The Sinister Silhouette

With a smile, she leans up and kisses my cheek. “Thanks, big brother,” she says in my ear.

I leave her and head toward the front. A glance at my phone says we have thirty minutes before the doors open, and I decide to get things ready for my first client. I grab out some transfer paper and a pen. Sitting at the small table in my station, I get to work on putting the design down on paper. It’s a simple design of an hourglass. Instead of falling sand, it’s dripping blood, representing life and how eventually we all run out of it.

Twenty minutes later, I slip on a pair of gloves and pull out all the materials I need. I hear Ella moving around out front and know she’s getting the register ready for the day. The ding from the front door indicates she’s already unlocked it, and that’s probably my customer.

Tugging off the gloves, I toss them in the trash and walk out of the small room and behind the front counter. Ella’s there handing Kyle a clipboard with our standard safety and permission form that has to be completed before all work is done.

“You ready for me?” Kyle asks when he spots me walk in.

“Yes. Once you get done with that, I’ll have you look over the design, then we’ll get started.”

While he fills out the paperwork, Ella gets a copy of his ID. It only takes him a minute before he’s handing the clipboard back to Ella and he’s stuffing his ID back into his wallet. He follows me down the short hallway into my sectioned-off area, where I hand him the design.

I’ve done several pieces for him, so he knows what I can do. I’m not being arrogant when it comes as no surprise that he whistles low in appreciation. I just know my skills.

“Damn, Luca, this shit is tight!” he remarks, still looking down at the drawing.

“Thanks.” I turn and grab out another pair of gloves. “Wait ‘til you see it once it’s done. The 3D effect I have planned for the blood splashes is going to look amazing.”

“I have no doubt.”

After peeling his shirt over his head, Kyle takes a seat in the chair. Before I take my own seat, I pull up a playlist on my phone and connect it to the Bluetooth stereo on the counter behind me. Linkin Park starts playing, and now I feel I can really get down to work.

I sit on my stool beside Kyle and pull on my gloves. Everything I need is on a small cart beside me. I break open a package of lining needles and insert one through the tube on the tattoo machine, then wrap a couple of rubber bands around the frame and needle to help keep it secure and steady while I work. I set the machine down and grab the disposable razor. Kyle, knowing the drill, lifts his arm, and I run the razor over his ribs where the tattoo will go to rid it of any hairs, then spray the skin with the bottle of green soap solution and thoroughly clean the area.

“Up,” I instruct, and he does so. Grabbing the transfer paper with the design, I press the top of the paper to the top of his ribs and slowly smooth my hand down the center of the sheet. Starting in the middle and working outward, I make sure there’s no wrinkles. I peel the paper away from the skin, leaving behind a blue-lined design, and

damn if I don’t get a jolt of adrenaline, knowing I’ll be permanently inking this onto Kyle. This part of him will forever be mine. Each tattoo I do, I get to leave my mark behind. It’s a heady feeling knowing everyone that leaves here with new ink will always carry a piece of me with them.

“How’s that?” I ask Kyle to make sure everything’s up to par with his vision.

He turns and faces a big mirror, lifting his arm higher and inspecting the design. A slow grin forms on his face, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

“It looks fucking great!”

He sits back in his seat and we get down to business. As usual, every time I pick up a tattoo machine, my mind blanks of everything else except the design in front of me. I pride myself on my steady hands and the neatness of my lines. How each section of the image flows into the next, like it wasn’t pieces that we put together, but ones that were naturally part of a whole.

An hour passes, and I’ve just finished up the outline and am getting ready to take a short break, when raised voices come from the front. I set the machine down, tug off my gloves, and pause the music.

“Take ten,” I tell Kyle. “Grab a drink, a smoke, use the bathroom, whatever. I’ll be back.” Before he has a chance to answer, I leave the room and head toward the front where I can hear Ella yelling at someone. I get two steps into the hallway when another voice starts yelling back. I smash my molars together when I realize who it is.

I walk up behind Ella, who’s standing at the end of the counter that’s open to allow people to walk behind it, just in time to hear her say, “Leave, bitch, before I drag you out by your skanky-ass hair.”

Hardass Ella at her best.

Acting like she didn’t hear the threat, Cora’s eyes land on me and she gives what most men would deem a sexy smile. At one time, I thought the same thing. Cora and I slept together a total of three times, and while she was good, she wasn’t good enough for me to overlook the white shit I saw under her nose once I left the bathroom after cleaning up the last time we were together. Or the fact that she’ll sell her body to anyone that will provide her with the drug.

I don’t do drugs, and I damn sure won’t be with anyone who does them. I’ve seen what the shit can do to a person. My best friend since middle school ODed on heroin ten years back. I watched it eat away at him until there was nothing left except a shell of his former self. Derek was one of the strongest men I knew, and we always swore to each other growing up that we wouldn’t be like half the people around here. We wouldn’t let the harsh realities of life take us under. We were better than that and determined to keep it that way. Then shit got worse with his dad, who’d beat him, his sister, and his mom. One night, he walked in on his dad raping his little sister while his mom was at work. When he tried prying him off, his dad pulled out a gun and held it to the girl’s head. Derek was made to watch as he continued to rape her. When he was finished, he pulled the trigger, then turned the gun on himself. Derek was never the same after that.

I wrap my arm around Ella’s stomach when she makes a move toward Cora.

“What are you doing here, Cora?” I ask, not bothering to hide my distaste of having to look at her.

She puts her hands on the glass case in front of her, no doubt leaving oily palm prints. Leaning up on her toes, she purposely squishes her tits together with her arms, knowing they’ll pop out of her tight top. I’m not even tempted to look down to see if I’m right.

“I came to see you, Luca, baby,” she purrs. “To finalize our plans for tonight.”

“Plans?” Ella snarls, twisting in my arms to glare up at me. “What in the hell is she talking about?”