Grit – Family Matter 3

He read the obituary over breakfast – it was the same kind of bullshit they wrote about everyone: it bore no relation to John. Perhaps if people didn’t lie about what you had been when you were alive and people were allowed to admit that they were glad you were dead because of what you had done and what you meant to the world, then the world might have benefited. If that was how the world worked then he knew there would have been people queued up around the block to condemn John; he smiled when he thought of how many people would be there to put the boot in when he passed on.

The coffee tasted like shit. The breakfast was too greasy and too salty. He squinted his right eye, looked down the length of his arm and along his finger – bang – the cook would have fallen backwards into the fryer. Grit needed some work to take his mind of the bullshit with Terry. Terry was unavoidable – he was not the kind of problem that you could ignore; he was a loud-mouthed prick that was going to drag as many people into this as he could to make as big a stink as was possible. Grit had never like Terry.

Pinstripe sat down opposite him and smiled. Pinstripe was a grass – he tried hard to convince you that he was some kind of esteemed member of the Intelligence Community but scarpe through the thin veneer of badly applied bullshit and you saw him for exactly what he was – someone not to be trusted.

‘So, Pinstripe, what can I do for you, you fucking tapeworm?’

‘That ain’t very friendly, Mister Grit – I never did nothin’ to you, so why are you sore at me? Especially when I know somethin’ that might be able to help you.’

‘If I have to pay for it Pinstripe then you aren’t helping me you’re doing business with me. I have limited patience for shitheads so get to the point before I take out the considerable amount of frustration I have at the moment on you.’

‘Ooh, touchy.’

Grit had warned him once so he reached across the table, grabbed Pinstripe by his tie, pulled him a little closer, and punched him in the nose: it spread in a bloody mess.

‘Now, you stupid cocksucker, you are going to tell me for free. Next time you’ll know that when I warn you I mean it. What do you know? Even think about lying to me and I am going to stick a knife in your eye.’

A darkening patch of dampness spread across the front of Pinstripe’s pinstripe. Pinstripe was stupid but he wasn;t stupid enough not to believe the threat.

‘Terry has put a bounty on your head. Two people are already here to claim it – Jeffers and Hunt as I heard it.’

‘Thank you,’ Pinstripe,’ he said, stabbing the aforementioned knife through the end of the man’s tie, pinning him to the table.

Terry was a stupid bastard – a bounty? Where the fuck did he think he was? The wild fucking west? And who in the hell did he think he was dealing with? It looked like Grit’s family tree was going to be losing a few branches very soon.

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