by Raen Smith
She cocked her head at him and grabbed the glass of water. “You’re pushing it, just like your dad did.”
He pressed his hands against the counter. “Let’s call him Jack. Dad is a little too close for me right now.”
“Got it. So, you done with your bounty run or whatever you call it?”
“Yeah, my day job was done at six this morning when I brought in a naked fifty-year-old junkie coming off a bender to the police station.” He shook his head. “My job never stops surprising me, one wrinkly ball at a time.”
“Didn’t need that visual,” she replied, waving her hand in front of her face.. “Tell me, what’s the lead on your brothers?”
“Well, I don’t exactly have a solid lead,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s more like an idea.”
“You called me because you have an idea?” She took a gulp of water. It didn’t sound like he needed her help. She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, I figured you could help me with my idea,” he said, flashing a bright smile. “I said the magic word again.”
“Jesus, maybe I am going to need a drink,” she joked, returning his smile. She couldn’t help falling into playful banter with him. It was so easy. So comfortable. It was nothing like she shared with Rex. He was so serious and driven all the time. He didn’t have time for flattering her anymore. “Let’s hear it. What’s your idea?”
“I already searched for Brody and Ronan Murphy. I also searched for Davis, but I didn’t have any luck. There was one Brody Murphy in Illinois and apparently he’s not my brother because he’s fifty-two. They obviously have different last names.”
“And maybe first names if the adoptive parents decided to change those as well.”
“And maybe first names,” he agreed, nodding his head. “See, that’s why I asked for your help. I didn’t think of that one. Anyway, Jack had a tattoo on his chest just like mine, which leads me to believe that my two brothers have the same tattoo.”
“I would say that’s a pretty safe assumption.”
“I think we should go to the tattoo parlors in the city and ask around,” he said, specifically leaving out the part about Rich tipping him off. He didn’t want to scare Charla off with the idea his brother might be an ex-convict. “There might be a chance that one of them got it touched up or maybe one of the artists remembered the tattoo. Some of those guys are freaks like that. They come across something that sticks in their head. I want to start at Color Box just outside Blackwell. My old friend Frankie owns it.”
“How do you know they’re even in Blackwell? Who’s to say they’re not in California or New York or Florida or Wisconsin? They could be anywhere.”
“I don’t, but I have to start somewhere, don’t I? Plus, Jack was only thirty minutes away. There’s a shot he kept the other two close as well.”
“What about your adoptive parents? Did you ask them about it?” Charla asked. “They could at least tell you what agency you came from.”
“I wish. They’re both dead,” he replied.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t - ” Charla started, instinctively reaching her hand out to him. She covered his, feeling the warmth of his skin crawl onto hers. Comforting other people was second nature to her.
“Don’t be sorry. They were old,” he replied, grabbing her hand to hold it. “But I can be sad if it means you’ll do more than hold my hand.”
“Jackass,” Charla said, letting go of his hand.
“Tattoo parlor?”
“Tattoo parlor.”
“I’ll drive.” Liam shot her a wicked grin that made both her heart flutter and head spin with regret.
***
Liam held the door open as Charla ducked under his arm and into the Color Box. The smell of antiseptic and sterility surrounded her. It was a smell she was comfortable with after her clinical experiences in school. While most people were revolted by the smell of hospitals, she found it refreshing. It meant people were getting the help they needed.
“Can I help you?” A woman with brunette pin curls and painted cherry lipstick popped up from behind the counter. Tattoos lined both sides of her neck and ran down her arms. On her face was a single star near her eye. But the tattoos weren’t what struck Charla. It was the woman’s body. She looked like Betty Boop. Huge boobs, a teeny waist, and curves to knock someone out. She wore a body hugging dress that matched her lipstick. Her lips curled into smile after she passed over Charla and then saw Liam. “Oh hey, Murph. What’s up?”
“Hey, Frankie,” Liam replied, holding out his arms to her. She clicked toward him in five-inch spikes and nuzzled her head into his chest.
This was Frankie? Charla looked down at her bunched-up striped cotton tank top and jean shorts. She pulled the top down and straightened her shorts, wishing she would have opted for something a little sexier like Jill had suggested. If this was one of Liam’s old friends, then she didn’t even want to see a picture of his ex-wife.
Charla cleared her throat and held out her hand. “I’m Charla.”
Frankie disengaged from Liam reluctantly and turned slowly toward her. She looked her over before she said, “Liam, you brought some virgin skin in?”
Charla opened her mouth about to defend herself when Liam smiled and spoke instead.
“I know it’s your favorite kind,” he replied. “But we’re here for something else.”
“Ah, come on,” Frankie said, finally reaching out to shake Charla’s hand. She flashed a bright smile and shook her hand with an aggressive warmth like they were long lost friends getting reacquainted. “You know I love to pop tattoo cherries.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Not today.”
“Please,” Frankie said in a voice as sweet as honey to Charla. There was something about Frankie that made Charla actually want to have her proverbial cherry popped. She could only imagine the things this woman convinced men to do in bed.
“Well, maybe,” Charla said. “I’ve always kind of wanted one on my pelvis. You know somewhere that wasn’t too exposed.”
