Grit: Total Fuck-Up 1

A job gone bad – you can tell pretty quickly when something is going to go pear-shaped. He’d had a bad feeling about this one from the get go and he knew he should have just handed back the money and walked away. What had kept him there? Professional pride, greed, something else? Shit, he wished he could have said. Hindsight being twenty-twenty was fuck all use to him in the here and now. You could be philosophical about how you had fucked up and why but that did nothing to sort the problem out – if indeed there was any way to sort the problem out.
The intel had been ropey and some things had just not seemed to add up, and he still went ahead with it? Was he losing his edge? Had he lost it? This was not something that was easily going to unfuck itself. You couldn’t apologise your way out of killing the wrong person; and you definitely couldn’t do that when the person whose brain matter was sprayed all over the inside of the limousine you had just shot full of holes was one of your client’s nearest and dearest.
She wasn’t supposed to be there. He hadn’t seen her, and it wasn’t as if he had just blundered in – this was what he liked to think of as a carefully co-ordinated operation. Carefully co-ordinated, my arse, he thought – you stupid old cunt you may as well just put that gun to your head and blow your own brains out.
He’d killed youngsters before; killed women (the odd cheating wife), but he had never been asked and never wanted to, and never would have agreed to kill a child.
Did the person who gave him his instructions know the deal? Had they duped him into killing this kid? A fucking five year old – he gagged; felt the bile rise in the back of his throat. If someone came after him for this – correction, when someone came after him for this, part of him was going to be wondering whether or not to just let them get on with it. Accident or not this kind of thing just called for revenge.
Staring at the mirror, breathing heavily, can’t stand the sight of himself, and – bang, fist through the mirror. Seven years bad luck. And how much bad luck do you get for killing a child?

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