by Rhys Ford
“Kiddo, I just want you to be careful. That’s all. Ruan’s probably a great guy, but I’m guessing he doesn’t know you that well yet. So I just wanted to tread lightly.” Bear tugged off one of his work gloves, tucking it under his arm, then reached out to ruffle Ivo’s hair. “I still get scared sometimes. If I don’t hear from you. If I can’t find you. I can’t even begin to describe the terror I wake up with some nights, and it takes everything I’ve got to not go down the hall to make sure you’re asleep in your bed. And some nights I just give in because I just need to see that you’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” Ivo murmured, leaning into his older brother’s hand. “I promise, I’m not going to let it get as bad as it did before. You’re never going to have to cut me down again, Bear. I’m never going to do that to you again. I fucking promise you that.”
Eight
“I THOUGHT you said this gets easier,” Maite complained in a low whisper, her face nearly covered by a dish towel folded over handfuls of melting ice. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s just getting worse.”
His partner wasn’t wrong. Some days were better than others, but today had been a long stretch of frustration leading to a house raid where they found their suspect naked in a tub filled with bubbles and a couple of rubber duckies. It had taken them two hours to get the irate man out of the bathroom, wrestling him with the help of five uniformed officers and a random animal control officer who’d been visiting an elderly woman down the hall to drop food off for her senior cat.
Maite took a hit to her nose when someone’s elbow strayed too close to her face, and Ruan made a run for cups of ice from a taco shop next door to the apartment building to keep the swelling down. After completing their booking, they’d come back to the bullpen to find their desks hosting a cadre of rubber ducks dressed as cops. Laughing, he picked up one he liked and tucked it into his jacket pocket, leaving the rest for Maite to clean up or keep.
The arrest was a good one, a satisfying conclusion to a month-long case with little to go on and scraps of information Ruan and Maite stitched together, leading them to an epic battle with a man and his tub. A little bit of paperwork and he’d be done for the night, returning with Maite tomorrow to interview their suspect, and hoping an eight-hour stretch in jail would loosen his tongue and lead them to someone higher up the food chain. The guy they’d pulled in was definitely one of the burglars, but Ruan wasn’t convinced he was the brains of the outfit. He suspected there was someone else, someone who planned the nearly perfect heists, and unless the dripping-wet man they’d dragged in loosened his tongue, that same someone would get away with it.
Even in the early evening, the police station was a vibrant, noisy mess. If anything, the day shift usually had some sense of decorum, but at night the drunk tank did a steady business and undercover vice seemed to have a revolving door of usual suspects and innocence-proclaiming johns. Friday night seemed to be wrapping up to a spectacular weekend, and so far it seemed to be relatively safe, but then, Ruan knew all too well how someone’s life could implode with the shift of a second.
“I like the ducks,” he said to the detectives’ bullpen. Met with a round of laughter, he grinned at his fellow cops and sketched a short bow. “Thank you for thinking of us. It was really nice of you to donate your own toys for the cause. Feel free to take them back if you want. I don’t want any of you to get lonely in the bathtub.”
The ribbing he got back was profane but friendly. It was funny how a few short years ago Ruan wouldn’t have ever imagined his fellow detectives teasing him like that. There’d always been a distance between him and the others he worked with, a buffer zone he probably put up himself but didn’t know how to take it down. The senior detective’s star helped, but he suspected the world was just shifting around him and he hadn’t been paying attention.
His partner edged past him, catching Ruan in the ribs with her elbow. She was going the long way around, purposefully nudging him aside to get to her desk, but he didn’t blame her. She’d taken a hit during the arrest and endured a lot of teasing from everyone responding to the scene, something she’d shake off and laugh about once the swelling went down. Glaring balefully at the toys, Maite eased down into her chair and grumbled something under her breath.
“What did you say, Suppes?” he teased lightly. “I couldn’t hear you around that glacier you’ve got on your face.”
“You owe me a burrito.” Her voice was muffled through the thick ice pack, but Ruan understood her well enough. “Like, a big fucking burrito. And fries. With cheese on them.”
