Tom Farrell imagines he has planned the perfect heist, bringing together a crew to knock off a hotel which forms the opening act of his hard-hitting debut novel. Whilst the heist itself is as old as the High Sierra hills, it is there only to set up the story. One of the crew, an Irishman, is killed by Farrell, who suspects he is planning a double-cross; diamonds taken in the raid are offered to the Albanian mob, but the deal sours and before long, the Albanians have wiped out the rest of Farrell's crew and friends, leaving Farrell on the run. The IRA are also after him for killing one of their own. Bloody gun-play ensues.
All well and good so far, but the book risks losing the plot with its constantly roving narrative viewpoint in the second act, settling mid-way for an especially powerful sequence: Farrell's Heart of Darkness-like trip through the underbelly of New York, strung out on drink and drugs and giving in to his violent urges is a remarkable centrepiece. Farrell may not be a likeable central character, lacking all sympathy and thoroughly flawed, but he has a nasty charisma. Other characters are stick figures by comparison and, to be brutal, the point-of-view chapters about FBI agent Francis McCarry could have been dropped entirely without much loss to the book, and potentially interesting characters like Tom Ryan, a terrorist assassin, endangers himself and others with so many bizarre decisions you wonder how he ever survived long enough to get involved in this particular plot. Ledwidge tells his story in a modern hard-boiled style that is easy to get caught up in, making the book's flaws - which make the ending especially surrealistic - that much more frustrating.
