At 17, the bullies were back, this time with a concealed blade: a steak knife homing in like an Exocet missile for my throat in a deceptive and lightning attack. I was unarmed, lying down on my mother’s couch, maxing out. A nanosecond somehow became an eon, and I managed to get my left arm between my throat and the grim reaper. The blade was violently plunged through my arm, midway between my left wrist and elbow. It pierced my skin, its serrated edge scraping across the bone and completely severing three tendons, pinging them like overstretched rubber bands. I was left with the use of my left index finger and my left thumb only, but I could still make a fist. I weighed around 175 lb, but I was on my feet. My throat was not cut, as had been my assailant’s murderous intention.

In the melee that ensued, my bright-red blood sprayed my mum’s front room, and I knew without being told that I was in a fight for my life. As I subdued my armed assailant with my bare hands, I knew instinctively that I would find myself in this situation many more times. And as my assailant passed into unconsciousness, I also knew – with a heightened, almost primal awareness – that I would always win and never lose a death match. That was the first attempt on my life, thirty years ago in 1977, and from that day to this there have been several more attempts to assassinate me – my enemies have tried to burn me, melt me with acid, shoot me or kill me in any way possible. This is my story . . . THEY CALLED ME THE DEVIL.

My name is Stephen Thomas French, and I grew up in Liverpool 8 during the 1960s and ’70s, becoming a man in the 1980s. The narrative that follows could be superimposed onto the lives of any number of black males born of a mixed marriage in 1960s south Liverpool. When I first decided to help Graham Johnson write this book, I knew I had a good story inside me, but I also knew that I should take advantage of the life experiences of the people I’ve known throughout my life – including 25 years security experience and 30 years as a martial artist, man and boy – and the thousands upon thousands of individuals I’ve met during my pursuit of health, wealth and happiness.

The tile for the book is The Devil. There was much discussion about this between me and Graham Johnson. Initially, the working title was Tall, Dark and Dangerous. During the course of his research, Graham discovered that some of my enemies referred to me as the Devil. He became very interested in this and said that this must be the title of the book. I tried to compromise with him and suggested They Call Me the Devil as an alternative. I reneged after discussion with him, because I understand the commercial grab of the The Devil as a title, but I would like to go on record and say that I am a true and devout Christian and I believe in the Holy Trinity. I hate and loathe the Devil. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was to convince the world he did not exist. Where there is good there is bad, where there is ying there is yang, and this a belief that I hold very, very strongly. So, to my mum, wife, sister and daughter, the women that are really important to me, I apologise for the title of this book, but it’s for reasons of sensationalism and commercialism, plain and simple, and has nothing to do with my faith. And if there are any objections of a divine nature, I assure you, Lord God in heaven, that the intentions behind this book are based on honour and integrity.