Frankie reached down and popped open the button of Charla’s jean shorts and tugged them down an inch before Charla could protest. She ran her long red fingernail across her skin, sending a shiver down Charla’s legs. “Right here. It would be perfect.”
“Exactly,” Charla whispered. Frankie’s nail was right where Charla had considered getting a footprint tattoo for the last couple years, but any time she had mentioned it to Rex, he had gone on a tangent about the lack of sterility in tattoo parlors and the permanency of ink. He considered himself the voice of reason. She wondered if his voice of reason had any thoughts when he was in bed with the blonde.
Liam cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. “Ladies.”
“Oh, you’re such a buzz-kill, Liam,” Frankie said, pulling her finger away from Charla’s skin. She tugged up Charla’s shorts and buttoned them. “What do you need?”
“I need to talk to someone about this.” Liam pulled his shirt down to expose the tattoo on his heart.
“What about it? It looks like you just got it redone. By someone else,” Frankie said, moving closer to inspect the tattoo. “You should have come to me.”
“Well, you know…” Liam’s voice trailed off.
“Looks good, I guess.” Frankie jumped in.
“I’m looking for someone who has this tattoo,” he said, still holding his shirt down.
“It’s the Celtic symbol for family,” Frankie replied. “I’ve seen it a few times before, it’s not that unusual. I’ve seen it on both Irish and non-Irish. Men and women.”
“I’m looking for two men who have it in the same exact spot, right over the heart,” he said. “Just like mine. They’d be old tattoos. They would need retouching, if they had it redone of course.”
Frankie let out a small sigh and crossed her arms over her chest, making her boobs bigger than Charla thought possible. Just another tiny squeeze and the girls would bust out for sure. She
looked at Liam, expecting him to be ogling her, but his face was pinched in concentration on hers.
“Think, Frankie,” he said quietly.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Frankie said, closing her eyes. She popped them open after a few seconds. “I’ve got nothing. I can’t remember anyone having it on their chest, not on their heart anyway. We can ask Max. He’s the only other person here today.”
“MAX!” Frankie’s ear-piercing scream erupted through the shop.
“Her husband.” Liam plugged his ears and smiled.
A bald man twice the size of Liam appeared in the door. His whole body was covered in tattoos, except for his head. It was like his head belonged to someone else, utterly and completely untouched like holy ground. “Frankie, how many times do I have to tell -”
“Max, Liam’s here.”
Max’s eyes lit up and a wide grin spread across his face when he caught sight of Liam.
“Max, how the hell you doing?” Liam embraced Max in a huge hug. “It’s been a long time.”
“A year?” Max asked.
“Two,” Liam said, pulling out of the hug. “It’s good to see you, man.”
“You, too,” Max said. “Man, I can’t believe you’re here. You look good, and you brought a girl with you. Good to see, man.” He clapped Liam on the shoulder and eyed Charla.
“We’re not together,” Charla replied, deflating any sort of macho bullshit they had going on between them. She wasn’t some damn trophy.
“Charla, this is Max, my ex-wife’s brother,” Liam said.
“Oh,” Charla replied, holding out her hand. Max took it in a bone-crunching shake. “Still not together, though.”
“No matter. What can I help you with?” Max asked, turning back to Liam.
“I need your help. I’m looking for someone who has the same tattoo as mine.” Liam pointed to his chest. “You know the Celtic one. The guy is most likely in his twenties. Irish.”
“Man, I don’t know. I’ve seen it before, but nothing I’ve done and nothing over the heart. I had a broad in here that had that symbol done on her wrist, but that was it,” Max replied, shaking his head.
Liam nodded his head. “You know who else we could talk to that might know?”
“Well, there’s three more shops in town,” Max replied, shooting a look at Frankie. “There’s a shop right next to one of Ken’s laundromats, just to warn you. If you see that asshole, give him a shot to the jaw, would ya?”
“Yeah, I will. Thanks, man,” Liam said, turning to go. Charla followed, smiling one last time at Frankie who held up her hand to her ear and mouthed call me. Charla nodded her head. Frankie would be just the woman to push her over the edge to get the tattoo.
Liam stopped a few steps before the door, but didn’t turn around. “How is she, Max?”
Charla turned to see Max rub his head with a quick flick of his hand. “She’s good, man. Stupid, but good I guess. You know how I feel about it all.”
“They got married, Liam,” Frankie said quietly.
“Come on, Frankie,” Max hissed. He gave her a short elbow in the side.
“I thought you should know,” Frankie said. “I thought it’d be better to hear it from us than someone else. They got married this past spring.”
Liam nodded his head and clenched his fists with his back to them, his face in deep thought. “I’m glad she’s doing good. I just want her to be happy.”
“I’m sorry, man,” Max said. “If it’s worth anything, I can’t stand Ken. I’d do anything to have you back as my brother-in-law.”
“Just let me know if you see anyone with that tattoo.” Liam finally turned around.
“Or if you run into anyone by the name of Ronan,” Charla added.
“Did you say Ronan?” Frankie asked, putting her hand on her hip.
