Page 8 of Poison Pen

“You go shower. I’ll order you a car.” I’d offer her some money to help cover the expense, even though she’d try to decline it.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, well. When the old lady leaves you a bajillion dollars, I’ll expect you to split it with me.”

“You got it. But you know,” Violet called over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom. “She probably left me her cat, or a creepy doll collection or something.”

“In that case, you can keep it!”

Chapter five

Ricki

“Whatthehellhappened?”

I stood there, my mouth hanging open, as I stared at the wreckage of what used to be the front window of Murray’s shop.

“What the fuck does it look like, Ricki?” Murray snarled at me, standing on the other side of the broken glass, his hands on his hips as he paced back and forth across the wreckage that was once a picture window.

The whole thing was smashed, the empty frame now lined with jagged shards of glass that looked wicked sharp, the visual bringing to mind a dark and dangerous maw, ready to consume everything that came near.

Kind of appropriate, considering that was how I was starting to feel about working for Murray; like the shop was sucking my soul out of my body and giving me nothing in return.

“Who did this?” I asked again, ignoring his surly words. “Whendid they do this? I was just here last night and everything was fine.”

“The fuck you mean, you were here last night?”

Frowning, I moved closer to the broken window, staring at the crooked ends of glass, as though they would be able to tell me something about what the hell had gone on since Frankie and I had walked past the shop after we’d gone for drinks.

“Exactly what I said,” I quipped, still not looking at Murray. “After we left here, Frankie and I headed down the street to Tito’s.”

“Oh, shit,” Jason piped up, pausing from where he was taking photos of trashed furniture to shoot me a disappointed look. “I forgot all about Nacho Night.”

Lifting my chin, I smiled. “It was epic, man.”

“Get to the fuckin’ point, Ricki,” Murray warned.

“The point is, we stayed there late, and then we had to walk back past here to get to the subway station.” Leaning down to see the piece of glass closest to me, I noticed it had a smear of blood on it, as though whoever had smashed the window and climbed into the shop had managed to cut themselves in the process.

Interesting.

“Everything was fine when we passed, and that was probably just before one.” Frankie had actually planned on riding the subway for a few more hours after our night out, wanting to leave her husband stewing in his own arrogance for as long as possible.

Loved that girl.

Turning to Pete, the nicer member of Murray’s tattoo trio, I asked, “What time did you get here this morning?”

“I got here for noon, and the place was trashed.” Gesturing around, Pete indicated to the rest of the shop, a dismayed look on his face.

Moving carefully, I stepped through the broken window, the soles of my Doc Martens crunching on the glass as I got my first good look at the inside of the shop.

“Holy shit, Murray.”

The place really was trashed. The leather tattoo chairs were slashed, all the stuffing pulled out of them and tossed around. The walls had been spray painted with several choice words, and all of the art samples and flash pages had been defaced, the beautiful, colorful pieces now buried beneath a sheen of cheap black spray paint.

The sterilization station had been smashed, the autoclave ripped off the shelf and dumped on the floor, along with all the parts and pieces for the machines.

Everywhere I looked was nothing but destruction, and it broke my heart.

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