There’d be no going back to bed now.The kitchen clock said it was nearly five.Might as well get a jump-start on the day.Coming up, an exhausting double shift, starting at ten and finishing late.But before then she had a meeting, with a man.One she was dreading.On a brighter note, she had plenty of time to utilize every piece of ammunition in her girlie arsenal.
He had no idea what was coming.
***
Working the Miami flight.Tonight a good night for a layover?Becca xoxo
Brody “Cujo” Matthews smiled as he got out of his pride and joy—his F-150—and juggled his phone, artwork for a new client, and a half-eaten scrambled egg burrito with black bean salsa.Gripping his phone between his teeth, he opened the back door to Second Circle Tattoos, run by his best friend, Trent Andrews.In truth, it was half his, but by agreement, they kept that quiet.
He dropped all of his belongings on a cupboard containing supplies and walked to the front of the shop to turn off the alarm.As he keyed in the number, he looked at the picture on the wall next to the keypad—the day they’d opened the studio.He still had long hair.A week after the photograph was taken, he’d cut it all off.He ran his fingers over his short hair.He’d shaved his head bald in the years since then, but some little half-pint whirling dervish had recently told him he looked like a bully, and for reasons he didn’t care to explore, it had bothered him.So here he was, in the shitty growing-your-hair-out phase, and he hated it.
The studio looked peaceful.White walls and dark-wood flooring were a perfect contrast to all the colorful art they’d hung.The four tattoo chairs sat neatly by tidy stations.No inkpots, spills, gloves, plastic, or cloths distracted the view.He didn’t like it like this.It felt foreign.He liked it jammed to the rafters with people trusting them to push tattooing to new levels.
He set a pot of drip coffee to brew and picked up his phone.
LAYover or LAYunder.All sounds good to me.What time?
9pm—last time.Handed in my notice xoxo
Then we better make it good ;-)
Can’t wait xoxo
Flight attendants, best hook-ups ever.She might work for Virgin, but she definitely wasn’t one.
A knock at the locked studio door distracted him.The bell above the door jingled as he opened it to talk to the two men standing outside.
“We’re not open for another hour and a half,” he said.
“We don’t need an appointment,” the older one said, using a cheap-looking gold belt buckle to pull up his gray polyester pants.“We’re from Public Health.”
Damn.He’d planned to use the time to prep for the hectic day ahead.Patriot Day was one of the two days in the year the studio offered free tattoos.Free to first responders on September 11th and to the military on Veterans Day.Their own way of giving back.Walk-ins with a maximum of two hours meant they’d see a lot of traffic.With Trent away on vacation with his girlfriend, Harper, it would be even busier.
Cujo invited them in, and after basic introductions watched as they looked around.He wondered if they saw the brilliance of the artwork created by his coworkers adorning the walls.Lia’s vibrant mixed-media pieces or the crazy explosion of color in Trent’s paintings.Or were they simply looking for all possible violations to Florida statute chapter three eight one: Public Health General Provisions.
“We have received a complaint you tattooed a minor.The child’s mother filed the report, Mr.Matthews.She gave us your name and a copy of this photo a friend posted on a social media site of her getting it done.”
The men had introduced themselves, but their names escaped him, replaced with a burning desire to call them Thing One and Thing Two.Maybe reading Dr.Seuss over and over at five a.m.to his three-year-old niece after her epic pukefest was to blame.
“There must be some mistake.”He rubbed his hand back and forth over his head.Thing One slid a piece of paper toward him—he recognized her.He’d done a fucking killer job of the white king chess piece knocked down in front of the black queen.
Thankfully, Pixie, their studio manager, was a record-keeping stickler.
“Do you have the date and name?”Cujo asked, walking toward the filing cabinets behind the counter, unlocking them with the key on his chain.
“Hilary Franklin, last Friday,” Thing One said.
Cujo flipped through the file folders until he found what he needed.“I’m pretty certain section 3b of the statute says we aren’t at fault if the minor falsely represents herself and presents a fake identification.Hilary Franklin, Tampa.Gave me an ID saying she was twenty.”
Thing One looked at the document closely before passing it on to Thing Two.
“Can we get a copy, Mr.Matthews, please?”Thing One asked.He imagined what the guy would look like with the Dr.Seuss character’s crazy red hair and bit back a smile.
“Given it was in the last week, I could likely get you video footage of her giving the license to me.”He pointed up to the black bubble in the ceiling.The CCTV in the shop was new, put in after Trent’s girlfriend, Harper, was kidnapped by her crazy ex.In truth, they should have installed it the day they opened.
“That would be helpful, Mr.Matthews.”
One more thing for him to do.He looked quickly at the clock and silently cursed Trent for leaving him alone to manage the shop while Trent took Harper to Tahiti to scuba fuck or something.
