Free Siren Song: A Different Scandinavian Crime Novel by Erik Boman

attacker loses his balance, stumbles backwards and falls down on his back.
    The car shakes again. Its speakers rasp, and the voice of the irritated driver booms throughout the train as she instructs all passengers to move away from the doors. Startled shouts come from farther down the car; people stand up and back away from the fight.
    The large man and his ginger friend look at each other. They are at a breaking point: Their prey is irrational, and there is no time left. It is a matter of moments before someone calls the police.
    As one, the two men run out and away, fleeing the train and the easy-hit-turned-disaster. The doors shut, and the train leaves the platform.
    Left behind inside the train, the man with the knife is on his back as he wrestles John. Blood seeps through his clothes; he can feel its warmth against his skin. His jacket is ruined. His pants are stained beyond salvation. And he is alone, abandoned by his so-called mates.
    But he has his knife, and in his other hand is the money, finally torn away from John’s grip. Two fistfuls of power and possibilities. Now only to disable the crazed junkie and escape.
    Teeth clenched, he wriggles out of John’s hold, gets up onto his knees, and strikes again, aiming for the centre of John’s abdomen. For a moment, it seems as if his aim is true, then John’s foot shoots up and smacks into the man’s groin.
    Red suns burst in the dark-haired man’s head. He sucks in air with a keening sound as nausea explodes in him, starting in his crotch and welling out into his limbs. All strength leaves him within the space of a second.
    He falls onto his back between the groups of seats, in full view of the surveillance cameras. Only sheer pain makes him hold on to the knife and the money. When he manages to open his eyes, he stares down the length of another knife.
    John holds the point of his knife millimetres from the man’s face. Blood oozes between John’s clenched fingers, and he uses both hands to keep the knife steady.
    The man is bewildered but still furious. “Man, you’re–”
    John stamps hard on the man’s arm until the man’s knife clatters to the floor.
    “Drop the money,” John says when his opponent has stopped screaming.
    “You’re screwed,” the dark-haired man wheezes and laughs hysterically. “When the train stops, I’m gone, and I’m keeping the money. You’re the one holding the knife, you fucking idiot.” He nods at the ceiling, implying the hidden CCTV camera.
    For a long moment, John looks at the camera behind its protective plastic cover.
    “That’s right,” the man says and grins. “What do you think they’ll see? You with a knife. It’s called armed assault. Now back the fuck away.”
    John turns back to the man and moves the point of his knife to the man’s nostril, then pushes the knife up the man’s nose a full three centimetres. Before the man has time to scream, John rips the knife up and away, slicing open the entire length of the man’s nose.
    Blood rises like a fine mist and rains over the man’s face, clogging his eyes and flooding his mouth. The man gives up a panicked, gurgling shriek. John slides the tip of the knife into the man’s other nostril and holds it there.
    Searching the man’s pockets, John finds a mobile phone in chrome and a leather wallet. He holds each item in front of the man’s wild eyes, making sure the man understands the implications.
    I have your name. I have your number. I have your friends’ numbers.
    “I repeat,” John says, “let go of my money.”
    Howling in pain, the dark-haired man clings to the bloodied stack of notes as if they were a rope that could pull him out of his terror.
    John leans closer until his lips touch the man’s ear, and while the train slows down, he describes what he will do with the knife unless the man releases the money. The man wails, and the money falls from his shaking hand.
    Finally, the train stops. John takes the money, the phone and the wallet,