The Bullet Trick

The Bullet Trick

Louise Welsh

Language: English

Pages: 384

ISBN: 1841959170

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Crime Writers Association award winner Louise Welsh follows up her hit artworld noir The Cutting Room with a slick literary suspense thriller set among the decadent domains of contemporary Berlin, Glasgow, and London. Meet William Wilson, a foundering so-called mentalist, conjurer, and above all — despite frequently being the opening act for strippers — a master performer. When his agent books him for a string of cabaret gigs in Berlin, he’s hoping his luck’s on the turn. Among the showgirls and grifters of Berlin’s scandalous underground, Wilson can forget his lonely heart, his muddled head, and, more important, his past. But secrets have a habit of catching up with William and as he gets in over his head with a certain brand of lucrative after-hours work, the line between what’s an act and what’s real starts to blur. Bringing the seedy glamour of the burlesque scene magnificently to life, Louise Welsh’s deft contemporary tale is her richest and most macabre yet. A thundering thriller of Glasgow drinking dens, Soho clubs, and dark Berlin backstreets, The Bullet Trick is also an adults-only suspense, guaranteed to keep you guessing until its final explosive flourish.




















shoulder. Sylvie stood in the doorway wrapped in a thin floral robe. She rubbed her eyes and said, ‘Don’t mind me.’ Then turned on the tap and started to wash her face. It’s hard to be nonchalant while peeing, but I did my best. ‘Sleep well?’ I did a final shake over the pan and zipped myself away. ‘Not so much sleep as pass out.’ She patted her face dry with a grey-looking towel. ‘How ’bout you?’ ‘The same.’ Sylvie hung the towel back up and did a quick shuffle, hopping from foot to foot. I

while, staring blankly at the wall, then tied the towel around my waist, went to the wardrobe, took my mobile phone from my jacket pocket and turned it on. The screen glowed lazily awake. Richard’s unanswered calls were logged like accusations. But slid in beside his familiar phone number was a number not featured on my address book, a British number I didn’t recognise. The mobile suddenly sprang back into life. I dropped it on the bed and stepped backwards, giving a small groan and looking at

way from the police station with Johnny’s money warm in my pocket. Drink had got me into this trouble and it seemed that only drink could release me. I hardly saw a soul, just a lone dog-walker, who crossed the road at the sound of my footsteps. The armies of men that once filled whole streets at shift’s end are long disbanded. But the early morning pubs are still there, if you know where to look. There’s a licensing law demands these bars serve breakfasts to mop up the drink. And so they’re

get to my age, bloody senility. There was a chap phoned a few weeks ago looking for you.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘English bloke, said he’d seen you somewhere and mislaid your number. I told him I didn’t have a contact for you, but he sounded keen.’ Bruce looked worried; concerned I might have missed a gig or even my big break. ‘Pushy even?’ ‘A wee bit, typical cocky cockney, you know the kind. I met a lot of them in the forces. Nice enough fellas once you get to know them but they think anything north of

circle around him, like a half-tamed predator, not hungry but a killer by nature. I held my breath, wondering if they’d choreographed this earlier, or if Sylvie really was making her mind up about whether to go on. Then she stretched her spine like a show lion deciding to let its trainer live another day, and placed herself against the board. Dix immediately stepped forward and started to secure her, his fingers nimble and efficient, buckling the leather straps around her wrists and ankles,

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