Grit 5

Strapped into a chair with duct tape – he had not been in a position like this for a long time. It irked him that someone so fucking stupid had managed to get the drop on him. The guy appeared intellectually subnormal as well. It looked as if he might benefit from a drool guard. But the fucker was light on his feet – you had to give him that. This guy would have made a decent ninja if he wasn’t so damned big. That kind of fucked with Grit too – the shadow that this ape cast should have tripped some inner alarm, but it hadn’t.

It was not a good thing to learn that you were getting old and slow by being smacked in the back of the head. To learn that your edge had become dulled in this way was somewhat humiliating. Still, he had the edge of patience and experience over this guy and that would win out – all he had to do was wait. It was hard not to laugh listening to the goon as he spoke on the phone – too many cellphone conversations had perhaps planted a great benign tumour in the lummock’s brainpan; still, that probably constituted more than he had had between his ears in the past.

The smaller guy that turned up quarter of an hour after the phone call had ended was an entirely different creature. He was the total opposite of the footsoldier. It struck him as almost surreally cartoon-like that they should be such stark opposites. The little guy looked like Slight. He smiled with the dead man’s grin – it was as if a downsized photocopy were staring at him.

‘Mr Grit, I presume?’

‘Auditioning as a Bond villain are we short-arse?’

‘Definitely Mr Grit then – no question about that. I’d heard you were an insufferably cocky cunt. All that confidence seems a tad misplaced when you are sitting taped to a chair. I mean, I know the ape is pretty nimble on his feet but still, bit embarrassing, no?’

‘Not as bad as being related to the fucker, I’m sure.’

‘Okay, Gordon, come and pull this stupid fucker’s tongue out – I don’t need to hear him yapping to have my revenge.’

Gordon stuck his fingers into Grit’s mouth. Grit bit down on them like he had just been given some spare ribs and he worked really hard to strip the meat off the bone. The ape stepped back, tears streaming down his face, obviously in absolute agony, and that was when Grit’s foot connected with his family jewels and he went down like a great big sack of spuds. And Grit was free and standing in front of Slight’s relative with a big grin on his face.

‘Kind of fitting don’t you think?’

‘What’s that?’

‘A cartoon escape when faced by two cartoon villains.’

‘I don’t get you.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not surprised. Next time you send someone with the IQ of a brussel sprout out to deal with me you better make sure as fuck that they check me for blades. In the time it took him to get you here I was already well on my way to being free. This is why you bullshit artists don’t last two seconds in this game – you’re fucking sloppy.’

‘Er.’

‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect to be witness to any great profundity as you utter your last words.’

The blade went in just above the man’s dick and sliced upwards to just under his chin. It was a great knife – Grit used it for gutting the game that he went hunting on weekends. This was a tool of leisure but like all the things that he owned they had tobe functional as well as beautiful. He was covered in some shithead’s guts now and he was behind schedule yet again, and fuck did he have one bad motherfuckin’ headache.

The ape was still bellyaching about his fingers when Grit thrust the blade into his jugular. He needed to get out of here and not be bothered by anymore of Slight’s relatives. That wasn’t likely but you had think positively. Thus far they were a minor irritation but they were an irritation nonetheless. Time to get his groove on and go and kill the people he had been contracted to kill.

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