As a lad from Cumbria who lives in Lincolnshire and writes about Yorkshire (these are places on a small and rainy island called England), I’m perhaps a little underqualified to pen a crime novel set in New York. Thankfully, there are nice people everywhere who were willing to overlook this fact and help me out with the extraordinary amounts of research needed to make Cruel Mercy come to life.
Some I can name. Others, who spend a lot of their time punching people in underground boxing gyms and pulling people’s teeth out with pliers, I had probably better leave in the shadows.
But I think I’m relatively safe to say thanks to the following:
Jack, the limo driver from Hong Kong; Fiz on reception at the Comfort Inn; Justin from Melbourne at Lucky Jack’s; Jenaro and Richie at Church Street Gym; Luis at Oficina Latina for a cocktail that made my ears ring; Shamar from Jamaica and Brandon from Brixton at Bowlmor off Times Square; and at the awesome restaurant Balthazar, I’d like to apologize to Lorraine the waitress for the jokes about your Fanny Bay oysters. Your tolerance was impressive.
Really, this is one big thank-you to New York. It’s a chaotic and unwieldy place that had the same effect on my imagination that a wheel of cheese would have on your sleep patterns. I thought the whole “city that never sleeps” thing was just a marketing slogan. I was wrong.
As ever, my thanks also go to the team at Blue Rider. David, you’ve been a supporter from the start and I can’t thank you enough for your continued enthusiasm and belief that someday, one of these damn McAvoy books will set the world alight. Thanks to Katie, too, for impressive efficiency and patience.
Oli, friend and agent, you actually persuaded people to publish a McAvoy novel set in America. Go light a cigar.
And thanks again to the fellow authors who have supported, cajoled, and admonished me in equal measure during a trying time. I’ll always appreciate you. Susi Holliday, you’re a true friend. Neil White, thanks for, well, you know what. Alexandra, Steph, Helen—thanks for just being who you are. Val, Peter, and Peter—thanks for throwing a kindly word my way and allowing me to think that one day I might be as good as you. Mari, Danielle, Sarah, I love the lot of you.
Finally, thanks to my safety net, the people who catch me when I fall and who put up with more nonsense than anybody should have to endure: Nikki, George, and Elora. I’ll never deserve you, but I will always know what love looks and feels like, thanks to you.
And once again, here’s to you, dear reader. Love you, you sick lot.