“No, the hell I’m not!” I exclaim.
“You gave your word. There’s no backing out now.”
“A tattoo is so permanent.”
“It doesn’t matter. You agreed.”
“Choose something else, anything.”
“Nope, let’s go.”
“Art—”
He’s out of the car, cutting off my protest. What the hell did I agree to? I enter the shop, finding Art at the counter. I come to a stop next to him.
“She’s getting the tattoo.”
The big burly man gives me a once over.
“I need to see some I.D.,” he says.
Thank God. Maybe there’s a chance I could still get out of this, at least for the time being. Art retrieves a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet, sliding it over the counter.
“She lost her I.D.”
The man pushes the money back across the counter. “That’s too bad.”
Art tosses two more hundred-dollar bills on the counter. “Are you sure you can’t make an exception?”
The man eyes the money, practically salivating at the mouth. Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it can buy a whole lot of other shit.
“This stays between us.”
“Absolutely.”
“What will you be getting today, little lady?”
“I…”
“It’s a surprise,” Art says.
“I have no say?”
“No, I choose.”
“Bishop,” the man yells.
“What?”
“Customers.”
“This is my body.”
“Trust me.”
Reluctantly, I nod.
Once Bishop appears, he and Art have a private conversation. After my fate is sealed, we follow him to his station.
