DROP FIFTY-ONE

 

 

Hector walked inside the bakery class, snorting all the way. The big, top-heavy man he was looking for was wearing a silly cook’s apron that said, ‘Real men beat eggs.’

There were a bunch of people there, mostly retired with nothing better to do, chopping away at vegetables, boiling water, pouring salt and spices while wearing their chef’s hats and aprons. Hector walked through the kitchen counters that were splayed out for the class and leaned on the one his favourite bouncer was working on. He snatched one of the delicacies being prepared and ate it. “Mmm, this is nice. Plenty of cheese in it. What is it?”

George frowned at him and his overblown muscles twitched through his t-shirt. “It’s Crispy Asiago Frico, and thanks, but don’t eat any more, you’re ruining my plate presentation.”

“I won’t,” Hector said, raising his palms up in surrender. “Hey, buddy…”

“We’re not buddies,” George said, waving a spatula around and being the most threatening person in the world with a kitchen utensil. “We’re acquaintances.”

“Nah, I think after all that feeling up one another, it almost counts as first base, so there’s more to it,” Hector taunted. “I wanted to repay you for getting you in the doghouse with Nicomedes…”

George turned to him, apparently having grabbed his attention. He was still prepping some doughy thing with his fingers.

“… And instead of just giving you something, I thought I’d hire you for the opening party the Pies are having. What’s better than actually hiring you for the skill you’re good at? Huh?”

George pressed his lips together and smushed some cheese into shape. “Yes, it does make me feel appreciated, thank you. And no, I wouldn’t have accepted a gift or a money transfer just like that.”

“See?” Hector exclaimed. “We’re so in tune with one another, it’s crazy…”

“What’s the venue?” George asked, like a professional should.

“Ugh… To be decided. I’ve hit a snag there, thought you’d be able to help out with your contacts?” Hector’s voice trailed off.

“Don’t push it.”

“Fine, we’ll figure something out.” Hector reached for another one of the fricos or whatever they were called.

George slapped his hand away, it was like a robot hitting you with a metal fly-swatter.

“Ow! Okay, I won’t try any more of your canapes.”

“There’s a competition today, that’s why I’m tense,” George grunted, still prepping his dish.

“Uh-huh,” Hector smirked.

George pointed a flour-white finger at Hector. “And no telling anyone I like cooking!”

Hector raised his palms up in surrender again. “Never! Only if it’s a hot woman looking for a bachelor, promise.”

“Good,” George said. He turned back to his task. “It calms me, my job is too stressful,” he said, pressing his lower lip like an overgrown baby.

“Excellent! I’ll leave you to your competition,” Hector beamed and turned to leave.

“Hey, how did you find me, anyway?” George asked, rolling something between his enormous hands.

“Oh, your phone checked you in automatically, there’s some way to look that up if you know what to look for,” Hector said, shrugging.

“Damn! Need to turn that off. Okay, now leave, I’ve got cooking to do,” George said, not looking pissed off anymore.

“See ya,” Hector said and walked between the other cooks towards the exit.