Dog Eats Dog

Dog Eats Dog

Iain Levison

Language: English

Pages: 282

ISBN: 1904738311

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Dog Eats Dog

Iain Levison

Language: English

Pages: 282

ISBN: 1904738311

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Praise for Iain Levison:

“The real deal . . . bracing, hilarious and dead on.”—The New York Times Book Review

“Witty, deft, well-conceived writing that combines sharp satire with real suspense.”—Kirkus Reviews

“Levison writes tight, punchy prose, with deadpan humor and savvy.”—The Wall Street Journal

Philip Dixon is down on his luck. An escape from a lucrative but botched bank robbery lands him bleeding and on the verge of collapse in a college town in New Hampshire. How can he find a place to hide out in this innocent setting? Peering into the window of the nearest house, he sees a glimmer of hope: a man in his mid-thirties, obviously some kind of academic, is rolling around on the living room floor with an attractive high-school student. Professor Elias White is then blackmailed into harboring a dangerous fugitive, as Dixon—with a cool quarter-million in his bag and dreams of Canada in his head—gets ready for the last phase of his escape.

But the last phase is always the hardest. Attractive and persistent FBI agent Denise Lupo is on his trail. As for Elias White, his surprising transition from respected academic to willing accomplice poses a ruthless threat that Dixon would be foolish to underestimate.

"...Funny and acerbic, and crackles with raw energy."—The Sunday Times (UK) 

Iain Levison was born in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1963. Since moving to the United States, he has worked as a fisherman, carpenter, and cook, and he has detailed his woes of wage slavery in A Working Stiff’s Manifesto. He lives in Raleigh, North Carolina.

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had grown up, but the grass was thicker and felt damp, not dry and dusty. Far off, he heard a cow mooing. There had to be a barn around. He went under a fence and through a copse of trees, and didn’t see a farmhouse or a barn anywhere, just more open space. He wandered on. The noise of the truck stop faded, then disappeared altogether, and then all he could hear were his own footsteps and the occasional chirping of crickets. Another fence. This time he anticipated the pain in his arm and he held

thousand pages long, and called The Rise and Fall of the Weimar Republic. He turned it over, flipped a page or two, trying to find something in it he might relate to. Just a lot of German names. He shrugged and put the book back exactly as he had found it. In the next room, which Elias clearly used as a study, there was a computer, a desk and papers scattered everywhere. On top of a pile of bills was a manuscript, perhaps sixty pages, entitled Was Hitler Right? An Analysis of Personal Records

bilked some wealthy Texan widow out of millions, and they had caught him racing for the Oklahoma border in a Ferrari. Dixon knew Guyerson wasn’t going to be in the cell block long. When they met, Guyerson had been mulling over the possibility of giving the local DA some information on his friends, who were running a mail fraud scam, in exchange for early release. You didn’t mull something like that over for too long. The first time you saw a dude getting his head slammed in a door, or getting

all, how do they treat women? Is it really as progressive a work environment as they claim? Yuh. “I think it’s cool,” Jenny said, removing her face from the sip straw for a second, “that you’re an FBI agent. I think that’s so cool.” “Thanks,” said Denise sweetly. “Do you like, get to use your gun a lot? Do you ever shoot people?” “Sure, I shoot people all the time. I just shot two people on the way over here.” Elias laughed extra hard to make sure Jenny understood it was a joke, and Jenny

looked at it, his hands over his mouth as if trying to stop secrets from coming out. He had almost told Denise everything. For half an hour he had sat there, staring into his cappuccino froth, readying himself for the walk over to the police station. How would he phrase it? “There’s a bank robber hiding in my house.” And he’d wait for the response. Would they frantically reach for phones with urgent looks on their faces the minute he began to speak? Or would they stare at him blankly? Then,

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