Ink (4 page)

“That’s fucking awesome. Where did you find a tattoo guy in Cancun?”

Jason replied with a short message. “Not in Cancun.”

“Why not?”

Jason laughed while he typed his response. “Shelley and I split up.”
Split up
was far better than
Shelley left me
, even though it came down to the same damn thing. She’d finally gathered up all her pretensions and carried them out the door.

And I think I’m okay with it. A lot better than okay.

He flexed his left arm. The bandage crinkled, but the tape held. His skin gave a small twinge of protest, not horrible, yet enough to make its presence known.

If he wanted to be truthful, he wondered why Shelley stayed with him for as long as she did. In theory, he could have left her, but theory wasn’t always realistic. Maybe the tattooed Jason could have left her. But the Jason before, could he have left? He pushed the uncomfortable thought way down.

Brian wrote back. “Sorry, dude. I’m at McAfee’s. Want to join me?”

“Sure.”

I can’t believe I did it.

He smiled and looked down at his arm once more before he drove away.

10

Jason walked into McAfee’s, a bar and restaurant at the opposite end of Fells Point, and found Brian at a table in the back, along with Vic, the newest employee on the team. Jason and Vic were friendly but not exactly friends; he and Brian, on the other hand, had known each other since college.

Hidden speakers pumped classic rock into the air. The passage of twenty years' worth of customers had walked the shine off the wood floor, the tables were scuffed and scratched, and the bar top was marked with old cigarette burns and water stains. Tourists often passed the place by, in favor of the flashier places right off the water, but McAfee's served some of the best burgers in the city and the prices were cheap.

“So what the fuck happened?” Brian asked. The body spray he used, to ”attract the ladies”, lingered in the air, though only a ghost of its usual potency.

Jason shook his head and pushed a plate of half-eaten nachos out of the way. “I was getting ready to pack, and she said she wanted to talk.”

A cute blonde with a tiny tank top and low-rise jeans passed by, smiling at Jason, and he smiled back.

“Just like that?”

Jason nodded and ordered a beer, a burger and fries from their waitress. “Just like that.”

He had known by the look in Shelley’s eyes she wanted more than a quick little talk and once she started, her words sped up until they were an incomprehensible blur. After the words, she left with her suitcases in hand, without a look back over her shoulder. For once, she didn’t want to stay and watch him bleed. Or maybe she feared there wouldn’t be any blood at all. Maybe she knew that last stick of the knife might not have been as painful as she hoped.

“You’re better off,” Brian said. “She was a bitch. She’s had your balls in a sling for years, man.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Brian had no idea. It had been more than a sling. She’d had them in a set of vise grips and whenever he stepped a little out of his expected Jason-place, she squeezed them tight.

The waitress brought Jason’s beer; he winced at the quick sting of skin against bandage as he took the bottle from her hand.

Vic pushed his glasses up on his nose. “So, are you going to show it to us or what?”

“It’s still all bloody. You probably won’t be able to see the detail.”

“Big deal, come on.” Brian said.

Jason grinned. “The picture wasn’t enough, huh?”

“No fucking way, man. Stop being a tease. I want to see it in person.”

With the edge of his fingernail, Jason loosened the surgical tape holding the bandage in place and peeled it back. Blood speckled the bottom of the white gauze, but the tattoo itself emerged clean.

“That’s fucking amazing,” Brian said.

“Holy shit,” Vic said at the same time. “How long did that take?”

“About two and a half hours.”

“Bullshit,” Brian said.

“No bullshit.”

“Are you serious?” Vic asked, his eyes wide.

“Dead serious. The guy worked fast.”

“No way,” Vic said. “My brother got one with half the detail. It took four hours in two sittings.”

“I’m serious.”

“Was it flash or a custom design?” Brian asked.

“I told him what I wanted, and he sketched it on paper first, then he started with the gun. The picture looked good, but not half as good as it turned out.”

“Damn,” Brian said. “Hold your arm up. I want to see it better.”

Jason held his arm over the table.

Brian whistled. “That’s crazy good. It looks like it’s alive. Where’d you get it done?”

“Over on Shakespeare Street. I met him Tuesday night at Schaefer’s Pub and—”

“Wait.” Vic leaned forward. “You just met the guy Tuesday, and you let him do your tattoo?”

“Yeah, but I saw examples of his work at the shop before I let him start.”

“When you got there?”

“Yes.”

Vic shook his head. “You hadn’t even seen his work when you went to the shop?”

“No. I mean, I saw his tattoos—”

“That doesn’t mean
he
did them,” Vic said.

Brian frowned. “Jason, are you crazy? Since when did you want a tattoo anyway?”

“I wanted one a long time ago.”

When I was Jason, not just Shelley’s husband.

Understanding flashed in Brian’s eyes; he clinked the neck of his beer bottle against Jason’s. “To freedom, man.”

“That’s a great tattoo.”

Jason turned. The blonde in the tank top stood next to their table, looking down at his arm with a smile on her face. “Thank you. I just had it done,” he said.

“Can I take a closer look?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Wow, the detail is really impressive. My ex-boyfriend is a tattoo artist, but his work doesn’t even come close. I love the shading in the wings and the way your guy gave him eagle’s talons on his forelegs. I’ve seen a lot of designs with just lion’s paws. They don’t look as good that way, in my opinion. I kind of have a thing for griffins.” She straightened up and lifted the hem of her shirt. “My ex did this one.” The griffin tattooed on her side paled in comparison to Sailor’s work. She gave Jason an even bigger smile and pushed her shirt back down. “I’m Mitch.”

