First Sentence:

I love how breezy and jaded this first line is.

The narrator is drinking at a bar with another “businessman,” although our man is a hit man. “Bleeding hearts,” says the man at the bar on page 3, “are for the operating table, not for business,” and the two men cheers and drink.

The first 50 pages of this book are full of little quips like these, making Rankin a bit of a hardboiled detective author.

The woman the narrator was going to kill was easy, he “knew a whole lot about her.” Whether this is because he knew her personally or not is unclear.

His name is Mark Wesley—although he doesn’t tell his drinking partner his real business, he gives his real name. He finds the sameness of hotel bars comforting. He hated Egypt because “even the Coke signs were written in Arabic,” and there isn’t money to be had in Third World countries anyway.

The subtext in statements like this is so rich: immediately the reader knows this is an elitist English bloke used to large amounts of money. He must be a bit of a professional since he’s traveled the world and can afford to pick and choose his assignments.

Before the break on page five, Mark pays for their drinks and retires to his room.

Back in the room, Mark takes great pains to secure the door and removes a suitcase from the wardrobe. After pulling on kid-leather gloves, he removes his rifle. It’s immaculately clean and as untraceable as possible—Mark keeps updated on the latest advances in forensic science. The bullets are full-metal-jacket, most military ammo is, and it fulfills the Geneva Convention—who’s he to contradict the Geneva Convention?

Max is his gun source. He manages to get his hands on all kinds of military rifles and ammo—an L39A1, a Mauser SP66, a Fusil Modele 1 Type A—but Mark opts for the British Model PM, Sniper Rifle L96A1. After another page of rifle descriptions, scopes, bullets, and barrels, the chapter ends with his quarry having only two more hours to live. He says he’s “ready to pick off a flea from a cat’s whisker at six hundred yards” (8).

A lot of research has gone into these few pages of description, giving the narrator a great sense of credibility and professionalism.

Chapter two introduces Eleanor Ricks, assumably the woman about to be assassinated. Her husband, Freddy Ricks, was a notable sitcom actor in the ‘80s but now only squeezes a living out of parts here and there. Mrs. Elfman, their maid, asks Eleanor if she’s hungry for breakfast, but she declines. Their son, Archie, is still in bed.

Eleanor is an investigatory journalist, and today she’s interviewing Molly Prendergast, secretary of state for social security, for a potential TV interview. Eleanor is just as meticulous and over-prepared for her interview as Mark is for his hit. After a few comforting words from Joe, her big-time TV producer, Eleanor tries to calm down in a bath. Freddy has left for a role in a breakfast cereal commercial and Mrs. Elfman has gone home. The phone rings and it’s her lawyer, Geoffrey, angling for a lunch date next week. Whether this is for work or pleasure, is unknown.

I love ambiguous relationships. It builds the tension in another way besides the main plot outline.

Chapter three starts out on page 16 with Mark climbing into a taxi, even though his destination is only a 10-minute walk away—less conspicuous. He had bought the box for his gun in a specialty photo shop, the PM being too long and heavy to hide inside his raincoat as usual. He arrives across the street from the Craigmead Hotel, and picks the lock to a mid-renovation office building. He climbs to the third floor, cracks the window open a few inches, and notes the decreasing amount of foot traffic on the street below, which is dwindling because all the shops are closing.

After a break on 20, it’s nearly 6 pm and Mark readies his rifle. He has only brought two bullets out of care for missing shell casings. Finally, a car with diplomatic plates drives up and two women get out. Mark puts his finger on the trigger and calmly fires. He sees the yellow and blue dress Eleanor had decided to wear for the interview but it’s frustratingly unclear who has been shot.

Mark is so calm in this passage that the text just flies by—the woman is dead before you know it. It reads even more credibility in Mark’s job as a hit man, you can almost hear his calm breaths as the woman dies.

The police show up impossibly fast, Mark only has seconds to get out. He decides to call an ambulance, stating he’s a severe hemophiliac and that there’s hemorrhaging to his head. Then he smashes his forehead with a brick. Then a muffled explosion sounds from outside—it’s Mark’s calling card, a small bomb just large enough to make noise and deflect attention. Then the ambulance appears, placing Mark on a stretcher. He seems to know the answer to all their hemophilia questions. Once at the hospital, Mark simply stands up and walks out of the reception area.

Either Mark has used this excuse before, or he’s ridiculously well-versed on hemophilia. This starts to test me. I would have wished he had explained how he knows so much about this disease instead of just rattling it off. It makes him a bit less real to me.

Mark then calls his hotel, leaving a message for Mr. Wesley (his own last name): “Can I leave a message? It’s very important. Tell Mr. Wesley there’s been a change of plans, he has to be in Liverpool tonight. This is Mr. Snipes from the head office” (25). After arriving back at his hotel, Mark checks out (because of the message, supposedly) and moves to another hotel, settling down to watch the news.

I dig how the name he gives is Mr. Snipes. Irony!

