DROP FORTY-SIX

 

 

Canvas showed up out of the blue and Hector had a mini heart-attack.

He walked inside the shop, casually holding his high-tech rifle. He wore the armour Hector made for him, with patches of transparent material that attenuated his magnificent physique while still being able to stop large rounds.

“Hey, Canvas!” Hector squeaked. “I didn’t expect to see you this soon!”

“It’s been a month,” Canvas said simply. He leaned in into the display case, which squeaked under his weight.

“Time flies. And with the new team, things have been crazy, you know? Expenses, things to take care of, forms to fill out, contracts, expenses, a ton of expenses. I’m tapped out, man,” he pleaded. Wincing, he braced for the inevitable tearing up of his shop.

Canvas shrugged. “It’s okay,” he said solemnly. He was quiet, looking at his boots.

“What’s wrong, man? Is Angelo okay?” Hector enquired about the man’s second lover.

“He’s out of the ICU, but still recovering. Thank you for asking.”

Okay, now Hector felt both weird and worried. “Canvas, I’ve never seen you like this. Is he in a bad shape?”

Canvas’ mouth turned into a squiggly line. He gestured over his face. “He got some shrapnel in the face. Some nerves are shot, and the doctors say it will show, loss of expression. The scars can be covered up, but the nerve damage will definitely remain.” The giant mountain of muscle looked out the window, ready to cry.

“Oh, man, I’m so sorry. But it doesn’t matter, right? I thought you loved each other. You’ve been doing the rounds for what, seven years?”

Canvas opened his arms and blurted out, “That’s what I keep telling him! I don’t care, he’ll always be handsome for me. But he pushes me away.”

Hector thought about it. “Well, he is still young. And I’m sorry, but he does seem a bit vain. He’ll understand some day that looks aren’t the only thing in the world.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a problem.” There was a long pause. “Hector, I assume you don’t have my 10k?”

Hector held his hands together. “No, I don’t…”

Canvas stood up, making Hector flinch. “Okay, look, I’ll come by next month, we’re cool. I still owe you my life, this armour is sweet. But I gotta make it look good for the other shopkeepers, all right?”

Hector nodded bitterly. “Okay. Are you gonna punch me?”

“Nah, I’ve had enough wrecked faces already for this decade. I’m just gonna yell at you, okay?” Canvas said, and waved his rifle around.

Hector perked up. “Oh. Yeah, I can live with that, it’s fine.”

Canvas walked up to the door, then turned around, yelling at the top of his lungs. “And then I’m gonna smash your knees, you skinny weakling!” He pointed the enormous rifle sideways at Hector as if it was a finger, but, he noted, the actual finger was off the trigger like a pro. “I’m Canvas, bitch! You don’t fuck with Canvas! Say it!”

“I-I don’t fuck with Canvas!” Hector said, acting scared. It wasn’t that hard in front of the scary security soldier.

“That’s right, bitch. Now go back and make some money to pay up.” He turned his voice down. “Thank you for listening. Good afternoon,” he said to Hector, then joined his patrol men and walked away.

Pickle showed up next to Hector, her hand behind her back. “What was that about?”

Hector leaned back and looked at her butt. There was a pistol there, she was holding it out of sight. He chuckled. “What were you planning to do, take them all out? And then what, once Ares gets alerted? Take out their reinforcements too?”

“Shuddup,” she said, rolling her eyes and walking away.

“And then the APCs with like twenty armed men inside? And then the shaped-charge drones? All of them?” he shouted after her.

As she left the shop round the back she gave him the augmented finger.