“I can do that for you.” Ruan chuckled when Maite’s sour look migrated from the ducks to his face. “Don’t glare at me. No one told you to go in like you were on a pay-for-view cage match.”
“Don’t give a shit,” she grumbled back. “Go get me my burrito. And a horchata.”
“What kind of burrito? Because you never know what you’re going to get if you leave it up to me.” Ruan felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, reaching for it while Maite contemplated her options. “Think about it. I’ve got to answer this.”
He was too old to feel butterflies in his stomach, and Ivo certainly wasn’t someone who normally inspired images of rainbows and kittens, but Ruan reluctantly admitted to himself his skin tightened a bit when he saw Ivo’s number flash across the screen. Slipping into an empty conference room, Ruan answered the call, snarling at Maite through the window in the door when she held her fingers up in a heart symbol at him when he looked back at her.
“Hey, you there?” Ivo asked. “’Cause I can hear you breathing but nothing else.”
“Sorry. I was trying to get someplace quiet. I’m at the station. Cops can be loud.” He leaned his back against the door, blocking Maite out of his sight. It was late in his shift, but from what he knew about the shop and the piers, 415 Ink should have been cranking up about now. “I want to be able to hear you.”
“Yeah, you’ve obviously never been in a tattoo shop when a bachelorette party decides they’re coming down to get ink to celebrate their sister-cousin-bestie’s wedding.” Somewhere nearby a car began honking and Ivo swore. “Hold on. Let me get back inside. Got to be quieter than out here. Whatcha doing?”
“I owe Maite a burrito. We had a hard takedown, and she caught friendly fire from someone’s elbow jab. She made me promise to buy her dinner.” Ruan glanced over his shoulder at someone tapping at the glass, catching a grin and a thumbs-up from a uniformed cop walking by. He returned the smile, nodding quickly, then asked, “What are you doing?”
“I was going to ask you if you wanted to grab something to eat after I finish up here, but if you’re going to get a burrito—”
“I said I owed Maite a burrito. I don’t have to eat dinner with her. I’m not even sure if she can eat dinner, because her face looks like it hurts. I think she just wants the burrito in spite.” Another tap and Ruan was treated to a small orchestra of rubber duckies being squeaked at him through the glass door. Shaking his head, he motioned for the cops to keep walking and chuckled. “How about if I take her to the taco stand and then swing by your shop after I run her home? We can grab something to eat down there or I could try to poison you by cooking.”
“Fuck, that sounds really tempting, but I’m going to have to pass on the poison. The piece I’m working on is big, and it’s going to take a couple of weeks to finish the first stage. Maybe you could try your Borgia routine after that? I’ll try to build up an immunity to cyanide and arsenic before then.”
“Well shit, now I have to choose another poison, because those are my favorites, and if you have an immunity, then it’s not going to work,” Ruan shot back. “But is the grabbing something to eat still good? How much time do you need?”
“I’m going to need a bit, but a late dinner sounds great. So yeah, do you feel like swinging by and grabbing me, or do you want to meet someplace? I came in with Bear, but he’s gone home already. I was either going to catch a ride with Rob or tak
e a car back. I’ll probably be good to go at about ten? It depends on how well she sits.” The sound of cheering broke through the phone line, and Ruan heard Ivo sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, because I’m all into people getting inked no matter what they want, but it’s always weird when a bunch of women and their sons come to get something before going to go party. There’s an inflatable sheep being used as a beach ball in my shop right now. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
“Hell, then I guess the rubber ducky I got from the guys here as a prank isn’t going to impress you much. It’s got a badge and aviator glasses and everything.”
“Hey, I like rubber duckies. I’ll have to hide it from my nephew, though. Is ten okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. We’ve got a lot of paperwork to do. I’m up for grabbing you, then taking you home too.” It was too early in their relationship to expect anything other than dinner, but Ruan briefly wondered if he’d changed the sheets in the last two months. Or ever. An official date was the last thing he expected two weeks ago, but there he was, holed up in a conference room and murmuring into the phone like a teenager. “I’ll see you then. Good luck with the sheep.”