“Jason.”

Mitch sat down in the empty chair. “Who did your work?”

“His name is John. He has a shop on Shakespeare Street,” Jason said, folding the bandage back down over the tattoo. “Do you want a drink?”

“Sure. Shakespeare Street? Is it a new shop?”

“I don’t think so, but it might be.” Jason waved the waitress over and smiled when Mitch ordered a beer, not a candy-colored drink with a stupid name. When the waitress came back with his food and her beer, Mitch took the bottle and moved her chair close enough so the ends of her hair brushed against his forearm. She smelled like coconut, but not perfume, maybe shampoo. Shelley had worn enough perfume for two women, but Mitch’s coconut smell didn’t make his eyes water or his throat itch like Shelley’s had. And she was cute, definitely cuter than Shelley. Not Hollywood starlet beautiful but girl next door pretty, with blue eyes, a slight gap between her front teeth, and an old scar over one eyebrow, like a comma tilted on its side.

She helped him finish his fries, and the four of them talked about nothing and everything in between. Mitch worked in a hair salon and told stories about some of her clients, Brian did his best impersonation of their boss but kept it going too long as usual and Vic told bad jokes that resulted in a lot of frowns and much less laughter.

A little after eleven, Vic and Brian said their goodbyes. On his way out, Brian leaned close enough for Jason to smell the beer on his breath. “She’s hot and she likes you. Call me tomorrow.”

Not long after that, Mitch hid a yawn behind her hand. “Well, I should head out. I had a long day, and I didn’t plan on staying out so late.”

“Are you okay to drive?”

“I walked. My place is close. How about you? Are you okay?”

Silence stretched out between them. Jason looked into her blue eyes and thought about lying. He’d had three beers and food. He was fine to drive, but he liked the way she smiled. He liked it a lot. “Maybe I should walk you home,” he said.

She smiled and put her hand on top of his. “I’d like that.”

They left the bar, and halfway down the block she stepped a little closer so their arms were almost touching.

“Do you have to work in the morning?” she asked.

“No, I’m off the rest of the week.”

“My first appointment isn’t until ten tomorrow.”

Jason feared reading anything into her words. Maybe she was just making conversation. “I plan to sleep until noon.”

“Lucky you.”

Mitch stopped in front of a narrow rowhouse with shuttered windows and a marble stoop. “This is my place.”

“We—”

She cut off his words with a quick kiss, her mouth soft against his. “I don’t normally do this kind of thing, but do you want to come in?”

He did. He wanted to go in, kiss her again, and strip off all her clothes. Instead, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it even while a voice in his head called him a stupid fool. “I’ll be honest. I’d like to, but I’d rather wait.”

Mitch smiled. “Okay.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a business card. “My number is on here.”

Jason pulled out his wallet and did the same. She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. He breathed in her coconut smell, his body protesting his decision.

“I like you, Jason. I hope you call me.”

“I will,” Jason said, and he meant it.

After she went inside, a quick click let him know she’d locked the door. He turned around and walked back in the direction of his car. He would call and ask her out. Dinner, maybe, but someplace nicer than McAfee’s.

11

Jason awoke in shadowy darkness, confused by the sound of scratching. The red letters of his clock glowed like ghosts in the room—3:35 a.m. He rolled over on his back, raised his arms above his head and listened, but the house replied only with silence. He closed his eyes, almost asleep when the sound came again.

Scrrrrtch.

A small, insistent sound. The sound a cat made when it pawed at the door to be let in or out, if said cat had its claws extended. Jason sat up and pushed his hair off his forehead. He’d forgotten to close the blinds, and the streetlamps outside cast a dim light into his room.

Scrrrrtch.

This time it sounded close and angry. He didn’t have a cat, and his bedroom was on the second floor. It didn’t make sense. Only half awake, he pushed back the blanket, swung his legs over the side and walked across the room, the wood floor cool beneath his feet. He looked out the window at the empty street. No people, no cats. He looked under the bed. Nothing there either, just the long expanse of dark wood floor and a few dust bunnies that had escaped the vacuum cleaner.

Jason sat back down on the bed. The half-asleep part of his mind beckoned; the half-awake part said find the damn cat and chase him away.

Scrrrrtch. Scrrrrtch.

Jason looked down at the bandage on his arm. Dried blood had turned the fabric stiff. He should take it off, use the ointment and put on a fresh bandage, but—

Scrrrrtch.

Jason froze. It sounded as if the scratching noise came from underneath the bandage.

Impossible.

He shook his arm, waited a few minutes, then shook it again, but the scratching noise did not return. Writing it off as a trick of the night, house-noise made too vivid in the shadows, he went back to bed. It had been a stupid thought, anyway. The only thing underneath the bandage was the tattoo.

12

The next morning, Jason took the bandage off and covered the tattoo with ointment, wincing when his fingers touched the still-tender skin. He spent almost ten minutes staring at the detail. The griffin’s talons looked sharp enough to scratch and tear open flesh, the beak hooked and ready to strike. Each feather of its wings, Jason’s favorite part, ended in a golden brown the color of wet sand. They appeared soft enough to touch; real enough to spread wide and take off at a moment’s notice.

After coffee, he thought about calling his parents to break the news about his marriage. His dad would be fine. He’d never been fond of Shelley. But his mom? A different story. She loved Shelley, and love made it easy to turn a blind eye to a person’s faults. He knew that all too well. His parents were retired and liked to go on day trips, so they might not even be home, but he called anyway, happy when his dad answered the phone.

“Jason, I didn’t expect to hear from you until you got back.”