fiction
The Ugly Slit - A “Glockx Game Story“
Image courtesy of Pixabay
So, it is done. I have sent my second episode in the “Glockx Game” series off to precisely the same blind fools who rudely dismissed its precursor. Pointed out that without contextual depth, the style, tone and sheer brilliance of the work had entirely escaped them. At the risk of unbecoming hubris, I sincerely believe that this second piece magnificently eclipses my first effort. It will rightly take its place as the crowning glory of my oeuvre. I do not say this lightly dearest diary, as the work produced thus far on my authorial journey has been truly sublime, if somewhat unappreciated.
I will sign off now, for the hour is late and I will be checking my inbox from first light. I will lay my weary head down hoping for a bidding war and remain justifiably confident that a considerable and well-deserved advance will soon be swelling my depleted coffers. As before, I attach a printout of the story for my future archivist.
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The Ugly Slit - A “Glockx Game Story “
It had not gone to plan. The trail to her location had provided few clues along the way, making progress hard. On the way to joining up the dots, he spotted her once, but missed the lights allowing him to tail her. He’d jumped on the brakes so as not to breach the Highway Code, forcing the wheels of his mobility scooter to almost skid. Mark my words, he thought, you can run but you can’t hide.
Her day would come. Eating away at his peace of mind was the thought of Dick. He’d given him one more chance after she was still alive and angrily absorbed the disappointing blow. Jobs like this one left no margin for error and doubt had crept into his soul like rainwater seeping into a leaky welly boot saturating the socks of his confidence. But plugging the hole in his self esteem was vital if he was to see the job through. Panic had wormed its way into his broken psyche, catalysing dread, like that felt when a pervert forgets to turn off his laptop camera.
He'd entered her flat with the stealth of a dog licking its balls. Crossing the hallway corridor, he’d counted the gun shots, a total of four. Skin in the game, he reached for his own weapon, quickly realising she was in the lounge watching a film, the loud volume providing him with the cover he needed. She killed the sound, pausing the film to take a toilet break. Had he turned his mobile off? Glockx anxiously wondered if it would vibrate, or ring if his handler contacted him for an update. Chance had been cruelly against him so far, and he’d consistently lost the toss. Face the situation like a pro, remember your training …
His confused brain scattered possible execution strategies around his mind, like soiled underpants on a pre-wash cycle. Filthy deeds always required filthy methods and he knew all about filth after years of living on his own with a subscription to the Adult Channel. Gathering his thoughts, Glockx slowly withdrew his knife, the blade glistening in the hallway’s half-light all too conspicuously, like a floater in a swimming pool. He’d run its razor-sharp edge deep into her neck, tracing its bloody rim. Licking his lips at the thought of the kill, his mind had one purpose, like a man with his cock trapped in his fly.
Glockx channelled that experience now, in search of its clarity and burning urgency. He’d suffered several lacerations to his penis. Liquor had numbed the pain and he wished he still drank. Alcohol had dulled his senses and he’d given it up a decade ago when the home care people had installed his stair lift. The sound of the film resuming encouraged him to creep forwards, an unseen lion stalking a distracted gazelle. If he’d brought the walking frame with him, he would have been on her like a lightning bolt finding its earth.
As it was, her death would be delayed, but not avoided. Men like Glockx, knew that once a contract was agreed, the mark was living on borrowed time. Her number was up, and he would not screw up again like an amateur knob. Stick to the plan and she dies…
The kill had been messy. Desperately clutching her ragged, blood-drenched throat, the mark had gurgled her last goodbye. He remembered the words of Dick - “Splash water on the knife and wipe it clean. I want Mario’s knife found at the scene”. Glockx had agreed to the set up as payback for the previously botched attempt on the mark’s life.
He preferred a gun to a knife on account of his own frailty. Knives were hard work and dangerous. He carried out Dick’s wishes and removed the smeared blood from his haggard face. Sitting down by the corpse to catch his breath, he surveyed the girl’s body, and his mind ran to sex. Dolls like her always excited his urges and he momentarily felt lightheaded. Knowing that gun no longer fired live rounds or anything but his own brown piss, he let the thoughts drift away like hope abandoning a sinking ship. He too could go down, but not tonight.
Blood continued to drip from the ugly wound he’d savagely inflicted, like melted cheese escaping a toasted sandwich. Just like a Breville sandwich maker, this scene was going to be hard to clean up. Glockx could not afford to leave any trace of his having been in the girl’s flat. With his run of failure, he could not afford anything. Dick would be only too happy to give him the load he’d withheld until the job was done. Fourteen bags of cream eggs as a bonus if he didn’t rub Dick up the wrong way.
Glockz headed out into the rainy night, the still air suffused with cold drizzle and unwelcomingly moist. Pussy would probably be sheltering under the shed again and Glockz made a mental note to get her in before he went to bed. Planning…the mark of a true professional.
The End.