Heavy Duty People
“…a fantastic anti-hero…positively Shakespearian in his moral complexity…If I could only recommend one book this year, it would be Heavy Duty People” – Vulpes Libris
Damage’s club has had an offer it can’t refuse, to patch over to join The Brethren MC.
But as the bikes rumble and roar across the wild Northern fells, what does this mean for Damage and his brothers? What choices will they have to make as they ride through the wind? What bloody oil stained history might it reawaken? And why are The Brethren making this offer?
Loyalty to his club and his brothers has been Damage’s life and route to wealth, but what happens when business becomes serious and brother starts killing brother?
From being in a gang to becoming a gangster, Heavy Duty People is the book that invented Biker Noir.
Get Carter meets Sons of Anarchy in this gritty British crime thriller, now in development for TV.
Purchase Links
Amazon = http://mybook.to/HeavyDutyPeople
Etsy – signed trilogy = https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/1021164428/the-brethren-mc-the-heavy-duty-trilogy
Extract
Damage’s club has just been made an offer, to patch over to join The Brethren MC. In reality it’s an ultimatum not an offer, and one that will split the club into warring factions…
It was a crisp cold night under an inky black sky filled with millions of brilliant white stars and the ride home from the clubhouse took twenty minutes or so.
I loved riding on my own at night.
There was something about the blackness, the cold wind biting my face, the streaming smear of light on the road ahead, the howling solitude, the unthinking way that I followed the road, long grooved with memories, testing each familiar curve just one more time, that made me feel as though I was riding towards the end of the world; by myself in my own private bubble of time and space.
Alone in a dream I roared up and across the high empty moors. Then the dry stone walls started to close in on either side of the road’s curves as I left the high ground behind and descended through the curves into the rolling foothills with their fields and occasional yellow-windowed dales farms.
Down here, the road home was along a mix of straight old Roman roads that just begged me to gun the motor, the wind whipping past my ears singing the strange music, and sudden twisting curves familiar through years of instinctive riding, requiring fierce braking at the last possible moment, the bike drifting, using all of the available road to get the right positioning to hustle through them, the bike heeled over to maintain the speed and set me up for the acceleration that pulled me upright again as I set up for the next bend. Before the glow of the first streetlight ahead signalled the start of the final drop down the long straight into the valley, the lights of the town opening up before me as the machine and I roared out of the dark.
It was the type of riding I always enjoyed. It was very Zen somehow. The speeding solitude, with just the sound of the wind, and the mix of unthinking instinct, and fierce full mind and body concentration required on the here and now of the riding freed my mind to wander, it gave me time to think.
But tonight was different.
It had been fascinating, sitting back to hear and see Tiny our pres, and Dazza theirs, in operation, and to mull over the difference.
All clubs are either dictatorships, run by a single dominant individual until such time as someone successfully usurped their rule, or democracies, run on the basis of consensus. They always have been and always will be.
We in The Legion were a democracy, certainly the ex-Reivers’ part was, some other cohorts less so. That was why Tiny had called the meeting tonight. If there was something important to be said, we all needed to hear about it if we were to decide what we as a club were to do.
Dazza by contrast ruled his charter with a rod of iron. A bit like Butcher did with his boys down in Maccamland. I’d never been surprised that those two got on so well.
It was gone eleven when, bike locked up around the side, I walked in through the back door and parked my lid on the table.
‘How did it go? What’s up? Can you tell me?’
Sharon was an old school old lady. She knew that club business was club business and that sometimes I couldn’t tell her everything.
I hadn’t yet decided how much I would tell her. But I had to say something.
‘In a word? Trouble. With a capital F!’
Author Bio –
Iain Parke imports industrial quantities of Class A drugs, kills people and lies (a lot) for a living, being a British based crime fiction writer.
Iain became obsessed with motorcycles at an early age, taking a six hundred mile cross-country tour to Cornwall as soon as he bought a moped at the tender age of sixteen. After working at a London dispatch job delivering parcels on a motorcycle, he built his first chopper in his bedroom at university, undeterred by the fact that the workshop was upstairs.
Iain worked in insolvency and business restructuring in the UK and Africa, where he wrote his first thriller The Liquidator. The success of that propelled him to write a ‘biker lit’ trilogy about the Brethren Motorcycle Club, a ‘cult’ hit which has recently been optioned for television. Today Iain lives off the grid, high up on the North Pennines in Northumberland with his wife, dogs, and a garage full of motorcycle restoration projects.
Social Media Links –
Giveaway to Win Signed Heavy Duty trilogy bundle + sweatshirt (Open INT)
1st Prize
1 x signed copy of the Heavy Duty Trilogy
1 x Heavy Duty bookmark
1 x DILLIGAF hoodie
9 x Runners up prize.
Heavy Duty bookmark
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