DROP FORTY-SIX
Canvas showed up at his store. Like every other time, he left his men outside and went inside with just two of them.
“Where’s your better third?” Hector asked, looking for the familiar face of Angelo.
“He’s injured,” Canvas said through his teeth. “Ten thousand,” he said, bringing his face over Hector’s. Then he stepped in the middle of the store and started undressing, pulling his vest and his t-shirt off.
Hector flinched and covered his head. “Whoa, Canvas, I’ve got the money, you don’t need to-”
The man showed his rippling muscles. Large patches of purple dirtied his otherwise smooth and waxed body.
Hector winced. “Ow, that’s gotta hurt.”
“All those are 50 calibre, direct hits.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly. I would’a been a goner if it hadn’t been for the armour you made me
