Good Afternoon all,
Thirteen years ago we published our first crime novel 'Maxwell's Silver Hammer' and despite everyone thinking we were thick Northern upstarts it actually did all right (honest it did! ) and helped to fund a number of other publications of ours that exposed new authors to the world. However, it's always bugged us that the cover was…well…shite! So, following a traumatic last couple of years for the author himself and because we tend to just do what we want anyway, we’ve re-issued and re-packaged this seminal work as ‘Hammered’.
Not only are we so much happier with the cover now we’ve also, as a little bonus, added the first chapter of the sequel ‘The Changing Man’ (out soon kids!) Everyone who has subscribed to the Byker Books Substack site for at least three months will be getting a signed copy for nowt! So check your inboxes in the coming days if that’s you ‘cos we’ll need your address.
If you’re not a subscriber and you’d like a signed copy then we’ve got a bit of an offer for you! For a one-off tenner you’ll get both a copy of the book AND three months subscription AND free P&P (bargain!) Fancy that? Then just email us at info@bykerbooks.com and we’ll take it from there.
OR
You can buy an unsigned copy from Amazon at the link below for £8.99
Or you can not bother and just read mass-processed, celebrity shite picked for you by people ‘who do something in publishing to please daddy’, who all went to boarding school and are all called Felicity. Probably.
If you’re new to us and you’d like an idea of Andy Rivers work then check out some of the links below and see what you think.
Finally (and most importantly!), thanks for being part of the BB family and for supporting indie publishing. We’re very grateful.
Go Call The Vigilante...
Rob Lawrence knew he’d had a crap upbringing. He wasn’t stupid like people thought he was either, despite not going to school since he was thirteen years old. He knew for instance that a five pound bet on a five to two shot would give you twelve pound fifty plus your stake back. He knew that screaming about your human rights whilst under arrest would usually get you out of the nick fairly quickly or at worse a telling off and a slapped wrist. He knew that working forty to fifty hours a week for shit money was a lot harder than burgling houses, particularly ones he could be in and out of in ten minutes, and he knew for an absolute fact that even if he wanted to, which he didn’t, he couldn’t cross the mighty Falcus and stop working for him or he’d be on the end of a savage beating, maybe even death. He knew as well that his granny worried about him, she told him all the time so it was an easy one to work out. He often went to hers for food as there was usually no one about in his house; his dad was still inside and his mam, well, if she wasn’t ‘entertaining’ then she was in the boozer spending her commission on her previous night’s ‘work’.
The Slip
Tony surveyed the scene from the beach bar. A nice little cove full of quiet sensible holidaymakers. The sea glistened in differing shades of turquoise, his dip earlier had confirmed the crystal clear freshness of it, and the sand was nothing less than golden. The trees dotted round the outskirts beckoned you in with brilliant green greetings as the war…
Blagger
They think they know me in this boozer. Think they know all about me. Wankers. Look at him selling Lynx from a carrier bag. One-fifty a tin, that’s proper big time that is son. The cunt’s made about fifteen quid and he’s swaggering about like some fucking celebrity gangster. It’s not like he’s even a snotty nosed kid either, the fucker’s about thirty an…
That cover looks great.