Grit 2

Grimoire had been expecting him. He knew Grit’s reputation – knew he wouldn’t run from what he had done; that wasn’t his way. Grit was one of the few old school gangsters still out there – one of those that you could rely on. If he had done Slight in then the guy had probably deserved it. That was all fine, but Grimoire had a target that had now gone to ground – one that would not be easy to flush out into the open.

‘I hope you don’t expect to get paid for that cock up?’

‘Course not. I came here to see what you needed me to do to set this straight.’

‘Hunt down and kill the fucking turd I sent you out there to kill.’

‘OK.’

‘Need I say that if you fuck up this time then our business will only be concluded when you have a bullet through your skull?’

‘Goes without saying.’

Grit made his way to the door. One of the goons had moved to block him. With a slight turn of the head he noticed Grimoire raise his hand and the door ape stepped aside.

‘Oh, Mr Grit, I just thought it would be sporting to let you know that Slight’s family and some of his old crew want your head on a plate. They’ll know you’ve been here – they probably have us staked out, unwise as that kind of thing is.’

‘No surprises there then.’

Grit got outside and his eyes drilled the angles with a sniper’s vision. Nothing. Perhaps they were scared. If they didn’t attack right out then he had to be careful of sneak attacks. He checked under his car before he got in it. He started it up and was just pulling out when a loud crack was followed by the side window showering him in glass.

‘You wait until I’m in my car, you dumb cunt?’

Grit drove straight at him and the idiot just stood there like he was the immoveable object. His head cracked the windscreen and he hit the roof like a sack of spuds. Grit watched him hit the ground and guessed his wrists probably shattered with the impact. Hmm, he thought, broken wrists are the least of your problems. Grit drove a volvo – it was like a fucking tank; he didn’t need any fancy shit to get him around. It worked a treat in this case – crunch, and there was one less dumb fucker from the Slight clan to trouble the world. Grit didn’t care who the fuck it was – he had things to do; he had to track down this guy for Grimoire and he had to end his life.

He had to watch Grimoire though, that much was definite. A warning that close to an attempt on his life seem too much of a coincidence.

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One Response

  1. I kind of feel like I’m watching someone else play GTA: they’ve cocked up a mission and are speeding around trying to sort it before the time runs out. Pretty fecking cool. I sound like a fan of mindless violence, and I’m not…but, yeah, this is good.

    This part threw me:
    “the idiot just stood there like he was the immoveable object.” – is ‘the immoveable object’ a well-known figure or proverb or something? If not, maybe consider ‘an immoveable object’; I know it sounds crazy-picky, but I was puzzled as to whether that phrase was supposed to mean something significant or not. Sorry, maybe I’m just being dumb.

    Overall, great write.

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