“My shop’s downstairs, I live upstairs.”
“And you make enough to live on?” Despite the proximity to LA and the facelift, Palm Valley still wasn’t a place for culture, or sub-culture as it were.
His smile went from charming to shit-eating. “I sure do. You’d be surprised how much money a tattoo shop can rake in.”
I would have found his cockiness to be off-putting, but the truth was I knew nothing about tattoo parlors. All the ones I’d been to looked half-dead, with an artist who looked like he’d been regulated to piercing young girls’ ears in order to keep the lights on.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it. “In fact, I have an appointment in twenty minutes. Want to come see me in action?”
Normally, the thought of watching someone get jabbed with an inky needle would have turned me off, but there was something so earnest and open about his handsome face that I found myself nodding. There was also the whole guilt thing over how horrible I was to him in high school. And, let’s be honest here, I was curious to see how successful this guy was.
In my business, you had to stick to successful people like glue.
CHAPTER THREE
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling up Jose in front of a quirky, two-story house, Camden McQueen at my side. The drive was short and he alternated between pointing out what had changed since I left town and cooing over the car.
“How much was it, if you don’t mind my asking?” he asked as the wheels crunched to a stop over loose sand.
A smile tugged at my lips as I took the keys out of the ignition. “I wouldn’t know. I borrowed it.”
He opened the door and paused, giving me a suspicious look. “Borrowed it like you used to borrow the teachers’ books before a test?”
I matched his suspicious look, wondering how much Camden knew about what I did. After my parents became fugitives, everyone in Palm Valley knew they were con artists. People used to point at me and whisper, and I figured it was either over my injury (which was usually the case) or they were placing bets whether I was in on the con. I hadn’t been, not at that time. That didn’t stop me from pulling a few tricks in high school, but they were just minor things. I’d never gotten caught—teachers just looked the other way when they saw me. I think it’s because they felt sorry for me and they were right to.
“I always gave them back,” I told him and got out of the car. The sun had somehow gotten hotter. On days like this, I hated that I couldn’t wear shorts.
He was staring at me, his hand shielded over his eyes. I’d forgotten how much he used to stare. Now it was a bit easier to take since I didn’t think he was going to pull the rug out from under me, but it was still unnerving.
I turned my attention back to the house. It was clapboard and a bright yellow with cobalt blue accents. There really were life-sized replicas of Dracula and Swamp Thing on the porch as well as an intricate wooden sign that said “Sins & Needles.” The garden was of your standard rock, brush, and cacti variety, something that lazy people like myself would fall back on. It was a hell of a lot cheaper than maintaining a lawn in the desert.
“Like what you see?” he asked, his gaze following mine. “The house was built in the 1950s. I think it used to be at the air base, then they moved it over here when the town got started up. It even has a bomb-proof bunker.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Well, Audrey will be here soon.”
I guessed she was his client. I followed him up the path, stepping only on the stones as if the ground was lava, and had a nice view as we climbed the creaking steps to the porch. Camden sure had one hell of an ass. That was something I thought I’d never say.
He unlocked the door and flipped over the “open” sign as we stepped in. The place was kitschy as anything. It was like walking into Graceland if it was owned by Jon Waters. The walls were an obnoxious green, the suede couch was orange, and the coffee table was pink and made out of alligator skins. I had to do a double take. A 1930s scuba diving suit hung in the corner by a paper maché Speed Racer. There was a stack of shiny guitars underneath a flatscreen TV that was showing Who Framed Roger Rabbit with Asian subtitles.
But for all the visual diarrhea, I couldn’t help but add up the dollar value of the place. He wasn’t kidding when he said he brought in the dough. As ugly and campy as half the stuff was, they’d be worth a pretty penny to purchase.
“Can I get you a beer?” he asked. There was a small, retro fridge beside his tattoo chair and when he opened it, it glowed glass green from all the Heineken.
“Please,” I told him. Probably wasn’t the best idea since my stomach was still growling and I was strangely nervous, but I could never pass up a free cold one.
He nodded at the couch. “Why don’t you take a seat? Here.” He reached over and handed me a stack of binders. “That’s all my art in there. You know, in case you have a change of heart and let me ink you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
“I don’t recall you giving me the chance to turn that idea down,” I said wryly, taking them from him and sitting down on the couch. For all the orange suede, it was really comfortable. While he busied himself getting ready for the client, I flipped through the pages.
His art was beautiful. From soaring owls to photograph-quality portraits and strange symbols, Camden looked like he could do anything. All of his work had a certain shadow, a certain dark quality about it that instantly reminded me of art class. Back when he and I were friends, back when we’d sit next to each other in Mrs. Slevin’s class, he’d doodle page after page of his sketchbook with these highly detailed and intricate drawings, all with a skinny black pen. One day I let him draw all over my arm, from my knuckles all the way to my shoulder before Mrs. Slevin yelled at him, throwing around big words like “ink poisoning. “ I had worn those drawings with a perverse sense of pride like the freak I was.
I peered up from the pages and watched him. He was sitting in his chair, prepping his station, brows furrowed and bright eyes in clear concentration. The package may have changed, but his eyes were still the same. Even now they were as engaged and coaxing as ever, like he was trying to get the ink to tell him its secrets.