If the looks he got from Maite before he went into the conference room were cutting, the one she gave him after he came back into the bullpen was nearly as icy as the pack she held on her face. The ducks were gone, squirreled away in a plastic bag sitting on the edge of her desk, but the piles of paperwork seemed to have increased.
“You look goofy,” she finally said, pulling the pack away from her face. Her nose was a glorious lump in the middle of her face, reddened from the cold and promising to bloom into a full array of purple. Liking his own nose where it was, Ruan said nothing about the injury. Cocking her head, Maite studied him carefully. “Like you ate too much cotton candy or something. Was that the little boy you’re chasing on the phone?”
“Trust me when I tell you, he’s no little boy.” He shuffled through the papers left on their desks. “Do you mind if I grab you your burrito on the way to running you home? Or I can have something delivered. If you don’t mind.”
“So you’re going to ditch your partner for a pretty face and a dick?” Maite snorted when he gave her a shrug. “I’d give you more shit about it, but my face hurts too much and I think someone caught me in the kidneys. I’ll let you know if I’m pissing blood tomorrow.”
“Never let it be said you aren’t a classy broad, Detective Suppes,” he said teasingly, but looking up, trying to read any discomfort off of her. “If you’re not feeling right, let’s run you back down to the ER. I can see Ivo another time.”
“You have never ever in the time that I’ve known you had a date,” she pointed out, putting the ice pack back against her nose. “If I were bleeding out from every pore on my body, I wouldn’t tell you, because obviously you like this guy. And you don’t like anybody.”
“I like a lot of people,” Ruan protested, pulling his chair closer to his desk. “I just don’t have time to date.”
“That’s just like somebody saying love is too hot to drink,” Maite mumbled, shifting in her seat. “And I can honestly say I’m speaking for anyone who’s ever met you when I say, anything I can do to get you laid and maybe make you less grumpy, I’m there for it. Because, Nicholls, you know I love you and my family owes you a world of thanks for saving my brother, but man, you are sometimes a grumpy asshole.”
He couldn’t dispute the accusation, especially since, after a year riding with him, Maite finally confessed she’d been scared to death of him when she was assigned as his junior partner. Digging through his notes of the arrest, Ruan chuckled. “So the snatch-and-grab burrito is good?”
“And don’t forget the fries. Lots of cheese. And some pico de gallo.” Maite began digging through the ducks, then perked up. “And the horchata. A big huge fucking bucket of horchata. And if you don’t want me to grill you about your date, you should probably toss in a churro or two.”
THERE WAS a simple beauty in an older woman—a purity of the soul having settled down through life, a river-tumbled gemstone run smooth from its journey through the waters and over unforgiving rocks. If there was anything Ivo loved more than art, it was people and the delicate strata layers of personality they brought with them.
The bachelorette party had run its course, spilling back out into the street, and he welcomed the silence. His next tattoo had come from very far, a windswept country with its soil soaked with blood and its people with spines forged from steel. He could see that in her when she came through the door—a nearly six-foot-tall warrior dressed in a flowing shirt the color of seafoam, a long black skirt, and ribbons of colorful pearls spilling down from around her neck. Her hair was a short, dark auburn bob framing her full face, and her blue eyes had seen so much but still held joy.
Her voice carried over through the shop as she checked in with their latest intern, Monique, a squirrely young woman who’d enthusiastically answered Bear’s ad with a portfolio of anime characters and a history of mopping floors. He didn’t need to hear her name to know the woman was his next client. Her brogue rolled beautifully off her tongue, and her smile lit up her face when Ivo approached, holding his hand out.
“Heather Murgatroyd?” Her handshake was firm, but her smile turned motherly when she glanced down at his feet. “I’m Ivo. We talked on the phone earlier.”
“And all of the emails,” she laughed, a tumble of clear bells accenting her words. “Let me tell you, I would kill myself if I had to wear those heels. How do you balance on those little things?”
“Lots of practice.” He returned her chuckle. “And if I wear them while working in the garden, they aerate the lawn. Come on back and let me show you the final sketch and we can make any changes. Then I’ll probably change my shoes, because trying to ink with these things on sometimes can hurt. My brother Bear swears I’m going to break my neck one day, so it’s kind of a challenge. You know us guys. We can be all ego and bluster.”
