The Devil Has Tattoos

by Destiny Ford

  As I looked around the room, I caught the eyes of Axel and Sasha. Axel looked upset, and Sasha looked defeated. I felt bad for them both. They were being attacked simply for being different, and people in small towns with a rigid set of beliefs tend to fear difference more than anything. It’s that kind of attitude that leads to mob mentality.

  Councilman Green held up his hand and started speaking loudly to try and get people to quiet down. “I know we all have a lotta opinions about this, and I want to hear them. But to do that, we need some semblance of order. If you want to talk, get in line and use the mic.”

  A line formed almost immediately with people expressing anger and fear over what was happening in Branson Falls. Some were mad that the town had changed and wasn’t safe like it used to be when you could leave your door unlocked all night and never have to worry about a thing. Those people were all older than my grandparents. Others were worried and concerned for Mrs. Turner and wanted an update about her health. The idea that someone would come into an elderly woman’s home and attack her was unsettling for many. I took notes as each person spoke, and kept my recorder on so I could go back and review any quotes I used. The line of people was almost done when Fred Carlson stepped up to the mic.

  “I don’t think the tattoo shop is the problem,” Fred said. I’d seen Fred at the Inked AF grand opening and talked to him a little bit. His business was right next door and he hadn’t seemed concerned about having a tattoo and piercing studio as a neighbor. He’d even given me a quote supporting them.

  “And you’re some kind of authority?” Another town member yelled from the crowd.

  Fred gave an exasperated look. “My antique shop is in the building next to them. I haven’t noticed anything strange, and everyone who stops in to Inked AF seems nice. Some of them have even come over to my store and bought things after getting their tattoos. I really like seeing the artwork and hearing the stories behind the design they chose.”

  Another person in the crowd spoke up, “That doesn’t mean some of ‘em aren’t the ones robbin’ people! These robberies didn’t start happenin’ until the tattoo shop opened.”

  A hush fell over the room as Sasha made her way through the crowd of people and stepped up to the mic. “As most of you know, I’m one of the owners of Inked AF. First, I want to thank Fred for his kind words. We love having him as a neighbor and have enjoyed visiting his shop. I know there’s a lot of concern around our tattoo shop, but I want to assure you that any connection between our shop opening and the robberies is one-hundred percent coincidental. We were horrified to hear about Mrs. Turner and hope she’ll be okay. Our clients are good people who have a variety of reasons for getting their tattoos. I know the Tribune has a story coming out about some of them and I’d encourage you to read it before you pass judgment on people who make choices you might not agree with. In addition, we want the Branson Falls community to be comfortable with us, and we want you to know our doors are open to you any time. Feel free to stop in, get to know us, and ask us questions. We’d love to get to know you too, and we’ll continue to try and be good neighbors to you—like we hope you’ll do for us in return.”

  The crowd was completely silent as Sasha stepped away from the mic. I looked around for Axel, but couldn’t see him. I wondered why he’d left. Maybe he was upset and needed some air. I knew what it was like to be the subject of gossip and disdain in town and totally understood the inclination to either get out of the area or murder someone. Leaving was a better choice…usually.

  The last person in line was a woman with dark hair and a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks. She had kind eyes and looked like she was in her fifties. “I’m Betty Turner’s daughter. I want to say thank you to everyone who has called and stopped by to check on my mom. She’s doing fine and is mostly just angry that someone dared to beat her up. She’ll be carrying her gun, Bambi, around more often now. We’ve got family members staying with her, but thank you all for your concern. It’s nice to know she’s well-looked after here, especially since most of her family members live at least an hour away.”

  Councilman Green turned things over to the Branson Falls Police Department, who basically reiterated everything the councilman had already said about increasing patrols, and needing everyone to keep an eye open and report suspicious things immediately. The meeting adjourned a few minutes later.

  As I stood up, Drake said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Katie.”

  His eyes glinted as he said it and I wondered what else he thought he’d be seeing. “At the office,” I verified.

  “Sure,” he said with a wink.

  That sounded ominous. I thinned my eyes as I walked out of the room and left the building. As I made my way to the car, I saw Sasha standing with Axel about fifty yards away. I couldn’t hear them, but I could see Axel’s face was full of anger, and Sasha seemed to be trying to soothe him. My heart twisted for them and I really did hope people in town would open their minds, and read the article in the Tribune. Maybe it would make some people reconsider their viewpoints.

  I got to my Jeep and found a giant made of skin, muscle, and not much else, leaning against it. “I think these robberies are connected, but I’m not sure how yet,” Hawke said.

  “Same page,” I said, gesturing between us.

  “I’m going to have my guys look into things.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Who exactly are your “guys”?”

  “People who know how to find out things other people don’t.” His expression gave nothing away.

  Hawke always answered my questions by not really answering my questions. And that was one of the things I worried about in a relationship with him. I was a reporter. I needed transparency and information. If he wasn’t willing to share with me, or if he couldn’t, then how could we have an open, meaningful, and deeper relationship? Bonding required vulnerability and trust.

  “How do they find out those things?” I asked. “Is it a series of questions? Do the questions involve some form of torture?” I tried to put a playful tone in my voice, but I wasn’t kidding.