“So what do you do for work, Ellie?” he asked without meeting my eyes. He knew I was staring at him.
“I work odd jobs,” I said, and went back to flipping through the book.
“You never went to college?”
“Not unless you count the School of Hard Knocks.”
“Still funny, I see.”
“You gotta be something.”
I felt him pause, a heaviness at my back. The hairs on my neck felt like they were being tugged. I was reminded of the electric shock he gave me and I slowly turned my head. He was staring right at me, his expression unreadable. Something strange passed between us, but it felt foreign to me and I didn’t know what to make of it.
Finally he said, “Audrey’s here.”
I turned in time to see the door opening and a girl in her early twenties enter, doing her best Dita Von Teese impression with black retro waves and polka dot dress. Her arms were covered in tats, a full sleeve on her left and half of one on her right. It was just an outline of cherry blossoms, the color missing.
“Hi Camden,” she gushed. She trotted over to him in her minxy heels, pausing only to give me a dirty look. I was reminded of the way I must have appeared when I first saw him, before I learned who he was to me.
“Audrey, babe,” he said and got up out of his seat. He embraced her good-naturedly and patted the chair. “Take a seat. Oh, this is Ellie by the way. She’s going to watch me color you up, if you don’t mind of course.”
She gave him a half smile which turned fully fake when she looked at me. For Christ’s sake, she even had one of those fake beauty marks on her face. “No, I don’t mind. She your girlfriend, Camden?”
I almost snickered but caught myself just in time.
“No, she’s an old friend, just visiting,” he supplied smoothl
y. “Or are you staying in Palm Valley now, Ellie? I can’t remember.”
“Um, just passing through,” I said, getting to my feet. I felt that itch to get out of there. Why was I even in his tattoo studio to begin with? One minute I was at the coffee shop and suddenly I was here, hanging around someone I didn’t know. I mean, it felt like I knew him, but not really. We weren’t the people we were when we were teenagers. God, I hoped we weren’t those people.
Then I realized why I was really there. What my subconscious was working away on. I found my eyes resting on the cash register.
He started dabbing cleaning solution on Audrey’s arm and noticed my wayward eyes. I tried to cover it up but he just held my eyes and said to Audrey, “Ellie is actually looking for work. Do you know of any openings at the boutique?”
Audrey shook her head politely. “We’re full up.”
“That’s too bad,” he said. “Are you paying with cash or credit today?”
“Oh, cash,” she said, and he waited while she fished out a wad of bills from her wallet. It looked to be at least $200. I supposed that was enough to get by on if you had one customer a day, but it would barely pay your bills let alone all the cool stuff in the place.
“Thank you,” he told her, rolling over in his chair to the till and punching in a few numbers. “I’ll get you a receipt after.”
The register opened with a loud chime and my jaw unhinged. It was loaded with cash. And I mean loaded to the brim. There’s no way the shop could bring in that much. He must keep it for show or something, though I couldn’t fathom why. Maybe if he was the lovestruck boy he was back in the day, I could say he was trying to impress me, but he didn’t even know I’d be around.
I must have been staring at him with a stupid look on my face because he shot me a coy glance that said I told you so.
All right, fine. So he brought in a lot of money. Now that the shock had worn off that the geeky, emo teenager had done well for himself, I started wondering exactly how much money he was bringing in.
And if he’d miss it if any of it disappeared.
The buzzing of the needle snapped me out of my musings. It was crazy, anyway. I told myself I was going legit and I needed to stick to it. More than that, I’d done enough to the poor man all those years ago. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to be any worse for wear. He looked like a hot, successful, lady killer. Maybe the past didn’t matter if you were making a killing in the present. Living well was the best revenge, wasn’t it?
And just like that, I let all the guilt over what I had done to him go. Javier once told me I wore my guilt like a badge of honor, because it meant someone else was suffering the same as I was, or worse. But it was obvious that Camden wasn’t suffering anymore. And I was.
“Are you leaving, Ellie?” Camden asked me. I looked over to him, his eyes on the needle as it buzzed along Audrey’s arm. She was watching me expectantly, her face a little pale and shiny. Pain sweats.
I had somehow moved closer to the door and now I was standing in the middle of the Technicolor store like I was caught in limbo. I could go. I could go and leave Palm Valley and try to find a new life somewhere else. But I was down to my last $200. I couldn’t afford a place to stay for very long or food to eat if I were to leave Uncle Jim. I needed a job. I needed money.
When I couldn’t find a job, I was known to create my own.
I realized they were still staring at me, waiting for my response. The needle’s buzz was hypnotizing me into a drug-like state. Christ, I really needed to eat something.
“I…uh…”
You need to go, I yelled at myself in my head. You need to walk out that door, tell him it was nice seeing him again, wish him the best of luck, and disappear. You need to go. Go before you do something stupid. Go before this gets complicated.
“I’m playing a show tonight in Palm Springs,” Camden said while taking the gun off her and peering at it. “How about I pick you up at six?”
I blinked. “Sorry, what? You’re playing a show?”
