of the century. 

Meet Jack Price and the Seven Demons: Doc, the evil mad scientist presently using Jack for sex; Rex, an explosives expert who doesn’t ask too many questions so long as something goes boom; Volodya, a Ukrainian assassin who may or may not be a cannibal; Charlie, a comic book artist with computer skills and an anarchist bent; Lucille, whose specialty is razor-edged hugs; and Jack’s predecessor, Fred, who doesn’t contribute a whole lot owing to being a severed head on a stick. Finally there’s Jack himself, former coffee magnate turned cocaine dealer turned First Demon, but basically just a guy trying to get along.

Jack has a problem. The Seven Demons don’t have a contract, and there’s nothing more volatile than a gang of deadly killers with nothing to do. Luckily, a shadowy Eurotrash businessman wants them to pull off the heist of a lifetime, breaking into a bank that makes Fort Knox look like the corner candy store. Jack thinks this will be a nice little diversion for his crew . . . until a rosy-cheeked, lederhosen-wearing little psychopath named Evil Hansel stabs him with an oyster knife, and the whole situation goes completely to hell. Someone isn’t playing straight, and in a game of double crosses, Jack Price will do anything—literally, anything—to come out on top

Die Inhaltsangabe kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

AIDAN TRUHEN lives in London. He worked in commodities of one sort or another until he was thirty, which is an age when a man wants his positive achievements to outnumber his acquittals. He's trying to reinvent himself as a writer. We'll see how it goes.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The first I knew it was all going wrong was when Evil Hansel came running out of a pastry shop and stabbed me in the leg, and that was really just the best thing that happened that day. If you do not get stabbed in the leg by a nine-year-old once every so often, then that is nice for you. Hi I’m Jack hi and this story is about me and I am the kind of person who has enemies who know nine-year-olds who will run out of a pastry shop and stab you in the leg, not because they think it is a game but because they are commercially minded fucking psychopaths and that is the world.
Hi.
I did not know that Evil Hansel was called Evil Hansel at that point and indeed it is not his actual name. Evil Hansel was a little Sound of Music–looking motherfucker in actual lederhosen and a white frilly shirt and he came out of the pastry shop like he was about to break into song and then he stuck an oyster knife into my thigh so close to the femoral artery that I can still feel it in my sphincter. If someone cuts your wrists, you have quite a long time before the problem is irretrievable. The femoral is like if you are a balloon animal.
Sploosh.
And that’s it.
Happily, Evil Hansel is left-handed and I carry my billfold in my right-hand pocket so what the little fuckhead actually stabbed was about a thousand Swiss francs in twenties and fifties, which is totally appropriate because money is your sword and shield here, although I guess in that case Evil Hansel should have stabbed me with a hundred and he did not. He used an oyster knife. I did not have quite enough money in quite the right denominations so the knife did absolutely pierce me in a tender region and I was very unhappy.
Doc said: “Do not touch the knife.”
I did not touch the knife because I am not a fucking idiot.
I said: “What the fuck ow you little what the fuck?”
Evil Hansel did not respond to this question. Instead he tried to twist the knife and Volodya the sniper threw him under a car, and I do mean under because Evil Hansel just hunkered down and the chassis went right above him and he ran away.
I said: “What the fuck is wrong with you man, you couldn’t aim for the fucking wheels?”
Volodya said Evil Hansel was lighter than he thought he would be.
I said I did not care about if Evil Hansel was lighter than Volodya thought he would be because right now I had about a thousand Swiss francs nailed to my leg with an oyster knife.
Like he just realized he’d left the oven on, Volodya said: “Ah shit, Price.”
“What, man?”
“I told you we should not come.”
Then I fell over because that is what happens when you leak a bunch of red stuff out of your body onto foreign currency.
I fucking hate Switzerland.
 
