by Luna, David
Gideon watched as Boone glanced away, eyes unfocused, as he tried to remember. Boone’s face morphed into anger. “You said, ‘I’ll deal with him.’”
“And what did I do?”
Boone’s jaw clenched. “You dealt with him.”
Gideon’s eyes glittered as he nodded. “I did.”
Boone growled and picked up the envelope again, taking its meager contents out and sorting through it. “This is fucked up, Gideon. You led me to believe—”
“I did no such thing, Boone, regardless of how much you wish I had. You were on a mission to pull me back in. You didn’t take the time to think your methods through or to take even a second to wonder at my easy capitulation. You know me fairly well. The navy taught me a lot, the SEALs even more, but your division of the CIA took my education to a new level. All I did with Alan was utilize my training.”
Boone scoffed. “Your training included following orders, protocol.”
Gideon shook his head. “First of all, I was never given orders back then. That wasn’t the agreement. I was provided information and I did the jobs I was assigned, my way. Second, I didn’t sign anything. You never officially re-hired me or contracted my services. I haven’t been paid a cent, and I neither need nor want your money. You dangled a goddamned carrot in front of a killer, Boone. A killer you helped create. What did you expect to happen?”
“You know what I expected!”
“He killed my men! He’d have been dead by my hand already if I hadn’t been told by the brass that he’d died the same day my men did. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. Did you know I was fully trained by your people to revive, so that I could kill someone a second time? What was their philosophy? Ah yes, it’s a method that gives the enemy false hope and incentivizes them to give up more information.”
The color drained from Boone’s face and he rubbed it with his hands. “Jesus, Gideon.”
“You can’t blame an animal for doing what it’s been conditioned to do. I may be five years out, but that conditioning will never go away. That’s my cross to bear.” Gideon sat back again, took a deep breath, and then a drink. “So, do we have an agreement, or not?”
Boone let out a deep sigh, shoulders slumped. “Yes. Yes, we have an agreement. I’ll put resources on him.”
Gideon nodded and passed everything he had across the table knowing Boone was a man of his word and would do his level best to come through for him. They spent hours going through everything he’d brought, piece by piece. The fact that the syndicate was much bigger than Boone and his superiors had thought didn’t go over well.
When he was done providing Boone with a rundown of his time and findings he sat back in his chair. Boone was a brilliant strategist and Gideon knew he’d hash the information out in his own head six ways from Sunday before he felt like he knew the information backwards and forwards. There wasn’t a submissive bone in his body when he put on his CIA cap. It was only in private that he needed the release submission provided him.
Boone scrubbed his hands over his face several times, leaned back, and looked up from his notes. “So, we’ve got more information than we had, but we’ve still got a ways to go. The one hundred men only meet every six months where they’re given their new assignments, and new locations. It’s the weekly phone calls that are confusing… Jesus, he’s just making them call in to fuck with them. To keep his leash tight. I bet the number you have here just leads to an answering service that doesn’t even have any inkling of what these guys are calling about.”
Gideon nodded. “I doubt Diabo Feio needs the information they’re calling in. It’s a mindfuck. They call the number and give a couple code phrases, depending on if things are going well or not. If things aren’t going well, they probably send someone to dispatch them. My guess is, someone completely unrelated to the whole thing is answering and passing the information along to someone else that’s only peripherally involved.”
Boone shook his head in disgust. “He’s smart, really smart.”
Gideon nodded in agreement. “He covers his bases and is gonna be really hard for you to find. He leaves no trail. None. They get their assignments and never communicate directly with him until that six-month assignment is up and even then, only peripherally. They have no cell phones, they use no email, they don’t use cloud drives. They have notebooks, pens, and paper maps. Christ, they process their own fucking photographs. Diabo Feio is off the fucking grid. They meet at a predetermined place six months later and get their new assignment, and so it goes. That may be your only chance. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“You’re talking as if… No. Gideon…”
“I’m out, Boone. I’ve been out for five years. That hasn’t changed.”
“We need you for this. You’re the best. I need to pull you in.”
“I’m not coming in. I won’t do it, Boone. I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t? You’ve just proven you can! It’s not what we wanted, but you dealt with it. You dealt with it.” He looked at Gideon, his gaze imploring. “Gideon…”
Gideon shook his head, sadly. “I have about an ounce of humanity left in me, Boone. That’s about it. I’m out, until you find me Lars Janssen. I need you to accept that.” Gideon stood and looked down at him. He stared at Boone, unblinking, until he finally got a frustrated nod of acceptance. “I’ll give you another two hours to go through the information I’ve given you. When those two hours are up, I want you back in submission. I’ll expect to see you in resting pose in the living room where you’ll spend an hour on your knees while I do some work.”
Boone shook his head. “We don’t have to—”
“An ounce, Boone. You’ll submit to me because you need it. That ounce of mine requires that I take care of your needs. It was never your goal, and I allowed it, but regardless of those facts, you’ve assisted in siphoning off huge chunks of my humanity, don’t deny me that last ounce, too.”