The police thought that the wrong mark had been shot, since the diplomat hadn’t been injured. The news didn’t mention anything about why the police had shown up so quickly. The chapter ends with Mark falling asleep.

Chapter four begins on page 28 with a phone call between Freddy Ricks and Geoffrey the lawyer. They exchange shocked greetings and Geoffrey agrees to head straight over to handle the press and death details.

The two men’s awkward conversation hints at a long-standing beef. Freddy says, “I know we’ve had our differences, but…” but if this is because of Eleanor or not is unknown. It’s unlikely that this feud sprang out of nowhere.

After a break, Chief Inspector Bob Broome and Detective Inspector Dave Edmond are deciding what to say to the press and are discussing the gun found on the scene and the technicians in the office building. After a moment, Broome remarks, “Let’s not muck about, Dave, it’s the Demolition Man again. You can spot his MO a mile away” (29).

Apparently a man had called in saying there was going to be a shooting at the Craigmead Hotel and Edmond states that they couldn’t have gotten men there faster. They’re still unsure if Eleanor Ricks was the intended target, what with so many more important people surrounding her.

Eleanor must have been privy to some hot information to make her worth killing.

The chapter ends on page 31 with Broome placing a call to someone in the U.S. who would be interested in the Demolition Man.

Chapter five introduces Hoffer, who is crammed on a trans-Atlantic flight. He’s fat and grumpy and decides to do some coke in the tiny airplane bathroom—not exactly a reputable detective. He needs the Demolition Man to pay some bills. After getting $12,000 out of a Robert Walkins, Hoffer is on the next flight to London.

I love despicable characters. Hoffer buys women, does coke, is a seedy alcoholic, and hopelessly manipulative. I hope this isn’t Rankin’s opinion of all Americans (!) but Hoffer seems to be a caricatured social commentary.

After a page break, Hoffer arrives in London and takes the Underground to his hotel off Piccadilly Circus. After hitting on the hotel’s receptionist, Hoffer makes a neat drink of Johnnie Walker Red in his hotel room.

After another page break, Hoffer meets Bob Broome in the hotel bar. They opt to go for a walk instead of hanging out in the dingy bar. They recap the case while they find an adequately seedy bar for Hoffer. Hoffer doubts that the Demolition Man missed his target, but Broome points out that he’s missed before. Broome also mentions that Ricks had received an urgent call at the hotel, but had ignored it, right before she was shot. Only Joe Draper, her producer, knew she would be there.

The fact that the Demolition Man has missed his mark before has been mentioned a couple times in the first 50 pages, often enough that this is sure to be a plot point in the future.

Broome leaves and Hoffer looks around for a prostitute and blow, but ultimately ends up back at his hotel. The chapter ends with this on page 42.

Chapter six begins with the sentence “Mark Wesley was dead.” This only means that he’s closed all his bank accounts and gotten a new identity: Michael Weston, the last one in the UK, which turns out to be his real name. He drives out to visit Max, since it’s only Max or his employer that could have known about the hit.

The name change makes the D-Man hard to peg down. Changing the name of the main character runs a serious risk of using up the narrator’s credibility. I don’t think he does this though.

He gets a hotel in Yorkshire, close to Max’s home, gets a severe haircut and dyes it an inky black. Before dinner, he studies the manila envelope that holds everything his employer had given him about Eleanor Ricks. It even included what she would wear that day, which narrows down the employer to family and coworkers.

This might be nitpicky, but men rarely look all that different with a new haircut.

The next morning, Mark/Michael stops the car about a mile from Max’s house and walks. Max isn’t surprised when Mark enters the kitchen. Mark is cagey and doesn’t join him at the table, so Max starts explaining.

Scotty Shattuck had called saying he had a client that wanted someone assassinated. The envelope didn’t look manipulated, but it could have been replaced by a fresh one. Suddenly, Bel, Max’s daughter aims an antique shotgun at Mark, telling him to put the revolver down. Max is up in a second, saying the value of the shotgun decreases if it’s been shot—fortunately it’s not even loaded. Everyone smiles and sets down their guns on page 51—very hardboiled.

I like how tenuous the relationship is between Mark and Max. They seem to be as friendly as can be, but their relationship degrades to suspicious employer/employee rather quickly. This underscores the cloistered lifestyle of the two men. Also, Bel seems to be a potential love interest to the D-Man.

I was surprised by how hardboiled this novel is. I thought that genre was a little passé, but apparently it’s alive and kicking. Bleeding Hearts is by no means a Raymond Chandler knock-off, but there are definite similarities. It gives Mark Wesley/Michael Weston an aloof edge from a life separate from others—a true professional.

This novel is definitely a quick read—50 pages flew by. It’s no wonder Ian Rankin is so often on the bestseller lists. What sets this novel apart from the other hordes of crime fiction is the rich subtext, unique characters, and edgy dialogue. It takes the genre to a higher level.