Page 4 of Saint
“That’s me. Do you have an appointment?” I don’t recognise him, and whilst he looks like the last person to have a tattoo. Lewis told me to never assume.
“I’m sorry. I’m Clifford Jarvis, of Jarvis and Williams. I’m Lewis Fletcher’s solicitor. I saw you at the funeral but decided to wait for a more appropriate time. Do you have time for a conversation, or would you prefer to come down to the office?”
“I have twenty minutes. If you can be done in that time, then I’m all yours.” I’m curious as to why he’s here.
“That should be fine for our first visit. May I sit?” He looks at the leather sofa and chairs scattered around the room.
“Sorry, yes, of course. Can I get you a coffee or tea?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you. Will you take a seat too?”
I realise I’m hovering over him, and he may feel intimidated. “Shit, yes, sorry.”
He opens his case and pulls out a file and opens it. He passes a sealed envelope to me, then places his hand on the open file. “First of all, I’m sorry for your loss. I know that he thought of you as a son. And with that in mind, he has left the business and property to you.”
I stare at him for a long minute. “He’s done what?” I look down at the envelope and recognise my name in Lewis’s copperplate handwriting.
“I knew this would come as a shock to you, and I mentioned to Lewis that he should discuss this with you. But he was a stubborn man and wouldn’t hear of it. I do believe that his letter will explain more.”
“I can’t have this place, it’s got to go to a family member. I don’t know who or where they are, but they must have rights.” I fiddle with the envelope. It seems to be swelling in my hand, getting bigger and more ominous.
“Mr Fletcher was most adamant that it was to be yours. I believe you’ll find your answers in that letter.” He takes a card from his briefcase, holding it out to me. “Take this, read through the letter, then give me a call, and we can arrange a meeting to finalise the details.”
I take the card, keeping it with the letter. The buzzer on the door sounds, making Jarvis look. “I think that’s my cue to leave. Give me a call when you’re ready. Once again, I’m very sorry for your loss. Mr Fletcher was a good man.”
The buzz of the bell has me pausing and putting down the ink gun. “Have a breather, I’ll be back in a minute,” I say, patting my client’s shoulder and pulling off the black nitrile gloves, throwing them in the bin under the work surface.
“Yeah, thanks. I was hitting my limit.”
As I step out of my screened off workstation, I can see the shape of someone at the door. It’s a small body, but I can’t decide the gender. When I click the lock and pull the door open, the visitor jumps in surprise and lets out a cute squeak. I look at the young man and drink him in. Small frame, dirty blond hair that’s styled to look messy, but it’s the bright electric blue eyes that stand out the most. Although on further inspection, his high cheekbones and plump, pink lips fit the heart-shaped face. He’s beautiful, but young, he doesn’t even look eighteen. But there’s confidence in his stance and expression, and I’m intrigued.
“Hi,” I say, holding back the smirk that wants to break free. “Can I help you?”
“Um, yes. I’m wondering if you’re looking for another tattooist?”
I look him up and down, then notice the black artist portfolio folder propped against his leg. It’s half the size of him. I’m not sure how he’s managed to carry it.
“Maybe, perhaps. You’d better come in.” I step back to give him space. I breathe in as he passes me, and the scent that floods my nose and over my taste buds makes my mouth water. “I’ve got a client in the chair. Can you wait? I shouldn’t be too long.”
He nods, looking around the room. His eyes settle on one of the leather chairs and walks over to it. Is the sway of his hips on purpose or is he naturally sexy as fuck.
“There’s a coffee machine in the corner and a fridge beneath it if you fancy a cold drink.”
“Thank you,” he says and smiles for the first time, and fuck me, he’s stunning.
I get back into my chair and pull on a new pair of gloves. “Ready, Kris?” I ask my client.
“Yep, I want this finished.”
It’s a full back intricate image of a devil and angel. They face each other with their legs entwined and wings spread behind them. The two naked males are close enough to kiss, they could either be leaning in or pulling away. It has taken two sessions already, and this is the last. Kris has been in the chair for three hours already, but I’m less than thirty minutes away from finishing.
“You looking at taking on someone else then, Saint?” he asks from his prone position.
“I wasn’t, not really, but I probably could do with another artist. I’m overrun with requests. I’m doing sixty-hour weeks, I can’t keep up with the demand.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re the best, mate. No one in two hundred miles can match your skill.”
“Thanks, man.” We’re quiet now, Kris in his zone and me concentrating on the final shading.