Boone, looking thoroughly gutted, rubbed his hand over his mouth and nodded again. Gideon left and took an hour long run, showering afterwards. He gathered some supplies from his duffle and took them to Boone’s living room, where he began his own prep work for the following evening. When his work was done, he put his supplies away and got out his laptop to check on things at the club. Signaled by Boone’s movements in the dining room, he turned and watched as Boone walked towards him.
“Can I get you anything, Sir? I still have your favorite whisky.”
Happy Boone was already out of work mode and into submission mode, he smiled. “Yes, pet. That would be great. Get a book for yourself, if you’d like.”
Boone shook his head. “No, thank you. I just want to shut my mind off.”
Gideon nodded and watched as Boone went to the kitchen and poured him his drink. When he came back, Gideon tossed a pillow on the floor and watched as the man kneeled on it and held the drink out to him. When Gideon took it, Boone settled into resting pose, leaning against Gideon’s leg as he’d done most nights, years ago, to get Boone ready for the stress of the next day. Gideon touched him on the head and Boone settled even more into a good headspace. They sat like that for an hour while Gideon finished his work.
Afterwards, Gideon drew Boone into a hug and he knew by the man’s shudder and tight hold that he’d needed the contact. Gideon urged him to get a good night’s rest and gathered his gear, tossing it into the nearest guest bedroom. He’d have thought nothing of sleeping in with Boone not even a week ago. He wouldn’t have had sex with him then, but he’d have slept in the same bed, giving the sub physical closeness after being in submission for several hours for the first time in too long.
However, the hug would have to do. He didn’t want to confuse their interaction as that was no longer his place in Boone’s life. Gideon had kept his punishments non-physical and non-sexual for exactly that reason. He wanted to get Boone’s mind back where it needed to be. But, after meeting Sebastian, he felt it was a betrayal of what he was hoping t
o build with the boy. Surprising even himself with that train of thought, Gideon stripped down and went outside to swim for an hour. After another quick shower, Gideon decided to let his mind and body rest.
THE ELECTRIC WHIRRING OF THE tattoo gun filled the space of his studio. Saturdays were always busy for him because he scheduled as many tattoos as he could possibly fit in, beginning at 9 a.m. and ending sometimes as late as 9 p.m., if he had sufficient time to take a couple breaks. He was lucky that he was ambidextrous and had trained himself early on to be able to tattoo with both hands equally well. It allowed him to give one hand a rest while using the other to continue.
He lifted the gun and swiped the blood from the skin of the woman’s left breast that he was working on. He noticed once he did that she shifted to get more comfortable. He tapped her to get her attention and she pulled out her earbuds. “Jenna, do you need a break? I’m happy to stop working for a bit. You’ve been lying in that same position for an hour and a half.”
She nodded and said, “Yeah, thanks. Sorry, if I could just walk around for a few minutes that would be great.”
“Are you feeling chilled?”
She lifted her shirt that had been covering her right breast. “Yeah, a little. Can I get one of your smocks?”
“Of course, I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”
He wheeled himself back and pulled out a cotton shirt that resembled a medical gown—with its opening in the back or front, depending on what was needed—but was waist length and long sleeved. He had multiple options depending on what part of the body he was working on and needed access to. He found that having the smocks—especially when people were exposing sensitive areas—helped keep people at ease. He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.
She slipped it over her shoulders and tied it in the front and took a walk around his studio checking out his work that he had framed and drinking from a glass of ice water he’d gotten her when she arrived for her appointment.
“I’ve been so happy with your work. I can’t wait for it to be done. My girlfriends all want a tattoo by you, by the way.”
Sebastian—in the middle of doing some exercises for his fingers and wrists, not to mention stretching out his back—tensed and glanced in her direction. She smiled over her shoulder at him. “Don’t worry. I gave them your card and told them you’re booked and mostly help people with scars they want to cover up. I figured I’d let you weed through the requests you get, to pick and choose what you want to do.”
He relaxed and nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, after word got out, I’ve got more work than I can keep up with and only take on those that I feel I can help in some way. You ready to get back to it?”
She nodded and climbed back onto the tattoo bed. He raised it up so that he could work on her while standing for a bit and got going. As he neared her scars he paused and touched her arm causing her to pull out an earbud. “I’m getting closer to your scar tissue. Do you want a stress ball or some gum or candies to chew on to help manage the pain?”
She shifted and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Can I use your stress boobs and get a stick of gum?”
He chuckled, remembering how she’d laughed at his collection of dirty stress balls. His big bowl of balls ranged from cocks, of both the penis and poultry varieties, to boobs, to testicles, to eyeballs, and pretty much any other kind a warped mind could think of. She’d loved squeezing the shit out of the stress ball boobs he had, telling him it was only fitting, as she was there getting her double mastectomy reconstruction scars covered with his ink.
He could tell by the way she kept tensing up that he was working on a particularly gnarly bit of scar tissue. She’d told him at their first appointment that it was better for her if he kept working through the tough parts rather than taking breaks in the middle of it because it just prolonged it for her that way. He fully understood the desire to power through so he didn’t let up and did his best to keep his pace steady.
