Grit 8

Like a lot of men that have surrounded themselves with a network of people to do their thinking for them, to do their grunt work for them – they lose touch; become somewhat lazy. Granted, Grimoire was not as lazy as some that he had seen but it was all a matter of degrees. If you had everything done for you pretty soon you got blunt n some vital aspect of the day to day.

People looked to Grit and saw that he was still working hard and they assumed that he had to work to survive – that he had managed his money badly or something along those lines. People never did learn that lesson about the worthlessness of assumptions. Assumptions in Grit’s game didn’t just make an ass of you they got you killed. Grit had assumed that he was dealing with a professional and that the work he had been given by this man was work worthy of someone with his reputation. It wasn’t.

In a place where everyone is comfortable with their status as the top dog audacity becomes a weapon – attack, in and of itself, becomes a surprise. With a headshot you don’t need to worry about the silencer slowing the bullet down. When you can’t get a clear shot at the head shoot them in the foot – when they jackknife in half bring your knee up and drive their nose up into their brains. As if a bunch of firecrackers were whispering Grit emptied bullet after bullet into Grimoire’s army. When he would tell people about taking this many people on and walking out alive people would think him a liar – pack animals are slow, he would say.

Peeling through layer after layer of the organisation Grit did something that the police force hadn’t been able to do in fifteen years of trying – he shut Grimoire down. It was a slaughterhouse full of lots of dead dumb animals.

Grit took the keycard he had taken from the first goon he had executed and slid it through the lock. It opened and he stepped inside the room where Grimoire ran all this from. He had two bodyguards stood next to him and they stood there and told Grit to put down his weapon. Was he going to do that? Fuck no. Number one dumb fuck covered Grimoire and his brother in arms with blood and brain matter. Number two dumb fuck was stood there shooting – he was trying to do his job, but he was shooting where Grit had been not where he was. Grit kneecapped him and, as he fell, delivered the coup de grace and blew the top of his skull off.

He walked up to Grimoire and began to check him for weapons. Not even armed – now that truly was arrogance. Is this what power did to you?

‘You know there’s no one coming, don’t you?’

‘Yeah. Before you kill me I’d like to know why.’

‘Because I am a professional and you did me a discourtesy by handing me a fucking domestic. I never left a living breathing example to tell people what I wanted them to hear. I don’t play Chinese whispers. Corpses are so much more eloquent.’

‘O—’

And Grit left.

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