When the bullets hit the windscreen, Johnny’s PTSD was back.
Johnny was a marksman with a history; he was a former British Army soldier. Killing people wasn’t an issue.
His finger was on the trigger, but when he saw the banker with his wife and kids, he thought of his own wife and kids, and his finger locked. He had suffered from PTSD for years; he froze; he couldn’t do it.
The memories of killing were still there; however, it was different now. Killing in war was different; this wasn’t a war, he was a mercenary.
He had already fulfilled his duties as a sniper in Afghanistan, yet he wouldn’t kill for money. He exited the hotel room with his rifle and made his way out of the hotel as fast as he could.
It was a prepaid job for an Irish mob. The Irish weren’t willing to let him lose.
When he got into the rented car, he thought he was free as a bird, until they hit the windscreen.
Johnny was shot to pieces. Like a dead dog, he got four in the chest and two in the head.
In total defiance, he was stripped of his identification; they left nothing behind in the car.
Johnny was found in a car, with the boot, hood, and car doors left wide open.
This was a signature killing by the Irish mob in Alicante!