I hate being lied to. There is nothing more disloyal than a liar. I am who I am on the principle of loyalty. It was all over her face. In her hesitation. She was with someone last night, but who I still have to find out, and I will, because now I’m fucking angry. Anger issues are something I’ve dealt with for years, and in its presence, someone always ends up physically hurt. It’s one thing that has earned me so much respect.
I look at the clock on the wall when Vinny walks through the door for his appointment. 9AM. Cassie should be here by now. It’s been two hours since we opened. I stand and shake his hand as he makes his way to my chair. “You ready to do this?”
“You know it. Been ready since we did the outline a few months back.”
Vinny is one of my regulars. He has been for about five years now, but he drives or flies to wherever I am when he wants ink. I’ve always been a mover. I don’t stay in one place very long. Old habits die hard, I guess. I open shop, grow my business, and then one artist that I trust ends up becoming my manager and I move to another location and start over.
My body may not be there, but my fucking eyes are everywhere. I watch my books closely for every store, and it pays off. I also pop in randomly with no warning. Surprise is the best form of attack if you want to make sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be.
I don’t make friends with employees, even the ones that I seldom recruit for criminal activity, and for good reason. Money talks and that’s what I use. No one screws me over. My form of punishment doesn’t come with a happy ending.
Maybe that’s why Kaston has a little more of my trust than the average person. He understands jobs with special circumstances. Atlanta was my fifth shop to open and it won’t be the last. When business here is strong and steady I’ll move on. “How’s Detroit?”
“Shit, man. It was better when you were there. When you coming back?”
“Oh, you know me. When I’m not on anyone’s radar.”
He removes his shirt. “Yeah, and why I have to spend more money to track your ass down.”
A dry laugh occurs. “I’ll make it worth the travel. Always do. Let me see it.”
He turns around, revealing the full back piece we started a few sessions back. A life sized skull sits in the center, already shaded at the last multi-hour session. A cobra is wrapped around it, the tail stopping at his left hip and the head over his right shoulder, mouth wide with the fangs penetrating his neck. The skull I transferred from a sketch I did before his first session, but the snake I had to freehand because of the way it’s wrapping multiple times around the skull and the natural curves of the human body.
Vinny’s sessions always consist of hours in length and it takes multiple to complete a piece. He likes dark, detailed ink, and he spends the money to make sure it’s the best. Today, he’s here for the coloring of the snake and this one will be finished. “It looks like it’s healed nicely. You haven’t lost any color.”
He throws his leg over the slightly reclined chair and straddles it, sitting chest against the back, giving me access to the tattoo. “Always my plan, my man.”
I take a paper towel and drench it with alcohol, rubbing it in broad strokes over the workspace of his back to sanitize it. “Did you still want me to sit?”
Her voice is low. Vinny and I look up at the same time. “That depends. Who are you, sexy?” Vinny’s tone is curious, animalistic, his eyes staring at her mostly bare midsection that shows off her full side tattoo over her ribs.
All she’s wearing is a piece of purple fabric that looks like a band covering her tits and a pair of black short overalls in some material other than denim that stops just below her ass. I hate the way he’s staring at her. Maybe I should set a dress code for her like my receptionists.
My eyes finally ascend from the chest level place they were, locking with hers. They are a deeper green than they were earlier. She sways to Vinny, holding out her hand. “I’m Delta. Trainee.”
He pulls it to his lips, kissing the back of her hand. “Vinny, sweetness. Kross didn’t tell me how juicy the peaches were in Georgia. He’s been holding out on me. If you’re going to be working here I may have to make a trip more often.”
“She’s taken, Vinny. Don’t waste your time.”
Her eyes return to mine, her cheeks reddening a little. “That’s a damn shame. Lucky man.”
“Pull up a seat,” I say, before going back for my supplies, grabbing the black, latex gloves first. I pull them on. “You okay with her helping, Vinny?”
The sound of a stool being rolled over from the vacant station occurs. I grab a new needle, opening the package as she sits down beside me. “Yeah, man. I’m good. I know you won’t let me walk out of here fucked up.”
He places his hands on his lap to relax his back, his forehead going to the chair back. “Is this where you want me?”
