Page 29 of The Tip-Off
He waves us back and Zeke and I follow him to a room in the back of the shop. The setup reminds me of a doctor’s office. A large black leather chair sits in the middle, a desk on one side with a black stool, but there’s no cotton balls or throat swabs in place and the pictures on the wall are framed drawings. Everything from a cross to skulls has been beautifully drawn and colored.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks as he motions for me to have a seat. Zeke hangs back, his large frame blocking the entryway. He hovers like he isn’t sure if he should stay or go.
I reach into my back pocket before sitting and hand Van the paper. He takes it, has a seat on the stool and smooths out the paper, looking over it for a long moment before speaking. “Did you do the lettering on this?” His grey eyes meet mine and there’s a mix of intrigue and admiration there.
I nod.
“It’s beautiful. You’re very talented.”
I manage to mumble my thanks, all too aware of Zeke creeping forward.
“Do you know where you want it?” Van asks.
“On my left side.” I point to the spot.
“Hold tight. It’ll just take me a few minutes to prep.”
As he leaves the room, Zeke comes closer. “Nervous?” he asks.
“Yeah. It hurts, doesn’t it?” An anxious laugh escapes.
Zeke cracks a smile. “A little. Want me to go first and show you how it’s done?”
“Yes, please.” My body relaxes a bit, thankful to have a few more minutes to mentally prepare.
When Van returns, we tell him the change of plans and Zeke gets into the hot seat. Standing on the right side of Zeke, I watch as Van freehands a replica of the red headphones that often are around Z’s neck. The placement is on his inner bicep just below a small roadrunner like the Valley mascot. After that piece is done, Van adds a trail of music notes that creeps up to Zeke’s shoulder in between the rest of his tattoos. The new ink blends in against Zeke’s other artwork creating a beautiful scene of images like a picture book. The story of Zeke Sweets.
“It’s perfect,” I say as Van finishes and starts to cover the new ink with ointment.
Z stands and both guys look to me.
“Ready?” Van asks.
I can only nod as I get into the chair. Van reclines it until I’m lying flat on my back and then has me turn onto my right side.
“You want me to wait out front?” Zeke asks, taking a step to the door.
I shake my head and with unsteady hands lift the hem of my shirt slowly. I can feel Van behind me, but it’s Zeke’s heated gaze I avoid.
Van doesn’t miss a beat as the scars that cover the left side of my stomach and back are exposed. “How about right here?” he asks and lines up the tracing just below the ugliest red scar that refuses to fade with the others.
“That’s good.” The emotion and vulnerability in my voice makes it small and high pitched.
I turn my head back to face straight ahead. Zeke steps forward, pulls a chair from the corner of the room and sits beside me. Most people would describe Zeke as quiet, but the way he observes, listens, takes in everything around him is loud and right now, the silence screams.
“You good?”
“A little nervous,” I admit.
Van shifts the stencil around. The design touches my scars in two different places and Van lightly runs his fingertip over each of them, causing my body to go still. “Are they sensitive to touch?”
I nod.
“I’ll be as gentle as I can, but I won’t sugar coat it – tattooing over scars can be pretty painful. You’re sure about this?”
“Positive.”
“She’s tough,” Z says, taking one of my hands in his. “Squeeze if it hurts. It’ll take your mind off it. Plus, added bonus, you get to inflict pain on me.”
