Page 3 of Ink

Once he was gone, Fer turned to me. “That went well.”

Thatwent well? Was she fucking joking?

The man obviously hated me with a single glance. I didn’t do well with judgment. It made my heart beat and my palms sweat. It made the rage inside me swell to the surface.

I fought to tamp it down. Lock it up behind a wall of steel.

“Let’s get you trained up so the boss man doesn’t have a heart attack, yeah? Everything around here is pretty simple. You welcome clients, turn away walk-ins, make appointments on the computer. Know how to work calendars and excel sheets?”

And just like that, she showed me how to manage shit around Devil’s Ink.

As far as first days went, this had been one of my best. Things were pretty slow, though, so that could have been why.

I’d been left alone at the front desk while Fer and Ink stayed behind the wall, the steady stream of the tattoo gun buzzing as clients came and went.

When lunch time came, only Fer emerged from the back, a strappy black purse thrown over her shoulder.

“Let’s go eat,” she ordered. “Ink will man the store. He doesn’t have any clients until later.”

I agreed, casting a wary glance to the back before I followed her out.

We didn’t go very far to eat. Among the bustling fray of the dilapidated street and surrounding locales–stores–we flagged down a man on a bike selling tacos de canasta. Attached to the back was a big woven basket lined with blue plastic and cloth. On either side large mayo jars of green and red salsa.

The tacos were tiny, and I got two mixed orders filled with potatoes, tinga, and chicharrón. We ordered a soda from a nearby store and walked over to a bench by the park to eat.

We enjoyed our lunch in silence for a few minutes before Fer leaned back, eyeing me curiously.

“So, what’s your deal?” she asked.

I swallowed a sip of soda. “What do you mean?”

She waved in my general direction. “You show up out of the blue and Ink hires you on the spot because of your cousin. Word on the street is you’re a fuck up. That true?”

She asked in a curious type of way, and maybe my initial thoughts of her being judgmental were untrue, because she only sounded intrigued and not mean in her inquiry. Still, the question didn’t stop me from picking my napkin to little pieces in anxiety.

I didn’t do well under scrutiny.

“I mean… kinda?”

“There’s a story in there somewhere, mija.”

I snort-laughed and put my plate down on the side of the bench.

“There is,” I agreed. “But none of them are pleasant. I just can’t seem to hold down a job. If that makes me a fuck up, then I guess I am.”

“Hmm, that’s a nonanswer, but I’ll allow it. A bit of advice, though? From a friend?”

A friend? The concept was almost as foreign to me as a stable job. The only friends I knew were those from my online community. People far away and aloof, who could listen to me vent, who only knew me as my username, and who were mysterious and far enough away to not require any commitment.

The concept of someone who I could lean on now was pleasant.

“Yeah?”

“This is a good job. Ink is a huge asshole, and he doesn’t give second chances. So don’t fuck this one up, okay?”

I sighed and reached for my drink. “Okay.”

Except in life there were never any guarantees.

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