Product Description

No-one leaves Mangel ? at least not alive they don?t. Royston Blake is the Head Doorman of Hoppers Wine Bar & Bistro. He drives a Capri 2.8i and can walk down the street in Mangel knowing he?s respected by folks. But now there?s a rumour out that Blake?s lost his bottle. Even Sal?s heard the rumour. What?s more, the Muntons are after him and the thought of ending up in the back of their Meat Wagon is almost too much to bear. Something?s got to give. Determined to prove he hasn?t lost his nerve, Blake embarks on a plan designed to re-establish his reputation as a hard man, ensure his everlasting appeal to women and seal his future with the new owner of Hoppers, even if he is an outsider. Murder, mayhem and a chainsaw called Susan intertwine in this astonishing debut which marks the appearance of a fresh, funny and brutal new voice in British crime fiction. ?Cross James Ellroy?s unblinking eye for vicious gangland enforcement with Bill James?s gut-feeling for Britain?s meaner streets and you would end up in a trashcan alley somewhere near Mangel? I can?t wait for the next instalment? 5-star review, Western Daily Press ?Demented, hilarious, and near impossible to put down? Jason Starr, author of Tough Luck ?There is a dark heart to England, a claustrophobic core of oddity and violence. Deadfolk comes straight from this English heart, and even through all of its offbeat humour, there is no mistaking the earnestness of a writer who has something to say.? Nicholas Blincoe ?Plenty of memorably grim moments along the way? Big Issue in the North ?Carnage, chaos and a chainsaw called Susan add to his remarkable debut, which marks the appearance of a totally new voice in British fiction? Buzz ?Charlie Williams has come up trumps? the more politically correct among you can read this as social comment, the rest can just enjoy the ride? Guardian ?Imagine if you will the comparatively genteel Midsomer Murders transplanted to darkest Somerset and given a delight in excess worthy of Tarantino, the whole dripping with pitch black comedy and panache... this is compelling and highly enjoyable? The Third Alternative

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #499492 in Books
• Published on: 2004-06-03
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 288 pages

Jason Starr, author of Tough Luck
‘Demented, hilarious, and near impossible to put down’

About the Author
Charlie Williams was born in 1971 in Worcester. He read English at Swansea University. During a brief visit to Worcester he was arrested for fighting a bouncer and bound over to keep the peace for six months. He moved to London but couldnÂ’t resist the lure of his hometown and moved back to Worcester in 2003. His first novel, Deadfolk, was published in 2004. 45

