CAESAR
“I’ll be a son of a bitch,”Scotty roars from the entrance to my garage. “Gang’s all here, huh?”
He erupts in laughter like it’s the funniest damn thing, and I chuckle and shake my head. It really has been a while since all the old-timers got together, but with Red’s retirement coming up and this sentimental streak still fucking with my head, I decided what the hell? I owe my old friend a party.
Red plays poker with a couple guys who tattooed down the street from Blade, both quiet types like me. They’re set up at a card table in the middle of the garage, and behind them, Jen and Havok, two of the first artists I hired, who have each since moved on, talk shit and drink beer. A few bikes are parked in the yard beside mine, and the scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air.
“Gang’s here,” I agree, then pat Scotty on the arm. He’s a short, loud guy, with a big wide smile and crowded, chaotic ink. Sometimes, I just need the motherfucker to shut up, but he’s a good man and a hell of an artist, and it does me good to see him again.
My chocolate pit bull, Grace, growls and jumps at his feet. “Good girl,” he says, rubbing her head and shoving her playfully. “There’s a good Grace.”
“Remember when we used to keep this poker game going every month?” Red asks, then throws his cards down.
“I remember you paying my bar tab most months,” Jen laughs.
Red grunts. “Shit, that’s right.”
I pull out a bench, then take a seat at the entrance to the garage, spreading my legs wide. Nursing my beer, I look out on all the grizzled, grumpy artists. They’ve known me for decades, and our shared understanding makes it easy to relax in their company.
Grace sets her head on my knee, panting, and I swig from my beer.
Scotty plops down next to me on the bench and lights a cigarette. “Red’s on the way out. How about you, Caesar?”
“Caesar’s the baby,” Havok calls from the other end of the garage. “He can’t retire.”
Red guffaws. “Boy Wonder,” he says, and everyone laughs.
“Still with this Boy Wonder shit,” I grumble. It started when I was the hotshot kid, but since all these tired assholes are about a decade older than me, they still haven’t let it go. “And no, I’m not going anywhere.”
Scotty throws his hand up on my shoulder. “That’s good. I still got a little canvas left for you to fill up.”
Every person in this garage is covered with every other person’s art. It’s a cool thing, special, and it makes all the faded ink and scarred skin especially beautiful to my eyes.
Red throws some chips in the middle of the table, sips from his whiskey, and then turns his eyes to his cards. “You tell everyone who you inked the other day?”
I’d already made sure that word about Mack’s passing made it to the right people, but I’d avoided mentioning how I learned the information. With Red putting me on the spot and some beer in my belly, I decide to just spill it. “Mack’s kid,” I answer, my voice steady.
“Oh fuck.” Scotty laughs. “Mack’s got a kid?”
My thoughts fly back to Drew and the intensely erotic experience of inking his body, feeling him quiver and breathe in my hands. We’d barely talked, but still, I felt like so much had been exchanged, energy sparking and flowing between us.
I’m twice his age, and it embarrasses me to realize how unattractive my old ass must be to him.
“Yup,” I answer. “Mack’s got a fucking kid.”
“Hell,” Scotty curses. “Now that I think about it, he probably put a few kids on this planet before he kicked it.”
I tense slightly. I hadn’t thought about that, but it’s true.
I wonder if I would feel this strange draw to any of Mack’s kids, but as I think about it, I’m confident the answer is no. I’ve been thinking about Drew constantly, remembering our session at Blade, but it’s not just our connection through his old man. There’s something about him, about Drew, that calls out to me.
“What’s he like?” Scotty asks.
“Nothing like Mack,” I answer. “He’s a good kid. Good head, smart, seems happy enough.” I shake my head and chuckle. “He fixes up old arcade machines. Mack would like that.”
Havok raises his beer bottle. “Mack was a dick,” he says, “but I miss him.”
Everyone drinks to that, and the conversation moves on. The memory of Mack, though, intrudes on my thoughts again. Sitting with all the old timers, it almost feels like the man who betrayed me all those years ago could still be right at the poker table, cursing with the best of them.
