Michael Redford died on his seventeenth birthday the night Eddie picked him up off the street, shot him full of heroin and assaulted him.
Now he’s Mikey and he works for Joss. With streaked blond hair and a cute smile, he sleeps by day and services clients at night. Sometimes he remembers his old life, but with what he’s become now, he knows there is no return to his comfortable middle-class background.
Then he makes a friend in Lee. A child of the streets, Lee demands more from friendship than Mikey is prepared to give. But the police are closing in on them now and Mikeys not sure anymore who he really is streetwise Mikey or plain Michael Redford.
Times running out and Michael has to find some answers
A thriller set in the seedy world of London's drug rings, this book contains strong scenes and adult material.
Bio
Debbie is a middle-aged boring civil servant with a secret life as a writer...
She's worked in law enforcement for over 25 years, in a variety of different roles, which may be why the darker side of life tends to emerge in her writing. If she makes enough money selling books, perhaps she'll be able to afford counselling instead.
What will readers like about your book?
It’s tense and fast-paced but the characters are human and vulnerable. Yes, there are some not-very-nice scenes in there, but Vie been told that the readers care enough about the characters to go through them and that they are necessary to the plot and not gratuitous in any way.
Why did you self publish?
Because I’ve been told over the past few years that my writing is excellent and my book is publishable, but I’m not commercially viable as a debut author. Since I haven’t got any immediate intentions to sleep with a celebrity, go on a reality TV show or have a very large boob job (which seem to be the pre-requisites now to be commercially viable), I thought Id better go indie or leave my ms languishing on my computer forever! Having said that, I might book an appointment with a plastic surgeon if the sales don’t add up.
What is your writing process?
I write in my head first. Over and over again. It takes me a long time to start a project to find a way into a plot. Once I’ve got a foot in the door, so to speak, I can generally get started and then its often a case of getting home from the day-job (I work in IT), sorting out family, house and food, kicking teenagers off computer and getting stuck in for the evening. Ill often print stuff out and take it to work to mull over at lunchtime.
How long does it take you to write your first draft?
Forever. I wish I was a first-draft person. Unfortunately I like to have the previous chapter as near-perfect as possible before I can move on to the next one!
Excerpt
Michael Redford died on his seventeenth birthday the night Eddie picked him up off the street, shot him full of heroin and assaulted him.
Michael had been drinking steadily all night, matching Jenny’s Breezers with export-strength lager, and when he saw Jen wrapped around his mate’s brother across the dance floor, he didn’t feel at all inclined to slow down. Totally oblivious to observers, they were all hands and lips a human octopus of limbs on the red chesterfield sofa with Jenny’s long dark hair covering both their faces. Shed dropped an E in the toilets; he could tell by the shine in her eyes and the way she moved when they’d been dancing earlier she always came onto him when she was high, then pulled away when he got interested. Michael kicked the pillar next to him in disgust. He hated nightclubs anyway.
She came with you, didn’t she?
Michael turned to see a man standing next to him. Blond hair, cream chinos, polo shirt and too much jewellery. He seemed older than the rest of the punters.
The man waved his hand in Jenny’s direction. The girl, he added, by way of explanation. I was watching the two of you earlier.
Michael nodded. Dont think shell be leaving with me.
Girlfriend?
Ex.
Evidently. The man smiled sympathetically. Women are bitches, aren’t they? He’s a dealer, by the way saw him outside the bogs before. What’re you drinking? He pointed at Michael’s empty glass.
Michael shook his head. No, thanks. Now fuck off, creep. Something about the stranger made him uneasy.
Suit yourself. The man shrugged and went off to the bar, returning a few moments later with a pint and what looked like a whisky chaser. He held the pint out. Got you one, anyway. You look like you could use it. He had an impressive assortment of gold rings on his hand, which suggested serious money, even if the guy was a poser.
Oh, what the hell Cheers. Michael emptied half of it immediately. He had less than a fiver left from the eighty quid his dad had given him earlier that day and not enough for a taxi home. Still, he couldn’t complain there weren’t many parents who’d let their underage son celebrate his birthday in a club, and it was largely due to the intervention of his elder sister Kate that they’d let him go at all. On top of that, shed even managed to talk them into giving him enough money to enjoy it in style. The money had come with strings of course, but listening to the ten-minute evils of drink and drugs lecture had been a small price to pay for his freedom.
Links
Website/Blog
www.debbiebennett.co.uk
UK Amazon Links
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B004PLNLWY
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Debbie-Bennett/e/B004PGSOXU
US Amazon Links
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