I looked at Audrey who was nearly pouting at our exchange. Was Camden asking me out on a date? The idea was equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.
“Yes. I told you, I’m a guitarist. It’s a Cramps cover band called Kettle Black.”
Well, that was intriguing.
“Do you remember where my uncle lives?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said and flashed me that smile of his. I swear Audrey melted into a puddle at his feet. “So I’ll pick you up at six.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I was nodding and saying, “Yes, see you then.”
Then I was out on his porch and making my way to Jose in a daze. It was too hot outside, the sun was too bright, and I felt totally off balance. I opened the car door and let the stale blast of hot air flow out. While I waited for the interior to cool, I stared at the bright shop and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.
I didn’t have many friends. Friends are dangerous liabilities when you’re a grifter. They’re dangerous liabilities, period. I never really had them as a child. In high school, there was Camden, then the fake friends I traded him in for. After I graduated, I decided to do the only thing I knew how and that was grifting. The word rhymes with drifting for a reason. I floated like a dead leaf from state to state, and until I met Javier, my ties to people were superficial at best. That’s not to say I didn’t have some buddies—usually socially unsavory types—I could call up and chat. I did. I got by. But I never had anyone I could depend on. And aside from my uncle, I never had anyone who knew me back when I was “innocent.”
And so there I was, standing outside the house of a guy who knew me when I was still redeemable. Someone who had known me and my parents. Knew exactly what I was and where I came from. Someone who was asking me out on a date to see his show. And I was thinking two things: one, I couldn’t afford to befriend anyone, let alone someone I wouldn’t mind seeing naked, and two, how much cash could I take from him before I hated myself?
***
It was almost six o’ clock and Uncle Jim’s kitchen was succumbing to monochrome as the sun lowered itself behind the San Jacinto Mountains. He was leaning against the dishwasher, arms folded across his aging flannel shirt, and eying me as I applied my makeup.
I glanced at him over my compact. “What?”
He shrugged. “What nothing. I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”
I brushed on a few coats of mascara, nearly rolling my eyes into the wand. “It’s not a date. It’s just old friends connecting. And I like to look nice for old friends, you got that? Here, have some of my bourbon, it’ll take the edge off.”
I nudged the unlabeled bottle toward him, the mahogany liquid sloshing around inside. He looked at it for a few seconds before sighing and bringing a glass out of the cupboard. He’d been anxious ever since I walked back in his door. After I told him I was going to see a show with the Sheriff’s son, it only doubled.
He poured himself a glass, took a sip, and nearly spat it out. He winced overdramatically. “Jesus, Ellie, you making moonshine over here?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “A friend from Kentucky brews his own. If you have a few shots, you’ll forget all your problems.”
He pushed the glass over to me, shaking his head. “Yeah well, I hope that’s not what you’re trying to do.”
My compact closed with a satisfying click. “You think I’m trying to forget my problems?”
“Either that or create new ones. Really, Ellie…” He wiped his mouth, licking his lips with distaste and turned to the window and the dying light that was settling over the groves.
“Well I’m certainly not creating any problems with Camden McQueen,” I told him, reaching over for his still full glass. I swirled the bourbon around, watching it, mesmerized. “I mean, he’s the son of the town’s law enforcement—that doesn’t exactly invite trouble.”
He grunted in response, not buying it. The truth is, I was looking for trouble tonig
ht. I was looking for someone in particular, a local lackey, a douchebag, a deadbeat criminal. I was looking for someone people would suspect if Sins & Needles were to ever be robbed. I was looking for a way out of the past.
A honk blasted from outside. My heart jumped in my chest, making me realize I was just as on edge as Uncle Jim was. I slammed back the rest of the drink, my throat burning like I was drinking antiseptic, and hopped off the bar stool.
“Have fun,” he said without turning his head.
I missed the days when I could kiss my uncle on his cheek and make him smile. But it seemed like the days of smiling had long since passed.
I snatched up my purse and shrugged a worn leather jacket over my shoulders as I made my way out the door and down the driveway. Camden was waiting in a dark, doorless Jeep, its exhaust rising high in the rapidly cooling air. Crickets chirped and I smiled into the headlights as I made my way around the front of the vehicle.
“Nice ride,” I told him and eased myself up onto the passenger seat.
“Nice date,” he answered back smoothly, looking me up and down with a broad grin. I was glad it was dark outside and he couldn’t see the flush on my cheeks. Not only at the word “date” which I had been so certain it wasn’t, but the petty fact that he liked how I looked. I was pretty much wearing the same thing as earlier, the same thing I always wore—boots and jeans—but had a flirty white top that showed off a small slice of cleavage. Okay so maybe I dolled myself up more than I should have for a so-called friend. Damn my uncle for being right.
Naturally, Camden didn’t look too shabby himself. He was wearing black pants that were flatteringly tight in the crotch area, bad-ass boots, and a Battlestar Gallactica tee that would have looked geeky on anyone else but only made his wide chest and thick biceps more noticeable. Most surprising of all were the glasses he was wearing. It was the only thing that reminded me of the Camden I used to know, even though the glasses now were black rimmed in that hipsterish way.
Sins & Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1) Page 4