Page 5 of For a Goode Time Call…
I nodded. “Yep. I own a tattoo shop. I’ve been doing tattoos for years. Taught myself, and then apprenticed to the best tattoo artist in Ketchikan, worked for him from the time I was fifteen doing tattoos the traditional way out of his trailer until I was old enough to get a license and do modern tattoos using a special gun, you know? Did that for a few more years, saved every penny I made, and bought my shop.”
“Did your family not approve?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I mean…it’s complicated. It was obvious from the time I could hold on to things with my hands that I’m the type of person who’s meant to do one thing, know what I mean? Like some people are just…created by whatever you want to believe in, for one specific person. Like God or the universe or nature just looked at unformed me and went, ‘This kid, he’s a tattoo artist. That’s his thing, his only thing. But he’s gonna be thebestat it.’”
She was silent, staring into the bubbling tan liquid in her glass. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I know all about that.”
I stared at her, letting the silence open up. Clearly, a sore subject. Something to do with her anger, her limp, and her stated desire to get blackout drunk today. But I knew enough not to pry, not to push. If I just held my counsel and my tongue, chances were, she’d start talking eventually.
Bast brought our food over—a giant oval tray cluttered with paper baskets of food: mozzarella sticks, steak fries covered in melted cheese and house-made chili, deep-fried pickles, fried green tomatoes, chicken wings with a bunch of dipping sauces, onion rings, melted brie cheese with triangles of toasted pita and slices of green apple, and my usual, a triple-decker cheeseburger with fries, and a cup of chili.
I eyed the mountain of food in front of Cassie. “I suppose it’s worth mentioning that the Badd boys don’t skimp on the portions.”
She eyed me, and then the food—each basket held enough food for two or three people to share. “Yeah, you could’ve mentioned that.” She laughed, rubbing her forehead with a knuckle. “There’s enough food here for fifteen people.”
I shrugged. “You seemed to know what you were about.”
She sighed. Eyed me, the food, and a bemused Bast. Then, she tugged over the chili cheese fries, the fried green tomatoes, and the brie. “Give the rest away, so it doesn’t go to waste,” she said. “I’ll pay for it all, either way.”
Bast just chuckled. “You’re family, Cassie. No charge.”
She shook her head. “You’re kidding.”
Bast refilled her beer without being asked. “Your mom is dating my uncle. Makes you family even if you weren’t here with Ink, and family eats and drinks for free, always.”
“But…that’s like, seventy bucks worth of food.”
Bast shrugged. “Family is family.” He winked at her. “I’ll keep the beer coming until you cry uncle.”
She nodded. “Thank you.” A pause. “I need it.”
“Been a bartender my whole life,” he said. “I know when a person just needs to drink themself into oblivion.” He gestured at me. “And there ain’t nobody better to have around you in times like that than Ink.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself, but thanks.”
Bast just laughed. “You do you, boo.”
She stared hard at Bast. “Yeah, don’t call me boo. Ever.”
Bast quirked an eyebrow. “Just jokes.”
Cassie turned her attention to the food. “Shitty day, shitty week, shitty month. Shitty couple of months. Shitty life as of…” she pretended to check a nonexistent watch, “…two months, two weeks, and six days ago.” Another pause as she pulled out her phone to actually look at the time. “And…eight hours.”
Bast and I exchanged looks, and then Bast gave me a look that saidthat’s all you, buddy, and good luck, and then walked away to take a beer order from the other end of the bar.
A long silence unrolled between Cassie and me as I dug into my lunch and Cassie hers. After about twenty minutes of silence between us, she glanced at me.
“Not gonna ask?”
I just shrugged. “You wanna tell me what happened two months, two weeks, six days, and eight hours ago, you’ll tell me. You don’t wanna tell me, that’s fine too.”
“So you don’t want to know.”
I set my burger down and turned sideways in my chair to face her. “I’m sittin’ here, ain’t I?”
“Yeah, so?”
“I ain’t a social sorta guy, Cassie. I like my solitude. I do my tattoos, I hang out with my cousin when she has time to visit me, and that’s about it. Shit like this,” I waved between her and myself, “ain’t how I live. Me sittin’ here, talking to you, spending my lunch hour with you, that’s me interested in what you got to say, and if you don’t got nothin’ to say, I’ll listen to that too.” I leaned forward, gave her a long hard stare. “You need a friend, Cassandra Goode. That much is real fuckin’ obvious.”