  “They use a variety of methods,” he said.

  “That’s still not really an answer.”

  “You never answered my question about why you’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Nice misdirection,” I drawled.

  He lifted a shoulder and grinned.

  “I was hoping you forgot about it,” I said.

  He licked his lips slowly and my eyes snagged there, wanting. “I don’t look forward to much, Kitty Kate, but you’re one of those things. I notice when you’re not around. Don’t make the mistake of thinking otherwise.”

  My heart sped up and I seriously considering pushing him against my Jeep and kissing him for the second time today. “Noted,” I said, my voice more breathless than I’d intended.

  He eyed me, assessing my full lips and pulse fluttering at hummingbird speed on my neck. “I understand you’re trying to figure things out. I’m okay with that. I’m patient. Just don’t keep me in the dark.”

  And that was another reason my heart was having difficulty listening to my head. There was something attractive about a man who paid attention, and Hawke was the most detail-oriented man I’d ever met. He knew exactly what my problem was without me even having to tell him. When I’d first met him I’d been annoyed by his perception because it made me think I was easy to read. Now I knew it was that Hawke was even more exceptional at profiling a person than social media and big data.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. I got in my car and left to pick up Gandalf.

  I pulled up in front of the gray brick house I’d grown up in. The weather hadn’t turned cold enough yet for the flowers to die, so my mom’s red petunias were bright and cheery as I made my way to the front door. I opened it and Gandalf came careening around the corner wearing his little blue cape. He was moving so fast it looked like he might be flying.

  I couldn’t contain my smile and immediately dropped to the floor to give him hug
s and pets. He tolerated it for about ten seconds, then ran to the other side of the room and brought me one of his toy balls. I threw it and almost hit my mom as she came in from the kitchen wearing jeans and a pink and green floral blouse. Her deep brown hair was pulled back into a twist, and she had her hands on her hips, looking as exasperated as ever.

  “I’m mortified!” she said, her tone almost as embarrassed as her red cheeks indicated.

  I knew she was probably talking about the little poop/heart incident, but it had been several hours since I’d talked to her last and that left endless possibilities of events that might have occurred since so I thought I better clarify. “About?”

  Gandalf brought me his ball back. I threw it and watched as he disappeared down the hall.

  My mom looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “The happy chocolate ice cream with hearts! What else?”

  I gave a little shrug. “Well, I wasn’t sure. You’re usually involved in a plethora of incidents by noon so it’s sometimes hard to keep up.”

  My mom rolled her eyes and swatted me across the back with the towel she kept perpetually over her shoulder when she was home.

  “I just can’t believe anyone would think that’s a poop! It’s smiling!” she said, exasperated. “Why would poop smile?”

  She’d asked the same question this morning, which meant she’d thought about it all day and was still confounded. “To make it more enjoyable for people to see?” I offered. “Or maybe it’s for passive aggressive people who want to call someone a bad name but this makes it seem cute.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “That’s a dirty trick.”

  “It’s hard to read real intentions with texts and emojis,” I said, playing tug of war with Gandalf and a toy rope. “You’re the perfect example. All these people think you’ve been telling them you love their poop and really, you’ve been saying you love happy chocolate ice cream.”

  She stomped her foot. “It is happy chocolate ice cream, and I’m standing by that!”

  I liked that the great little poop/happy chocolate ice cream debate was the hill she’d decided to die on. “Well, you can think it’s happy chocolate ice cream, but everyone else who gets that emoji from you will think it’s a little poop. So keep that in mind.”

  She put her hands on her hips, irritated at technology and the world. “This is almost as bad as the time my stupid phone sent the nice neighbors the F word! I didn’t type that word. I’ve never even used that word in my life! It was totally unauthorized!”

  I widened my eyes at that and was surprised I hadn’t heard about it on the town Facebook page. The F word was a big deal, especially coming from my mom. I didn’t know that she even knew the word, or how to use it properly. “What did the neighbors say?”

  “Oh,” she said, swinging her towel in a negating gesture, “they texted me back and let me know I’d typed the wrong thing, but I’ve never been so humiliated in my life! Me! Using the F word! Can you even imagine?!”

  No, I couldn’t. I still got in trouble for swearing around her—even lesser swears. And I was annoyed that her phone knew that word. Mine usually autocorrected it to ‘duck’.

  “Or the time I asked you about shrimp for dinner,” my dad said, coming around the corner with Gandalf in tow. My dad was tall and built like a tank. My tiny little dog looked even smaller next to him.

  My mom’s eyes got wide and murderous. “I told you we were never to talk about that again!”

  My dad held up his hands in front of him like they might be some sort of defense for my mom’s glare. I’d been the recipient of that glare more times than I could remember and knew hand shields did nothing. My dad should have been aware of that fact as well. “Kate’s here, and I have witnesses. Plus, you wouldn’t want to try murdering me in front of Gandalf. It would traumatize him forever.”

  “What happened with the shrimp?” I asked, genuinely curious.

  “Your mom started a commotion, that’s what,” he said.