I load the needle in the gun and make sure everything is within reach to my right on the tray. “No, come here. Grab some gloves and put them on.”
“Come where?”
I scoot to the very back of the large, round seat beneath me and nod her over with my head. She stands, still putting on the gloves, but doesn’t move. I take a deep breath, getting impatient. Obviously, I’m going to have to physically plant her there.
I grip her bare side and pull her toward me, instructing her to sit on the stool in front of me, my front at her back. She’s tense. “Relax,” I say just outside her ear, placing the gun in her right hand. “You can’t tattoo if you’re uncomfortable.”
“You want me to tattoo him?”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Kross, that’s a wicked and complicated piece. I’m okay with just watching. I don’t want to mess it up.”
I scoot the footswitch closer to her foot. “Make sure your foot is comfortable so that you have full control of speed.”
Vinny glances over with a smirk on his face. “Damn, bro. You never specified.”
I ignore his comment and turn my hat around to get the bill out of the way. My left hand settles on her inner thigh and I point as I instruct. “Everything you need is right here.” My lips touch her ear to lower my voice. “Let the sound relax you. A little goes a long way. Do you remember me going over color blending and making you do it with the colored pencils?”
“Yes,” she responds.
I guide her hand to the first tray of ink and load the gun, then position it in the center of his back so she can get the feel before making it to a more sensitive area like his neck. We’re going to be here a while. Once she gets in some practice I’ll take over and finish, but Vinny is the best client to let her practice with. He’s easygoing and trusts me as his artist after all these years. “The gun is your pencil. Use it accordingly. Look to your right.”
She does, her cheek brushing against my lips. “See the photo of the cobra hanging from the tray?”
She nods. “This is where the artistry is necessary. Use it as a guide for pattern and color. After each section wipe the excess ink to keep your place. I’ve seen you look at a photo and redraw it. This is no different. And I’ve already done the outline. Think of it as really fun coloring. You’ll get used to the vibration the longer you hold the gun.”
“And you’re going to be here in case I do something wrong?”
“Yes. I’m giving you your wings. Now fly.”
“Okay,” she says, her voice a little offset from the nerves.
Vinny turns back toward the chair back, waiting for the start. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he mumbles.
My right hand drops to mirror my left on the inside of her thigh and I scoot against her to support her back. “Do you have your foot on the footswitch comfortably?”
“I think so.”
“Position to draw. It’s like learning to drive. Once you know the basics, the rest is practice.”
She finally rests her forearms against his skin and the gun comes on—short bursts a few times as she gets used to the footswitch—the vibration sounding through the studio to match Wesson’s. He glances up at her as he reloads ink, with a slight smirk, and goes back to the neck piece of the girl in his chair.
I watch her hand slowly color within the lines of the snake, doing just as I instructed. I run my company my own way. No one jumps to the top in a matter of days, weeks, or even months. To be humble at the top you have to start from the bottom. It’s why I’ve never taught. It’s a liability I don’t want for myself, or my business. Tattooing takes time to learn, years to master, and steady growth along the way. It’s just easier to bypass those steps and hire someone seasoned in the art, but there are times when you have to throw the rules out the fucking window and go with your gut.
That’s what she is. She walked in my shop four months ago with nothing on her mind but a single tattoo and the big mouth of a friend along for the ride. My instincts told me not to let her go yet, and here she is, still as passionate about it as she was when she walked in here.
I put her through hell to see if she could withstand the fire when she found out it’s not like it appears on the tattoo reality TV shows. Some days it’s fun. Others, every muscle in your body aches. On a rare occurrence when you’ve worked late back to back, or weekends, you wonder why the fuck you’re even in this business. And then there are days when you get to witness the very emotion driven behind the tattoos you create, reminding you why it is you do this in the first place.
I squeeze her thigh, letting her know she’s doing good so far. Within the hour every gun in this studio will be buzzing. This is the sound that I live for. It’s what makes me happy. If happy is what I am. It calms my rage when nothing else does. Gives me a sense of belonging that was absent for so long. It’s the only peace I’ve ever known, but it’s also something I’ve always done alone.
I will admit . . . I could get used to this.