“Is there somewhere I can change? I’ve brought a pair of shorts with me so I don’t have to be hiking up my skirt like someone working the streets.” Heather held up a shopping bag. “And if a man named David comes wandering in, that’s my husband. He went to go park the car.” She paused, straightening her shoulders. “It’s okay for him to be here, right? I should have asked ahead of time.”
“You can have a marching band and juggling dogs with you, if you want, so long as they don’t jostle the table,” Ivo reassured her. “Let me show you where the bathroom is, and then we can get to work.”
He knew he’d found a piece of her soul she wanted on her skin when Ivo heard the involuntary breath Heather pulled in when he showed her the sketch. Her fingers traced the kelpie’s twisting body with its fierce horse head and flowing mane blending into a delicate filigree-finned fishtail. As big of a piece as it was, he would have to break it into two sessions, getting all of the line work and as much of the shading as he could that night. It would all depend on her willingness to sit and making sure his hand didn’t cramp up. He’d done a color rendering of the tattoo, mimicking the watercolor splashes and intense, bold hues he wanted to use.
“It’s better than I thought it would be. More than I thought it would be.” Heather’s eyes watered, and she pressed her hand against her throat, blinking furiously. Sitting down carefully on the chair next to his stall’s long massage table, she exhaled slowly. “Are you sure you can get all of that done?”
“It all depends upon you. I think I can do it in two sessions, but your plane trip back is going to be a little uncomfortable. And if you need to tap out, I’ve always wanted to see Scotland,” he teased. “I’m sure I could find a shop there who would host me for a day or two. You can keep the artwork. I did it so you could take that home with you.”
She nodded and perhaps wasn’t trusting her voice, because Heather said nothing, only staring at the watercolor-and-ink rendering he’d done for her.
“Anything you want to
change, we can. Better now than thinking about it once it’s on your skin.” Ivo inched his stool closer to the chair she’d settled on. His booth was big enough to hold at least six people with room to spare, but sometimes, when a tattoo was too intimate, the half walls felt like they were closing in. “I need to make sure this is what you want. You’re going to be carrying this with you for the rest of your life.”
“I know. I’ll carry him with me always already. With this, I’ll just… have something I can see, right?” She sniffed, giving him a wavering smile. “This means a lot to me. It’s exactly what I wanted. I’ve always wanted this. As soon as it came to me.”
Memorials were hard, both for the inker and the person getting the tattoo. More than a few times, Ivo’d had his client be overwhelmed by the reality of the artwork and the weight of the tattoo on their skin. It was the reason he did renderings, for those times when the lines and colors became too real and the burden too much to bear. This time it seemed like he would be laying down a bit of ink and possibly, when they were done, pouring out a shot of whiskey for himself, Heather, and her husband, from the bottle Bear kept locked up in the shop’s back office.
“So we’re good?” Ivo handed over the box of tissues he’d put on the counter.
“Yes. More than good, and thank you. Okay, then, let’s do this,” she announced, glancing about her. “But first, I need to find where my husband’s gone off to. He’ll want to be here when you get started, and with my luck, he’s queued up for cheeseburgers at that place next to the parking garage.”
“He wouldn’t be the first one.” Ivo grinned. “That’s what the couch up front is for. Food comas hit hard and fast around here. Come on. Let’s go get this stencil on. Then we’ll be ready to rock this.”
Nine
RUAN WAS relieved to see the shop was still lit up as he trudged around the corner through the icy wind. Despite Maite deciding she’d ride home with her brother, who’d come off the streets with an arrest half an hour before they called it quits themselves, getting down to the piers seemed to take forever. Traffic was thick, and he’d gone by more than a few lit-up squad cars sitting on the side of the road, their drivers passing out tickets to hopefully contrite drivers. He didn’t have to look up to know it was the full moon—not like he’d have been able to see it through the thick layer of clouds pressing down on the city. The crazies were out, as Cranson liked to say, and they all seemed damned and determined to have a really good time.