Ted Singh had really had enough of Bobby Jake’s incessant whining, and he was more than somewhat relieved when Ziggy eventually shot the annoying t**t in the back of the head, spraying blood and gunk down the front of Bobby’s previously pristine white Fred Perry T-shirt.
Ted’s guts churned. Although he certainly had no qualms about the moral aspects of murdering Bobby, he didn’t really have the stomach for the gory stuff. He never had; truth be told. Ted liked to consider himself as ‘sensitive’ and ‘with an artist’s soul.’ He even wrote poetry, not that he’d tell the rest of the lads that.
‘Hold onto this for me,’ said Ziggy, handing the Glock to Ted whose hands shook as he took the g*n.
Zygmunt ‘Ziggy’ Kowalski checked his reflection in the mirror to see that there were no splashes of
