Twenty-Three

I’m shocked when the address turns out to be that of a tattoo shop. I park my car down the street and see Saige’s car. She gets out and waves to me.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as I walk up to her.

“Well, you said if I asked you to get a tattoo, you would.” I clench my teeth. That had been my cock talking. I’d say anything to her in bed.

I turn my head to the side to see if she’s joking.

“Are you asking me?” I say.

Her eyes narrow.

“Would you?”

I nod slowly. She smiles.

“No. I’m getting something, but I thought you would want to come.” She pivots on her toes and walks toward the front of the shop, opening the door with a ding.

“You coming?” she says and I follow her inside. It’s bright and has a cool rockabilly vibe. A woman with dark black hair done up in a victory roll, wearing a bright red dress with full sleeves greets us with a smile as Elvis pipes through the shop. They’ve converted the front of a vintage car into a table that has an old-school desktop on it and several people are getting tattoos in various positions. Art and color are splashed all over the wall and I can tell from experience that it’s a clean, well-run shop.

“What can I do you for?” the girl asks and I finally notice the dimple piercings in her cheeks.

“I have an appointment with Crash,” Saige says, leaning on the car-slash-table.

“Are you Saige?” the girl says, scanning the computer. The thing must be running Windows 98 or something. I don’t remember seeing a desktop that old in a long time.

“Yes, I am.” The girl grins.

“Great. I’ll just let him know you’re here.” She skips off into the back of the shop and through a door.

A guy a few feet away is on his stomach and getting a killer back piece done. From this angle it looks like an old school American eagle. He’s probably military. At the next station a girl is getting something small on her hip and is wincing like she’s being cut open.

The girl comes back out to the desk and behind her is a guy with slicked back hair on the top, shaved hair on the sides and a killer beard. He’s got on flannel and epitomizes a stylish lumberjack.

“Saige?” he asks and sticks his hand out. The shirt covers his arms, but he’s got some work on his wrists and knuckles. Saige shakes his hand and smiles.

“Nice to meet you, come on back,” he says. I’m not sure if she wants me to follow, but she seals the deal when she grabs my hand and tows me behind her to Crash’s station near the back.

“So, first thing we’re going to do is fill out some paperwork and then we’ll get you ready.” Being inside this shop and smelling it and hearing the buzz of tattoo needles makes me feel comfortable and relaxed. At peace.

“This is Quinn,” Saige says, and I shake the guy’s hand. He looks familiar, but I know we’ve never met. I have a good head for faces.

Crash has Saige fill out the standard forms and takes a copy of her driver’s license.

“Okay, so I’ve drawn something up for you based on the design you sent me. Let me know what you think,” he says. Saige has obviously been in contact with this guy. She planned this.

He shows her the sketch and I’m surprised.

“What do you think?” she asks, leaning close to me.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, and it’s the truth. It’s a skull, but made out of flowers. It’s dark and delicate at the same time. And it’s big. I wonder where she’s going to put it.

“I thought you might like it. He’s hiding it right now, but Quinn has his fair share of ink,” Saige says to Crash. He looks up at me as if it’s the first time he’s really seeing me. I wish she wouldn’t have said that, even to this guy.

“Oh yeah?” he says, taking the design back. I have no choice now.

I pull up my sleeves and show him some of the work I’ve had done. He leans in and examines me, his eyes widening.

“This is good work. Reminds me of this guy I know. You didn’t get any of this done by Razor, did you?” I feel the blood drain out of my face and I fight to keep my breathing even.

“Yeah,” I say, pushing my sleeves down.

“No way, small world.” Crash doesn’t seem to notice my reaction and turns his attention back to Saige. I can’t even look at her to see if she caught my little freak-out.

Razor did all of my work. We’d been friends in high school and when he started tattooing, I sort of volunteered to be a human canvas. Fortunately, he was a damn good artist or else I would have ended up with some shitty stuff on my skin forever.

I do not need this. But how was I supposed to know that Saige was going to bring me into a tattoo shop with an artist who happens to know someone from my past? Sure, the tattoo world is small, but it isn’t all that small. Still, Razor has made a name for himself and owns several shops all over the US.

“You ready?” Crash asks Saige and she gives him a thumbs up before sitting down in the chair he’s indicated. It has a place for her to rest her chest on, so her back is exposed. She pulls her shirt up, exposing her bra. She snaps it undone and then readjusts herself. Razor cleans and shaves her skin before laying down the transfer.

The tattoo is about the size of a real skull and he centers it on her back, below her shoulder blades. He gets the ink all ready to do the outlines.

It’s probably going to take more than one session to get it done, depending on how much detail she wants and her pain tolerance. Something tells me that it’s pretty high.

He puts his gloves on and I sit back in my chair. I’m still reeling a little bit, but then Saige reaches out to me.

“Hold my hand?” She doesn’t seem like the type who would need that, but I scoot the chair closer and reach out to her. She takes my hand and gives me a wink.

“No pain, no gain.”

“You ready?” Crash asks, holding the tattoo needle just above her skin.

“Yup.”

She holds my hand tight for the first few strokes of the needle, but then she relaxes.

“It’s not that bad. I don’t remember the last time. I was a tiny bit drunk when I did it.” She turns her head to the side so she can look at me as Cash works.

He gets into the rhythm, drawing and wiping away the excess ink and blood with a paper towel. I used to spend lots of time with Razor at the shop he apprenticed at, so I’ve seen countless tattoos. Crash is completely in the zone. He’s focused on Saige and her skin and nothing else. I respect that.

He asks her questions about her life, trying to keep her calm.

“Did you have an inspiration for this?” he asks and she winces just a little as he goes over a sensitive spot.

“Not really. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while, but finally got the nerve to do it.” She grins at me. I wonder if I was the catalyst. Tattoos can be addictive and seeing them on someone else can make the itch come back.

It’s been quite a while since I got my last tattoo and being in this shop is giving me that old familiar feeling. I don’t have a whole lot of skin left that hasn’t been covered, but there are still a few spots.

“Most people who don’t have tattoos think all of them have to have intense personal significance, but sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they’re just tattoos.” I completely agree. My first few tattoos didn’t have much significance. An anchor, barbed wire, that sort of thing. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I started inking my life on my skin. Saige doesn’t know it, but the ink is a roadmap of my life. Every tragedy, everything is there if you only know how to find it and what it means.

“Well, I’m kind of hoping to piss my parents off a little with it,” Saige says with a wink in my direction. Crash laughs.

“I get all about that. When I got my first tattoo when I was sixteen, I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack. But she’s come around to it and she’s even let me do a few pieces on her. I’ve tattooed my whole family.” That’s nice. He’s lucky he has a family to tattoo.