  Mom’s mouth was puckered and her eyes were so narrow I thought she might do my dad bodily harm. “It was not my fault.”

  My dad raised his eyebrows and started laughing.

  “It all started because I got a new fancy phone. I usually love Cyrus because he answers all of my questions and sends people nice texts when I tell him to.”

  My mom had changed her voice assistant to speak in a male voice with an accent because she thought it was exotic and “liked having James Bond in her pocket.” That was a direct quote. I’d never asked my dad how he felt about having James Bond in her pants. Since the voice was now an exotic man, she’d decided it needed a new name, and had spent an inordinate amount of time coming up with the Cyrus moniker. I wasn’t sure what Siri/Cyrus had to do with shrimp but I was going along for the ride.

  “But,” she continued, her tone dark and foreboding, “this time, Cyrus failed me horribly.”

  “So you told your phone to send a text about shrimp?” I asked.

  My dad shook his head. “She was texting me about dinner using the voice-to-text feature. Apparently, when she says shrimp, your mom’s phone thinks she’s saying another less palatable word—one that many people use the little poop emoji for.”

  “How did your phone even know that word?” I asked, baffled. My mom was not a swear fan.

  She was working herself into even more of a huff. “The phone heard wrong! I DID NOT swear!”

  I eyed her suspiciously. “Your phone has to know a word for it to show up, even as a mistake, which means your phone learned the word from someone.” Which also applied to the F word, but I decided not to add that fuel to her current bonfire.

  She thought about that for a minute. “I was in the car and it must have listened to music from the car next to me and translated the lyrics while I was trying to text your dad!” She said it with the enthusiasm of someone who’d solved the mystery of where Jimmy Hoffa’s body was located. “For the record, I NEVER swore! And Cyrus is a pill.”

  “You’re blaming this on a song? In an entirely different car?” I gave her a look that was echoed by my dad and basically conveyed disbelief at her expert justification level. Our reactions seemed to make my mom even more affronted.

  “The only explanation I could come up with was that the phone had a bad chip in it, and liked to make things up on its own. That little chip monster gets me in a lot of trouble.” Her lips were pressed into a pucker indicating she was highly perturbed.

  “This is going to turn into the Branson Falls Sophie Saxee Shrimp Scandal,” I said. “SSSS for short. It even sounds like hissing.”

  “That’s pretty accurate,” my dad said. “Because every time I bring up the shrimp incident, your mom sounds like a snake about to strike.”

  She shook her head. “More like shush, shush, shush, shush,” she said, then paused. “I would say Shh, Shh, but I know where that got me last time.”

  “Swearing at your husband?” I offered.

  She swatted me with her shoulder towel again.

  “Be grateful you were saying shrimp and not another word like witch, duck, or truck,” I said.

  She pressed her lips together. “ ‘Truck’ has been a problem before.”

  Gandalf brought my dad a ball to throw. He faked throwing it about three times before tossing it down the hall and watching Gandalf take off after it. “She took the phone back and demanded a new one because of the shrimp situation,” my dad said. “She was adamant it had hearing issues.”

  “Did they give you a new one?”

  My mom gave a little self-satisfied smile. “Did they have a choice?”

  If I knew my mom, that answer was most definitely no. Most people would do anything to avoid becoming collateral damage in one of her catastrophes.

  Gandalf came over and pawed at my mom’s legs. She sat in one of her uncomfortable living room chairs that felt like you were running butt first into a rock every time you moved, and picked Gandalf up. He snuggled right up in her lap and gave a cont
ented little sigh. “What’s going on with the robberies?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “Did they tell you anything new at the town meeting?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. The police are increasing patrols, and asking residents to keep them informed if they see anything strange. Most people are blaming the tattoo shop, which is ridiculous.”

  “The robberies didn’t start happening until the tattoo shop opened,” my dad said.

  “It’s a pretty shaky argument. I don’t think the shop is involved. I’ve gotten to know the owners and correlation is not causation.”

  “What does Hawke think?” my mom asked.

  I gave her a look. She’d grown exceptionally fond of Hawke and seemed to respect his opinions above all others—mine included. I’d recently been made aware of the fact that Hawke sometimes stopped by to visit with my mom, and help my dad with his Mustang. “He thinks the same thing as me. That the two robberies are connected to each other, but we aren’t sure how.”

  “So you’ve seen Hawke lately,” she asked, trying to be sneaky with her prying.

  “I see him a lot. He lives in Branson…most of the time.”

  “I don’t see him as much as you do,” my mom noted with a lilt to her voice.

  “I wasn’t aware you were trying to,” I said.

  “Me either,” my dad said, one brow arched.

  My mom rearranged Gandalf’s collar. “I’m simply saying that I think Hawke likes seeing you and probably puts himself in your path frequently.”

  I gave her a look. “He has resources I don’t, so I often end up working with him. That’s all.”

  She gave me a look right back. “The position Ella and I found you two in during the UFO investigation says otherwise.”

  I thinned my eyes and my voice dropped an octave in warning. “I tripped.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And fell on top of him?”

  I lifted my shoulders. “He broke my fall. I could have been hurt.”