“Yeah,” Charla replied.
“Well, why didn’t you say you were looking for Ronan?” Frankie asked, clicking toward them with feverish steps. “Ronan Williams just opened a shop in Hudson.”
Charla swallowed hard at the name of her hometown. She hadn’t been back to Hudson for two years.
“Does Ronan Williams have a tattoo like mine?” Liam asked.
“He’s covered, man. Just like me,” Max said. “Who the hell knows what he all has. It might even be covered up or part of something else.”
“Williams doesn’t sound Irish,” Liam replied.
“He’s more Irish than you are.” Frankie laughed as she squeezed his arm. “Which is saying a lot. The name of his place is The Lucky Ink.”
***
“Here it is. On Pigeon Street. No website or anything, but there’s a number.” Charla clicked the number on her screen and pushed call.
“Don’t,” Liam said, leaning over the seat and pulling the phone from her ear. She ended the call and held the phone in her lap, searching his eyes for an explanation. “What are you going to say if he answers?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, trying not to focus on the fact that Liam’s hand was melting her thigh.
“Let’s just show up,” he said as he started the engine. “You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”
“Why do you assume I have nothing to do?” She folded her arms across her chest. She still had to clean the house, find a job, and locate an apartment. All of these things were definitely higher on the priority list than driving around to tattoo parlors in search of Liam’s brothers. But she had to admit that none of these things were as much fun.
“You have nothing better to do because you’re still here,” he said, revving the engine and rolling down the windows. Charla’s hair whipped across her face, hiding the pink that flushed her cheeks.
Better was the key.
“So, are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Why would I not be okay?”
“Your ex-wife getting remarried situation…” she said, treading carefully. She’d seen the look of disappointment that flashed in his eyes back at the tattoo shop and wondered if he’d ever get over her. She wondered if she’d ever get over Rex.
Liam’s hands tightened against the wheel. “As long as she’s happy…”
“You really feel that way?” she asked. “I have to admit, I would be devastated if Rex was engaged right now.”
“I take it Rex is the ex-fiancé?”
“Yeah. Soon to be Dr. Rex Callahan.”
“His name was Rex? You deserved to get your heart broken.” He laughed and slid on a pair of aviators. “I’d never go see a doctor whose name was Rex.”
“Me neither,” she replied. “At least not anymore.”
“Is it pathetic that it still fucking hurts after two years?” Liam asked. He was quiet for a second before he added. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this.”
“You were married for eight years. I don’t think it’s pathetic,” she answered. “But I would be worried about getting into a relationship with you if you still loved someone else.”
She bit her lip and felt a bead of sweat drip down her back. She didn’t know why the hell she mentioned anything about a relationship. She wasn’t ready for one anyway, plus Liam was exactly what she needed to stay away from. She recited the last item on her list: Don’t fall in love with Liam Murphy.
“A relationship, huh?” Liam said, the corners of his mouth curling up. “I just met you Charla Taylor and now you want to jump into a relationship with me? The player bartender?”
“I didn’t mean me, I just meant someone,” she said quickly, trying to cover her tracks. He put his hand on her leg, just above her knee on the frays of her jean shorts. The touch sent a warmth flooding through her thighs.
“How about we start here?” he asked.
The thirty minute ride was going to be excruciating.
***
They pulled up in front of the green awning of The Lucky Ink in downtown Hudson. A lot had changed since Charla had been here last. The bricked building was sandwiched between two larger buil
dings. Charla ducked her head down to read the sign on the furthest side: The Paradise Club. A silhouette of a naked woman hung on a pole, and the windows were blackened. The strip club had been here since she could remember. She looked back to the other side: Green Insurance Agency. Ronan’s neighbors were a strip club and an insurance company. She wondered how that conversation went with the town board.
“You ready?” Charla asked. “There’s no turning back. Hudson has a way of sucking you in.”
“You been here before?”
“I grew up here.”
“So Hudson’s home?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call this home.” Charla looked around. “Never really had a home growing up.”
She dropped her eyes and cleared her throat. “But I don’t want to talk about it. We’re here to find your brother not to talk about my shitty past.”
Liam squeezed her leg before taking his hand away. She breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know how much longer she could stand to have his hand on her leg like that. She swore she was going to melt right into the goddamn seat.
“There’s only one way to find out if he’s my brother,” he added.
They stood in front of the building, reading the hours on the door. Wednesday: Closed.
“Who closes on Wednesdays?” She pressed her hands on the glass, peering into the shop. The inside looked nothing like the outside. The wood floors shone a bright sheen and huge wall hangings of tattoos decorated the walls. It was a mix of modern meets tattoo-bad-ass.
Liam appeared next to her and slid down his sunglasses to look through the window. “Looks nice.”
“Yeah, it does,” she said. “Now what?”
“We have two options. We can go home and come back tomorrow,” he said, turning toward her. He leaned against the window and pierced her with his deep blue eyes. “Or, which I happen to think is the better option of the two, we can do a little investigative work. I have someone covering the bar tonight, so I won’t need to pop in until later.”
“What does that investigative work entail?” she asked, leery of the silhouette behind her.