 
 
ONE
 
Doc who is my not-girlfriend and a global science felon has a dog. The dog is called Tycho and looking at Tycho you would not think he was named for the guy who lost the middle part of his nose in a duel with swords. Tycho is a saluki and that is a tall skinny expensive dog like if Gaultier styled a greyhound for Miley Cyrus. Looking at Tycho you would assume he was gentle and shy and that is true insofar as it is mostly true and things that are mostly true are not true at all. Tycho is gentle and shy but he is also a dog and he will therefore attempt fornication with anything at all. The animal has no discretion and no sense of boundaries. Beneath the elegant exterior of a dog bred for generations by emirs and sheikhs there lurks the heart of a dissolute sex pest, and despite what is undeniable—that Tycho is a sight hound and can see the hairs on a gnat’s ass at a hundred paces—it is clear that love or at least savage and inappropriate lust is blind. If he thinks an object is even moderately suited to receiving his organ he will absolutely positively fuck it until one or other of them is incapable. I have seen Tycho initiate coitus with a salt-baked sea bass and that will be in my head forever.
For. Ever.
It is therefore something of a surprise that Tycho recently refused his affections to the lady dog belonging to a rich old Dutch party called Mrs. Van der Zee but that is what he did and there is no accounting for taste. Looking at Mrs. Van der Zee’s dog I would have said there was nothing to object to. Certainly Marta—this being the name of the lady dog—is a more obvious friend with benefits than two kilos of Michelinstarred fish on a bed of shaved black radish but I am not judgy. Tycho and Marta did not make it and that is that but it is not that for Mrs. Van der Zee. Mrs. Van der Zee takes a dim view. She sees the absence of dog fornication as a slight upon Marta, and any slight upon Marta is a slight upon Mrs. Van der Zee, and one does not slight Mrs. Van der Zee. As a result of the nonfucking by Tycho of Marta there had to be an owner-toowner meeting in a truth and reconciliation mode at which I was present purely as mediator and it was not a good meeting at all. Mrs. Van der Zee lives in a big place by the sea, and it has gardens and tennis courts and two heated pools and thousands and thousands of deluxe ultra-premium rare tulips.
In fact the whole place smells of sickly tulip stink because Mrs.  Van Der Zee chooses to wear a customized perfume made by a guy named Jort. Jort is present at this exciting gathering in a sort of Roman short shorts playsuit. He is from Den Haag and has no body hair whatsoever and I am fairly sure Mrs. Van der Zee keeps him as some sort of quasi-sexual pet. I do not want to know what she does with him and I do not think Jort wishes to talk about it. He works with both ancient wisdom and sophisticated modern techniques to create a unique signature scent experience using whatever you give him, which in this case of course is ultra-premium deluxe rare tulips. I am not a perfume guy but when I was the cardinal of coffee I developed a sensitive nose because if you cannot tell when someone is trying to sell you basic sawdust arabica for Hacienda La Esmeralda, you will get fucked in the civet hole, and this perfume smelled like someone had done that with violet to a perfectly innocent vetiver and then shaken the whole thing with turpentine. It is dis-fucking-gusting and it is all over everything in the house, and when she shakes your hand it goes on you like she’s a plague vector and it will not come off your clothes, so I may not have been entirely at the top of my game during this encounter and it did not go ideally well.
Over the salad course, by way of peacemaking, Doc ventured the opinion that the absence of sex between the canine companions may be owed to the fact that their antibodies were not sufficiently complementary, which seemed like a good nofault explanation to me, but Mrs. Van der Zee recorded around a mouthful of lollo rosso the alternative view that Tycho is a hate-filled canine Communist. Doc said he was not hate filled nor indeed did he, being a dog, possess the necessary cognitive architecture to form political opinions of this kind, and Mrs. Van der Zee audibly concluded that Doc was One Of Those. When Doc requested clarification of what sort of Those this might be, I was unable to prevent Mrs. Van der Zee from explaining that Doc—as evidenced by her lack of belief in dog politics—was a DOINO, or dog owner in name only, or she would know that our furry friends understand more than we think. Doc noted that she might could arrange for Mrs. Van der Zee and her damn dog both to get a virulent and fastprogressing hemorrhagic fever, and I said shush because that is a thing that Doc has done in her life, and ixnay on the lowbingay ouryay overcay, and Doc said I should ticksay tiay puay ymay sasay, and it was at...

„Über diesen Titel“ kann sich auf eine andere Ausgabe dieses Titels beziehen.

Verlag
Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2021
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593311620
ISBN 13 
9780593311622
Einband
Taschenbuch
Auflage
1
Anzahl der Seiten
352
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar