Grit 9

For the next few days Grit asked one question and one question only: if I let you go and tell the rest of your associates to leave me alone will we be done? Thus far the answer had been in the negative. At least the ones he asked didn’t waste his time by lying. He didn’t think they understood that it was the last question they were going to be asked. That was none of his concern. He needed to get shot of this problem – needed to be rid of Slight and all his friends who thought they owed him a bullet in the head. It was simultaneously refreshing to see this much loyalty and sickening to see so much stupidity in the face of death. If Grit ever got to the point where it was a choice between having his nuts taken off with an arc welding torch or spilling the beans on someone he would save his nuts every time and not feel guilty about doing it. Grit didn’t get in situations like that.

He kind of hated himself for doing it, but he had been in that kind of mood where once you have used and dirtied a tool you don’t want to use it again. He had left behind a lot of really nice hardware. Of course none of it was traceable. The people who picked up these messes after he had done his work would know who had done it because that was what the whole thing was about. The police and forensics would be as noticeable a presence here as they were at a race riot. Leave the fuckers to it was the prevalent attitude of the day; it was a bought state of mind.

Grit had chopped off so many branches from the Slight tree that he was hoping that he would soon be down to the roots. Shit, he had even tortured and killed the grandparents in an effort to scare the rest of the clan off. He left the kids and the babies out of it. Let the spouses go. Was he getting soft? No, he just had principles. If they came after him of course he would kill them. Why waste bullets otherwise?

He hadn’t been keeping count on how many he had killed since this fiasco started but when you considered the impetus for all that death it all seemed so stupid. He might rest for a bit after this one was done with – after all the loose ends were tied up.

The Slight crew was vastly diminished and he finally believed that he had the last of them on their knees in front of him. Five of them – all related by blood, all cursing into their gags, all wild-eyed and shit-scared behind their blindfolds. The biggest of them – Gerald: he was even more terrified. Why? Because he had been digging graves for about three hours while Grit cooked himself a meal on a little gas burner.

He judged that the graves were finally ready and re-bound Gerald and gagged and blind-folded him once more. Then he paused to eat his beans and frankfurters. It took him ten minutes to finish eating and in that time all five of the men had considered ways of getting out of this – he knew they had. People overthought things though. He would have just acted – there were five of them and not a single one had the balls to try something, even knowing that they were going to die.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Miss. Gerald had stood up. Gerald was running around like a headless chicken. Bang. Grit rolled each of them into their respective holes in the ground and began to shovel the dirt in on top of them. He would be long dead before any of the offspring of these bastards ever thought about revenge. Shit, did he need a drink or what?