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Deadfolk by Charlie Williams Leadtext: I were standing on the grass out by the East Bloater Road when the Meat Wagon came past. She slowed a bit then drove on up towards town. I were glad of that. Sight of the Meat Wagon never had been summat to warm a feller’s cockles. Standing on the grass out by the East Bloater Road didn’t seem such a good idea now. A wind had started up from the North that went through your clothes like a gutting knife. But I couldn’t go yet. Not unless I wanted to be passing the Meat Wagon on the way in. So I paced around for a bit and smoked two fags, thinking how I really ought to stop coming out this way cos nothing were to be gained from it. Then I got back in me car and pointed her homeward. She were a Ford Capri. I’d always driven a Ford Capri and always would do, long as I still had a choice in the matter. Despite the chill and the damp and the mood I were in she started first time, which cheered us up no end. As I slotted her into third she backfired like a bastard. Been doing a fair bit of backfiring of late she had. Hole in the exhaust like as not, and once you gets one of them they only gets bigger. Unless I got her down the garage for fixing she’d get louder and louder until the noise were hurting folks’ ears. But that’d have to wait, being as I were skint. And besides, she started running smooth once I shifted her up to fifth. Judging by the way the sun were slipping down beyond the Deblin Hills it were getting late. I put me foot down and swung her into the first long bend on the way back to Mangel. It were nice and straight for a mile or so now with woods either side and no other vehicle in sight. Rarely was folks out this way. Didn’t lead you nowhere you might want to go, see. I opened her up and tipped her over the ton mark. Course, I were taking a risk shifting at that pace. But like I says, no one were about. And I were meeting Legs and Finney down the Paul Pry in a bit. If I missed the start I’d be on catch-up and I didn’t like that. I liked to swill at the same rate as them I’m swilling with. The trees was hanging over and it were right dark down that stretch, so by the time I saw the Meat Wagon parked longways across the road I were near enough atop it. I braked hard and thought about swinging her left or right around the big white van. But there were no room for that. It were the Meat Wagon or one of the big trees either side. And by the time I’d decided on which trunk looked softest it were too late for either of em. The Meat Wagon it were, with Lee Munton’s eyes glaring out at us from the driver side and the shadow of Jess peering over his shoulder. I squeezed me eyes tight and pushed down on that middle pedal for all I were worth and a lot more besides. My head were filled with screeching rubber and a thump thump thump the like of what you’d never heard. When I felt the wheels flip out from under us I knew I were done for. Not from the car crash, like. But from what the Muntons’d do to us for fucking up the Meat Wagon. The car stopped. I kept me eyes shut, thinking how there hadn’t been much of a bang on impact. Not even a little pop as bumper met panel. But I had an explanation for that one, see. I’d slammed into the van so hard that the noise had gone and bust me ear drums. Then Lee started talking and I knew my ear drums was right as plumb wire. ‘Alright, Blake,’ he says. ‘Alright, Lee. Alright, Jess.’ Jess moved his head a bit. The Meat Wagon were but a few inches from where I were sat. Somehow the car had stopped with my window sideways-on to Lee’s and back-to-front, like if we’d been passing each other in the street and stopped for a chat. ‘Well,’ says Lee, smiling like we was still mates. ‘Reckon you needs yer tyres checkin’. Eh, Jess?’ ‘Aye.’ ‘Needs his tyres checkin’ alright. See em slip out from under him just now did you, when all he done were apply a bit o’ brake pad?’ ‘Aye. Flipped out. Brake pads.’ ‘Know what my impartial advice to him would be?’ ‘Aye.’ ‘Go on then.’ ‘Dunno.’ ‘S’right, Jess. You dunno. And Blake here dunno neither. Thass why I gives impartial advice. Wouldn’t bother if folks knew it already. Be no use to em, would it.’ ‘Reckon not.’ ‘S’right. Well, I’d say to him this: Bring yerself down Munton Motors and Baz’ll sort you out.’ Lee stared at us for a full half minute. When he piped up again he weren’t smiling. ‘For tyres, like.’ He knew I were skint. Every bastard in Mangel knew I were skint, I reckoned. But I put on a smile anyhow and says: ‘Ta. I’ll think about it.’ ‘You do that,’ he says. ‘Cos our Baz, he wants you to know that there’s no hard feelin’s. Sometimes he has a drink an’ gets a bit lairy an’ forgets hisself is all. But he didn’t mean nuthin’ by it. And he don’t want you gettin’ no wrong ideas about him by it. Juss get yerself down there and he’ll sort you out for tyres. Alright?’ He stared at us until I says: ‘Aye, alright.’ ‘Smart. Cos if there’s one thing I don’t like iss hard feelin’s. And our Baz, well, he ain’t got one of em in his whole body. Just a bit of a boy is our Baz. That right Jessie?’ Jess’s lips didn’t move at all. ‘Bit of a boy.’ ‘Alright, Blakey. Alright. Long as everyone gets along, thass all I asks. Now Blakey, what was you doin’ up yonder just now.’ ‘Yonder?’ ‘Aye. On the roadside up there. What was you up to?’ I looked past him at Jess. He hadn’t moved once. Not even when he’d been talking. He were like a big statue carved out of sandstone. Only time he ever said summat were when Lee spoke to him. Even then it were only aye or summat. ‘Well,’ I says. ‘Ain’t much of a reason for it really.’ The Munton brothers stared. ‘Just comes out here now and then to...’ I tried to swallow but it weren’t coming easy. So I coughed a bit instead. ‘You know, look at the scenery an’ that.’ There weren’t much else I could say so I sat tight and waited, listening to Jess’s breathing. Lee stuck his big head out the window at us. When he spoke I could smell what he’d had for lunch. Mixed grill, I reckoned. ‘Just so long as you ain’t plannin’ on leavin’ town.’ ‘Leavin’? No one leaves Mangel, Lee.’ ‘S’right. Specially not you. Don’t want our mates leavin’, does we Jess? Wants em here where we can see em.’ He fired up the engine, eyes still stuck on mine like a terrier’s teeth on a robber’s ankle. And suddenly he were smiling again, like he hadn’t ever not been smiling. ‘Workin’ tonight?’ ‘Nah. Night off.’ ‘Just so long as you ain’t got yerself sacked. Don’t go gettin’ yerself sacked, Blake. Not for a couple of weeks anyhow.’ ‘Ain’t intendin’ on it.’ ‘Smart. And remember - tyres waitin’ for you at Munton Motors.’ The Meat Wagon lurched forward and headed townward. I pulled in on the verge and had a fag. Then I looked at my watch and headed townward meself.

Customer Reviews

Williams delivers the goods!
Reading DEADFOLK, by Charlie Williams, gives you the same euphoric thrill you got the first time you saw a Coen Brothers or Quentin Tarantino movie. You devour it with the same gaping astonishment which accompanied your first Jim Thompson or Chuck Palahniuk book, your first (early) Scorsese movie. DEADFOLK doesn't depict smooth-talking LA gangsters, or New York City lowlifes, but tells the story of Royston Blake, head doorman of Hopper's nightclub in the town of Mangel, England. An anti-hero unlike any you've experienced before, it is Blake's astoundingly unique voice as he guides us through this tough world which makes us want to stay with him; his flaws and mistakes make us laugh and cringe, often simultaneously.

This journey into the black heart of small-town England shows a chaotic, seething underbelly of life most of us would cross the street to avoid. By turns hilarious and disturbing, Blake's business with the notorious, terrifying Munton brothers is interspersed with robbery, murder, and explosive violence, with a climax which leaves us feeling thrilled for the discovery of this novel, and relieved we didn't get hurt along the way.

P. Robinson.

Witty, Gritty, Cringeworthy, Shocking and very very compelling

I stumbled on deadfolk while browsing a local bookshop. I won't give a synopsis, you can find that online, but the story of Royston Blake is a caricature that draws upon the dark and violent side of every run down, ducking and diving community from Lands End to John O'Groats. There's a town like Mangel in every part of the UK from Newcastle to Liverpool, to Manchester to Bristol and all parts inbetween.

If, like me, you were brought up in a town like Mangel you will recognise the traits of many of the characters in this novel; it's bleak, it's black, it's violent but above all it is hilarious and I challenge you not to read it in a funny accent!

Deadfolk is a pot pourri of Sexy Beast [2000], A Very British Gangster [2008] and Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels [1998]

Read it then read the sequels Fags and Lager and King of the Road- You will learn to love Royston Blake. We want more Charlie!