Grit 6

He had a jackhammer pounding in his skull. He needed to get rid of it or it was going to fuck with his concentration. It wasn’t as if he could do this with anything other than close work. He had to get right up in the face of these bastards and he had to take them out one by one. People didn’t wait for you to get in position though – they didn’t line up in a nicely choreographed ballet of action; they fucked with your plans, awkward bastards that they were. He had knives, guns, whatever he could carry without weighing himself down too much. The head didn’t help – he’d taken some pills but they hadn’t kicked in yet. He didn’t need to get another beating in the near future and he didn’t intend on receiving one.

He had a good line of sight; and sitting there watching them, this damned headache sawing away behind his eyes he started to change his mind: he figured he might as well take a few out from here if he could do it without tipping anyone else off. They were bound to be on a heightened state of alert – he couldn’t believe that Slight’s men wouldn’t take the opportunity to tell John that they had saved him from a hitman and get him on side. They had bitten off more than they could chew with Grit and he was just one man – he hated to think what Grimoire represented in terms of committing their resources to dealing with any action he initiated, so a chance to gain an ally was something they couldn’t pass up.

One of the guards moved to the edge of the light, unzipped and started to take a piss. There was no one else around so Grit put a bullet in his head. He thankfully fell forwards and disappeared in shadow. His companion who had been checking out the other side of the house returned to the point where the first guard’s body was. He crouched and leaned over it. Pop! Another bullet and another guard in the shadow. Now if he was lucky he would have caught them a fair while before they were ready to change shifts and he would be able to get to the house without any alarms being sounded.

He approached carefully, adrenaline pushing through him. The headache was finally starting to ease off. He was in the zone – whoever he met was dead. He was a killing machine.