Pickle Pie

DROP TWO

DROP TWO

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Hector said, pushing the flash drive back.

The client was fidgety, to say the least. He kept l*****g his lips, scratching his elbow till it bled, and only half of this behaviour was from substance a***e. “Come on, man, it’s collateral. I’ll pay you the rest as soon as I turn a profit. I got a tip, man. I got a tip.”

Hector sat back down on his chair and sighed out loud. He’d never stay seated when a client was present at his store, but Diego was no longer a good client. A long-time client, sure, but a good one?

Nah…

He grabbed a piece of armour and kept working on it to keep his hands busy while the junkie apologised and went on and on about how he’d finally get his big score and pay off his debts.

He fixed a spot at the armpit, the client had complained that it dug into his skin and made it uncomfortable. Custom armour was his expertise, so he simply grabbed his tools and fixed it. Yeah, he ran his fingers on the curve, there was indeed a sharp edge that could catch fabric. Just a tiny bit of filing and a cloth tape to make it softer. Hector cut the tape with his teeth and stuck it in place like an expert. He spun it around in the light, you could hardly see it.

“The tournament man, I’m telling you, we’re gonna get rich! Filthy rich.” Diego placed the flash drive again on the desk. His fingers dirty, his nails even worse, his clothes stinking from some d**g joint, he placed the flash drive on the surface with reverence.

Strangely, it was the only thing that was clean on that man.

“Filthy, indeed,” Hector said, raising his eyes back towards his client. “Diego,” he demanded. “For the last time, I’m not a sports manager. I make armour. I fix armour. I custom-fit armour. That’s all my father did, and that’s all I know how to do. I don’t know s**t about sports.”

“But-But that’s it, it’s perfect, I’m telling you. The girls, they wear armour. Can’t you see, it’s a match made in heaven?” Diego cupped his hands together to underline his point.

Hector breathed in hard and instantly regretted it. The aroma was… intense. “Diego, just pawn it off and bring me at least a portion of the money you owe me,” he said, the matter already past its expiration date.

“Nah, man, I only trust you with my woman.”

“That’s… Wow. Let’s just say, wrong, on so many levels.”

“The pawnshop will just sell her off,” Diego said, head bowed. He cleaned his nails nervously. “At least with you, I’ll know she’ll be treated good, like I have.”

Hector leaned forward and threw the chest armour aside. “Diego, please don’t get me wrong, but I need to say this to you and I’ll try to be as clear as possible. I don’t give a s**t about your woman. I don’t give a s**t about your bets. I need the money you owe me. Canvas is collecting tomorrow. Figure it out, sell the blockchain key, whatever.”

Diego bit his lip, his eyes darting around the place, outside, far away down the street. Hector could see that the man wanted to run, but he wasn’t stopping him. It was a lost cause. He should know better than to work with a junkie, but Diego had been a long-time customer. His father would have cut him off instantly, but Hector was too soft for business.

No wonder his was going under.

His chair creaked. His shelves were practically empty. His clients non-existent.

He spun around in his chair and made a decision. “Diego, get the f**k out, and get me my money. Please. Now let me get on the phone with actual paying customers in case I can score a last-minute order.”

He turned his back.

Diego froze and said nothing for a while. Then he shuffled out of the shop.