Bleeding Hearts
Chapter One
She had just over three hours to live, and I was sipping grapefruit
juice and tonic in the hotel bar.
"You know what it's like these days," I said, "only the toughest are
making it. No room for bleeding hearts."
My companion was a businessman himself. He too had survived the
highs and lows of the '80s, and he nodded as vigorously as the
whiskey in him would allow.
"Bleeding hearts," he said, "are for the operating table, not for
business."
"I'll drink to that," I said, though of course in my line of work
bleeding hearts are the business.
Gerry had asked me a little while ago what I did for a living, and
I'd told him import-export, then asked what he did. See, I slipped
up once; I manufactured a career for myself only to find the guy I
was drinking with was in the same line of work. Not good. These days
I'm better, much cagier, and I don't drink on the day of a hit. Not
a drop. Not anymore. Word was, I was slipping. Bullshit naturally,
but sometimes rumors are difficult to throw off. It's not as though
I could put an ad in the newspapers. But I knew a few good clean
hits would ... read full excerpt from: Bleeding Hearts ebook