It was her fourth appointment with him and he hoped it would be her last, though she didn’t know that. Some of her scar tissue was a little thicker in some areas and he had to go over it multiple times before it took the ink like he needed it to. She was lucky that her scars were susceptible to tattooing. Some people didn’t have the kinds of scars that lent themselves to ink.
He hated being the one to let down a client that had pinned all their hopes of fixing the damaged landscape of their skin on him. He always made sure people understood, before making an appointment, that full coverage wasn’t possible for everyone. He was always able to help in some way, to utilize artistic design, brilliant color, and unique shapes and movement to camouflage the scarred area. But some scars simply didn’t take ink.
Those were the times when he’d go home emotionally wrecked, when a client would cry at their dashed hopes. Some would leave, too upset to work with him after learning they couldn’t have what they wanted. Others would stay, still eager to accept the best that he could give them. They’d make a new plan together, one that perhaps wasn’t what they’d hoped for, but would help them, in some small way, to move past the painful ordeal that their scars represented.
He finished some of the shading on the brightest orchid of those he’d inked into her skin. Traces of blood bloomed where his needles had just been and he wiped them away, along with traces of ink. Glancing up, he caught her as she opened her eyes and met his. He grabbed his spray bottle of green soap and sprayed it over her tattoo, wiping it off gently with a fresh paper towel. He helped her up and walked her to the huge standing framed mirror he had leaning against the wall. “Today’s your last session, so unless you see anything you don’t like, you’re all set to go.”
Before getting a good look at herself in the mirror, she asked, “Really?”
He nodded, gave her a gentle smile and then nudged her towards the mirror. He gave her as much privacy as he could, with them both occupying the same room. He began to clean up the area, wipe down the table, and dump the ink cups in the trash. When he heard sniffling, he turned around and headed back her way, heart rate spiking. He’d feel awful if she wasn’t satisfied. “Is there something you’re not happy with?”
As he approached, he noticed she’d taken off the smock and was regarding herself, wiping tears from her eyes. She turned away from the mirror, fresh tears coursing down her face and pulled him into a hug. Stunned to have a half-naked woman in his arms—a first for him, for sure, and completely disconcerting—he returned the hug a bit stiffly. “Uh, Jenna? Is everything okay?”
As he patted her awkwardly on her upper back she gripped him still tighter. “Sebastian, I love it! It’s amazing! So beautiful and vibrant. The nipples look so impossibly real, but the orchids, they’re better than I could have dreamed. I can’t even see the scars at all. You’re a miracle worker!”
Sebastian blushed as she pulled away to look at herself once more. “I’m glad you like it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t like it, I love it! Look how beautiful you made me!”
He stepped back and waved his hand, brushing away her statement. “Nah, that was all you. I just added a splash of color, that’s all.”
“A splash of color? That’s a whole lotta splash, Sebastian. I’m so grateful to you. You have no idea the change this will make in my life. Really, truly.”
“I’m glad. Come on over here and we’ll get you wrapped up.”
After cleaning and wrapping her tattoo, he handed her back her shirt and she took it and pulled it over her head as he made himself busy, putting everything away. When he heard her picking up her handbag, he turned towards her with his aftercare directions.
“Oh, I don’t need this, I’m pretty sure I have the last one still.”
He smiled and said, “Humor me.”
She grinned and took it, slipping it into her handbag and hugging him again before he could prepare himself. He hugged her a bit more comfortably that time around, seeing as she was fully clothed. “Thank you, again. I can’t eve
n express how happy I am with it.”
Pulling back from her, he smiled. “That’s always the best compliment. I’m pleased you’re so happy. Give it a couple weeks to heal and contact me if there are any issues or touch-ups you feel you’d like me to make.”
She nodded, heading towards the studio door and waved before she left. He continued to clean up after the session; tossing his instruments in their packets he placed them in the autoclave and started it up. He double checked everything was in its place and locked up for the day. Stopping at the Italian café just down the street from his studio, he grabbed a cup of zuppa Toscana and a chunk of Italian bread before getting in his ancient car to head home. He never wanted to cook for himself after a long day of tattooing. He just didn’t have the energy for it.
He felt good about the work he’d gotten done that day and was glad that he’d have a short day of only two clients the next day. They were both substantial time sinks, but he’d be able to get out in the late afternoon and have some down time before the new week began.
Walking in his front door, he was greeted by Slap and Tickle. Setting his dinner on the coffee table he picked them both up and gathered them close, enjoying the feel of their furry little faces rubbing against his short beard and loving their little mewls for attention. He set them down in the kitchen and proceeded to do his best not to step on them while they wound their way in and out of his path as he opened some fresh wet food.
He looked down as they attacked their smelly meal with gusto. He hated the stuff, and only fed it to them when he was gone for a particularly long day, but they were putty in his hands afterwards and always curled up with him on the couch after he ate, and watched a little television to relax before bed. Drifting off on the couch, he remembered the way Gideon had nuzzled Tickle against his face and kissed him on the head before he set him down. He couldn’t help but wonder if Gideon would treat him with that much care.