A thriller set in the seedy world of London's drug rings: Hamelin's Child by .@debjbennett #thriller

Hamelin’s Child

by

Debbie Bennett

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 Mikey’s not sure anymore who he really is – streetwise Mikey or plain Michael Redford. 

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Hamelin’s Child was long-listed in the UK Crime Writers’ Association Debut Dagger Award.

A thriller set in the seedy world of London's drug rings, this book contains strong scenes and adult material.

Excerpt from Hamelin’s Child

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. She’d 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. ‘Don’t think she’ll 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, she’d 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.

Seventeen today. Or was it yesterday now? It was well past midnight. Some of his mates were on the other side of the dance floor; Jenny and her new friend were all but shagging on the sofa and everyone seemed to be one half of a couple apart from him. Glancing sideways, he saw the man had melted into the crowd. Michael wondered whether he should just go home and he was starting to consider the idea seriously when the stranger appeared at his side again.

‘Still here?’ The man smiled. ‘D’you want me to have him warned off?’

‘No.’ Who is this prick? Some kind of gangster? ‘He can have her.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Michael.’ His voice sounded weird – in fact, everything sounded weird. The music seemed distorted and hollow and it echoed around his head, the bass making his teeth ache. Too much booze, Redford, that’s your problem. And far too much imagination. Sure, the guy was a bit strange, but – shit – wasn’t everyone in this dump?

‘Hi, Michael. I’m Eddie.’ He touched Michael’s shoulder with an air of concern. ‘Are you OK?’

Michael shook his head, trying to clear it. His pulse was pounding in time with the music. ‘What is this?’ He held out what was left of his drink, wondering whether the man had spiked it with anything.

‘Holsten. It’s what you were drinking earlier.’ Eddie sounded hurt. ‘It’s all right, isn’t it? Chuck it, if it’s off, and I’ll get you another.’

‘No … I don’t know.’ The lights seemed brighter and sharper, the music burning into white noise. He stared at the pint in his hand. What the hell is in this drink? He took a step forward and staggered, but Eddie caught his arm and deftly took the glass out of his grip.

‘I think you’ve had enough, Michael,’ he said softly. ‘Let’s go get some fresh air, shall we?’

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