The story is narrated about three-quarters by Bridgett Logan, a Manhattan private investigator from an Irish-Catholic Bronx background. She wants to live up to her father's expectations of her when he was alive. He wanted her to become a cop, she became a junkie.
Now recovered and working for people far better than her, she is asked by an old friend from her junk days to help her out of a jam. The things Bridgett subjects herself to, strains credulity. The loyalty her friends have for her and what they're willing to expose themselves to, equally strains belief. She rewards each one, including her nun sister, by repeatedly lying to them.
This is my first Attiticus novel. I found Andrew a much more interesting person than Atticus.
Bridgett has few redeeming characteristics except a methodical mind that's willing to risk her life for a friend. I didn't find her a very believable or likeable character. The other characters were not developed well enough. Perhaps I'd have to read previous novels to have a better feel for them.
Maybe most of the other reviewers who praised this novel so highly, enjoy stories of the mean streets of addiction depravity, but I prefer to make a better connection with the characters I read about. They don't have to be necessarily likeable, but they need to be at least interesting. Bridgett Logan was neither.
I don't typically like books about addicts or drugs. Frankly they give me the creeps, and this book, in those sections anyway, gave me the creeps in spades. I also found the character of Bridget, once we see what's going on inside her head, to be less appealing and more appalling than she was when she was Atticus' girlfriend, through his eyes. She's stubborn, not very honest, annoyingly self-centered, and at times downright stupid. These two things detracted from what was otherwise a worthwhile book; I still enjoyed it though, and Rucka manages to make an ending to the story that surprised me, and pleased me a bit more than I thought it would.