Stack The Deck - Day Shift
CW: multiple Whumpers, reluctant Whumper, general violence, knives, intimidation, extortion, stealing for love 🤍
Of all the odd jobs Belanger forced him into, this one definitely heralded Chris' new personal rock bottom. Yesterday a pusher, tomorrow a pimp. Today, the repo man downtown, retrieving what that lump of filth on the floor rightfully owed.
"Where's my money, Ian?" Belanger asked, dangerously unenthused, and took another step forward. The man cowering under him had gotten himself quite the place: a nice interior for a nice dorm - so many knickknacks to crush, yet so little time.
"Where is my goddamn money?"
It had always been the same spiel ever since Chris went on his first trip with his least favorite middleman; the people whining on the ground in the remainders of their self-respect had become more familiar than his own reflection.
Ian skidded back, his head hitting the windowsill roughly when no more way was given for his escape, a trail of blood dragging with his every movement. The first lamp Belanger smashed in impatience had dug tiny shards of glass deeply into his flesh.
"I have it- I swear, just..." he coughed, "I'm getting my check at the end of the week, yeah?!"
Oh, Ian… Bad call, buddy. Chris shook his head quietly. Back dutifully blocking any way out of Ian's precarious situation, he tried his best to drown out the fuss.
A flick of his wrist - then another tasteless ceramic decoration toppled over, shattering into a thousand pieces on the ground. The noise was undeniable, another reason for him to keep a lookout. Chris could only hope for this farce to be over soon.
Despite all of Belanger's effort, Ian was still a far stretch away from shedding a tear. His Elliot would have had a breakdown by now. The thought that not long ago Chris had performed a similar show with him stung deeply in his heart. How scared the poor thing had been…
Eager to shift into high gear, Belanger dropped down into a squat, blade flicking awake in his palm. Ian flinched backward, trying to bury himself inside the wall.
"I-I'll get you everything! I just need more time to-"
The sharp edge quivered expectantly, hungry to reprimand any foul copout. The time for talking was long over.
Here comes the ugly part.
"That’s what you promised last week, didn't you?" Belanger drawled, "So I let you off easy, again, only to get fucked over. Again."
The knife glided smoothly along the soft skin of his cheek, only coming to a stop when Belanger nicked a tiny mole near the man's eye. A smear of red on the steel proved his determination: "Or should I ask your mom for your share?"
There it was: the knockout argument that always got them more cooperative, without fail. Ian could only nod frantically.
As Chris closely watched specks of light dance in Belanger’s lardy scalp, the only source of entertainment this afternoon, his interest shifted towards the perfectly organized shelves once again.
"Cozy" popped into his head and left a queasy feeling. His Ell surely missed homely comfort in their one-bedroom dump, but Chris had soon realized that a visit to his parents was the last thing he needed now. That useless duo had botched taking care of their son long enough.
The spittle bubbling from Ian's mouth with every plea he tried to appease his creditor with only added more insult to injury. As if two to tango wasn't enough, Belanger paused the act for a second and gave his chaperone an inviting look:
"Does he think I'm stupid?"
Despite his stone facade, he always had a penchant for dramatics - probably took one too many theater classes before dropping out of middle school.
No chance, Chris was in no mood to play. One could claim all the late-night visits to their boss's office rubbed off on Belanger in the worst way possible. How could he enjoy their line of work?
A silent shrug was all he could give him. They weren't dealing with the usual clientele: far away from the familiar crackheads of East Hastings, this unlucky college student with a budgeting problem presented a nice change of pace for once. Yet Ian was just plain boring, and painfully so.
Ell would hate me for this. The lovesick man swallowed hard, his regrets tasting as bitter as ever.
Gradually, hidden behind scattered laundry and a now chipped wardrobe, a strange shape caught his eye: a long box ripped open only at one end leaned against the wood, with a familiar black-and-white pattern peeking out.
No way. If it really was what Chris thought it to be, the dry spell in his love life would soon be in the past.
He took his first slow step away from the door and towards the object of desire, mindful to not get too giddy too quickly, and pressed a finger down on the white key closest to the top.
Nothing. He tried again, a black one this time. Still, nothing but a low thud, even though the keyboard looked brand new, like his were the only fingers ever touching it. At the bottom of the box, he discovered a neatly coiled electric cord.
"Does that work?" Chris grunted, finally speaking for the first time since knocking on the dorm's door. He had to make sure the fragile idea sprouting in his mind wouldn't wither instantly.
"Huh?" Ian tried squirming away from the blade that pressed red lines under his chin with every stroke. The lighting from the floor lamps lit his petrified face in a soft glow; if his liking for instruments was as tasteful as his interiors, Chris had just struck gold.
"What?" Ian mewled, still staring up at the man whose other hand wrapped tightly around his neck, ready to clench when Belanger declared the begging too excessive.
"How loud?" Chris repeated, impatiently picking at his beard, "Like room level or more?"
"Do you want him to play us a tune while we wait for my money?"
Belanger snapped around, suddenly much less excited. The last thing he liked was Morris raining on his parade. There was no need for a demonstration, though - Chris only cared for a private performance far away from this busted-up amateur.
"It has-" the shaky answer wormed itself out of the man in high pitches, "a-a headphone jack, I think!"
Chris nodded, finally satisfied: "That'll do."
Ian's lament was cut short by a kick to the ribs, knocking all air out of his lungs. Panting, he curled up like a worm in the sun and kept quiet.
It was a gift indeed, a good one at that. How thoughtful of Chris; it wasn't even their one-month anniversary!
Beside him, Belanger, too, decided to rise back to his feet.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, low and without any real curiosity behind it.
Morris was overstepping again. Only one of them decided what would and wouldn't do as compensation, and it certainly wasn't the city's least eligible bachelor.
Oh, please. Belanger had become less and less intimidating with every hour spent together. A man who ate his shawarma with a side of pickled beets couldn't invoke his fear anymore, no matter how much Chris' knee ached with every one of his words.
Accordingly, he answered with a stare that told Belanger as long as Ian didn't bleed money, this act wouldn't get them anywhere. Dutch liked his bills spotless, without much ado. The only blood he craved was the one he himself allowed to flow free.
A draw, then. Fine. It was time to wrap this mess up.
Muttering curses under his breath, Belanger snatched a thin wallet off the cupboard. He wouldn't return empty-handed; certainly not without collecting the daily balance.
"Interest," he huffed, throwing the piece of leather down after gutting it thoroughly, waving the wad of cash in front of Ian, "for my troubles."
He nodded, despite it stinging like hell. Some people had to taste the consequences first before believing them. Next time, they would take something that couldn't be replaced.
Tugging the box under his arm, Chris stepped through the door without a second glance. Oh, how thrilled Elliot would be, at least in the fantasy that clouded all of Chris' senses.
"Friday, Ian. Don't forget me again, or I'll make sure you think about nobody else."
And as suddenly as they barged into the dorm living, they disappeared again, leaving Ian bleeding, terrified, yet safe for another few days. He could bear the cuts all over his skin, the ache lingering in his ribs. But not whatever came next.
The man who had so casually taken his electronic keyboard surely attracted unwanted attention, if not from strangers, then surely from Belanger - the only loser in this bargain.
Ian had his new deadline, and Chris, all airy in his stride, lost himself to an idea in full bloom.
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