Page 37 of Destroyer

"No. The clouds. Find me this cloud on another card and I will take it."

We look, but there is nothing else, so I buy the card and grin at the cashier as I do. She wisely keeps quiet.

"I know what present I want for him." I tug on Porter's arm and lead him to a painting shop. It's not the shop for buying the paintbrushes, but for buying paintings other people have done and I know what will look perfect on Caeo's wall.

The shop smells like oil drums, but a nicer kind than the ones Gavriil would get for torture.

"These are nice," I pretend to understand what I'm looking at, but most of the paintings are unrecognisable as actual things.

"It's concept art," Porter informs me.

"What is the concept?"

"The artist uses their imagination to create a picture."

"I could make colour circles on paper. I should be an artist." I scoff. OK, maybe their circles are better than mine, but I don’t see the value in this art. "We keep looking. I want clouds." Caeo's bedroom is like a fluffy cloud, and I certain it will mean something to him.

We wander around the store under the watchful eye of a sour looking man at the cash desk. He looks as old as Caeo, if Caeo hadn't aged well or stayed handsome. And lost all his hair.

It's not the guy's fault he's aged badly, or even that his hair has fallen out making him very unsightly to look at. Some men look good bald, but not this guy. But it is his fault that he is glaring at me inthatlook. The look that is questioning my place on this earth. I don't like him on principle.

"Not let's buy anything here," I suggest. Porter agrees with a nod, and we turn to the exit.

That is when I seethepainting.

"Wait. That is it."

On the left it is blue sky, with fluffy clouds, a hint of pink on their edges. The clouds get darker and thicker until the image is a raging storm on the right.

Caeo is the fluffy cloud, and I am the raging storm he is trying to control.

"We is taking that one." I tell the cashier. I'll endure his look of contempt for that painting.

"Sorry, kid. That's not for sale."

"It is." I point at the price tag. "It is eighteen hundred points."

"You can't afford it."

"Pft." The cost is under one month's rent money from my father's bought house. I haven't even touched the six years of unknown wages that are sitting in my account. "I want to buy this painting for the asking price with my money please."

"My paintings aren't for tramps. Piss off kid."

I cast my eyes across what I'm wearing. I showered this morning, so I am clean, and my clothes are the new ones Caeo bought when I moved in. I look OK. Porter looks like a pampered dog, so the issue isn't him.

"There is money on the card."

"I'm not selling it to shitbags like you. So, piss off out of my shop."

This is all unusual. I'm not sure how to react to someone refusing me something for no good reason. Part of me wants to kill him and walk out with the painting. Part of me knows that is wrong.

It is wrong to kill someone for not selling a painting, I'm sure of it. But what is the point in being the mob's torturer if people get away with doing this shit.

"Ah. You are a man who doesn't sell art. So, this shop is just front for other things you do. Who do you work for?" Going on his attitude, I doubt he works for the Russians, so I'm guessing this is something Edward owns. I need to ask for permission to kill him. "Porter, ask Knox for a reason not to kill this man."

"I'm sorry, you want me to phone my boyfriend and ask him for a reason not to kill a guy we don't know because he won't sell you a painting?"

"You think I work for Knox Thayer?" The man laughs.

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