3. Cisco
Cisco
T he closed door helped a little to block out the electric guitar playing through the loud speakers in his shop.
Cisco had them installed a week before they opened Golden City Tattoos and had the foresight to not install any in the room he deemed his office.
Five years later, he appreciated that decision more than ever because he couldn’t imagine how much louder the music would be if he did.
The pads of his fingers gently thrummed against his antique wooden desk.
It was a dark brown mahogany wood with built-in drawers on either side of him.
It was a bitch to carry into his office because the damn desk weighed at least three hundred pounds and couldn’t fit through the door.
He ended up having to create a larger entrance to his office in order to get the desk in, but all that work was worth it. It looked and felt good.
He felt like a damn boss. Which he was.
Cisco glanced down at his work phone, wondering if the call dropped, but, no, they were still connected.
His realtor was simply taking forever. Luckily for Ernesto, Cisco could be a patient man when he wanted to be.
While he waited, his eyes roamed his dark, emerald-green walls, covered with framed pictures of favorite tattoos he had done over the years.
There were even pictures of a younger, more eager-eyed Cisco, who, at twenty, opened his first tattoo shop in Albany, just north of his current shop in Berkeley.
He still had both shops today, entrusting his cousin to run the shop in Albany while Cisco focused his attention on the shop in Berkeley.
It had been a good arrangement for years, but Cisco had gotten that itch again—the need to expand and start up another shop in a more populated city.
San Francisco? Los Angeles? Santa Monica?
He was leaning more toward San Francisco because it was the closest to Berkeley.
That way he could easily juggle his time between the two shops and could respond promptly if a problem arose.
Santa Monica and Los Angeles were far and probably too much of a risk.
“Found it!” Ernesto’s accented voice came through his speakers. Cisco let out a sigh of relief, half afraid Ernesto had dreamed about this listing. “This one’s in San Francisco. That’s a good location for you, yeah?”
Even though Ernesto couldn’t see him, Cisco nodded. “Yeah, it has potential.”
“This one is located on Market Street. Busy street with lots of activity. The space is a little smaller than your Berkeley location. Fourteen hundred square feet. Recently renovated with a new central AC system, updated bathroom, and new tile floors. It’s only been on the market a few days, but a spot like this is going to go fast. If you want to see it, we better make an appointment soon,” Ernesto said.
Cisco could hear him typing something on his keyboard, probably pulling up potential visiting dates .
“They have availability this week and next, but the sooner the better,” he stressed.
Cisco tapped the trackpad on his laptop, and the screen came to life immediately.
His calendar was the first item to pop up, kept current by Lyana, his receptionist and younger cousin.
If he was meticulous, she was the goddess of organization.
No paperwork or appointment had been missed with her running the shop.
A new, highlighted note had been added to today’s agenda. He had checked yesterday afternoon to prepare for his schedule and certainly didn’t see this appointment. It was vague. Lyana had written “small to medium tattoo at noon” with no other notes.
He guessed it was a new client since his regulars typically left detailed instructions for him.
He didn’t usually take on new clients, but seeing as today was an unusually slow day, and he was the only tattoo artist working, his cousin simply scheduled him.
Cisco’s gaze dropped to the clock on his laptop.
It was barely eleven, giving him time to prep after the call.
Pushing the mysterious appointment aside, he checked his calendar.
It was only Tuesday, but his schedule was full this week except for a large opening on Friday.
“Can we do Friday afternoon?” he asked Ernesto.
He didn’t want to push it back any further.
Friday would already put him at a disadvantage for being competitive when it came to putting in his offer.
“Yeah, Friday will do. I’ll set it up for two. I can pick you up?—”
“Nah, send the address. I’ll drive myself.
” He didn’t have a problem with other people driving, but he liked the freedom of driving himself.
Plus, he had been in a car with Ernesto behind the wheel.
If he didn’t value his life or sanity, he might consider letting Ernesto pick him up.
But considering last time, when Cisco’s knuckles turned white and went numb from grabbing the handle above the window so hard, he felt like this was a safer option.
Ernesto laughed, not even trying to change his mind.
“Yeah, I’ll send over the address Friday morning.
In the meantime, I’ll keep looking.” And then the phone went dead.
No goodbyes. No talk to you later . That was very much Ernesto’s style.
Cisco didn’t mind it because he was never one for prolonged goodbyes.
Pushing himself up from his leather work chair, Cisco pocketed his phone and headed out of his office.
The music from one of his favorite local bands blasted through the speakers when he opened the door.
He liked his music loud, but not this loud.
He had to be able to hear his clients, and right now he couldn’t even hear himself think.
When Cisco rounded the corner that led to the main lobby, Lyana was lounging in her black and pink office chair, eyes closed as she mouthed the words to a song and band she claimed not to like.
Cisco smirked. They were a newer Mexican indie band that hadn’t gained a lot of popularity yet.
He knew they would blow up soon enough though.
They had that infectious sound that made you want to sing along.
“Ay, Tiny. Turn it down, will ya?” Cisco had to shout to be heard. Even though he enjoyed the band, he didn’t need to enjoy them this loudly.
Lyana—Tiny—opened one eye and glared at her cousin.
Cisco didn’t take it personally because that was the nature of their relationship.
They teased and bullied each other and called it affection.
It was the only way he knew how to bond with his seventeen-year-old cousin.
She leaned forward and turned the dial to quiet the music until it was at a more respectable level .
“Shouldn’t you be doing schoolwork?” Cisco came up behind her to lean against the wall.
Part of the agreement for Tiny working here was that she would continue her education online.
She hadn’t enjoyed her time in high school because teens are dicks, and her only safe haven was working at the shop on weekends.
Her parents—his tía and tío—agreed she could keep working as long as she continued her studies online.
They didn’t care if she wanted to go to college one day, but they insisted she get her high school diploma, a decision Cisco agreed with completely.
“Yes, Dad .” Tiny feigned annoyance. “You’re supposed to be a cool primo.”
“I am. A primo who makes sure you get your school shit done.”
Tiny didn’t hide her laugh this time. “It’s definitely shit. But I’m done. Had to take a test in science. Got an eighty-five, which is pretty good. Yeah?”
Despite her tough exterior, Cisco knew his cousin held a lot of insecurities, especially when it came to school—because of her dyslexia.
It made her feel dumb and caused her to struggle academically.
However, switching to online had been the best thing for her because she could go at her own pace, didn’t have the distraction of other classmates, and felt more confident in her work.
“That’s fucking awesome, Tiny!” He grinned and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Told you those flashcards would work.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She smiled, shoving him off her. “I guess you are right sometimes, Mr. Cornell University.”
“I keep trying to get people to realize that.” He winked.
“Well, keep trying and cry to your therapist about it.” Tiny paused. “How did your session go yesterday? ”
Cisco never shied away from speaking about mental health. It was an important topic and shouldn’t have a stigma attached to it. To normalize therapy, he spoke openly about Alice and his sessions with her. “Always good. Still working too hard, per usual.”
Tiny scoffed. “Yeah, you being a workaholic is an understatement.”
It was undeniable. Cisco had poured every ounce of himself into his career.
Since college, his singular ambition had been to open his own tattoo shop, and he had done just that.
Not only had he built a successful business from the ground up, but he had expanded once and was already eyeing another expansion.
For him, success wasn’t just about the money—it was about what he could do with it.
Providing his family with stable jobs, sending financial help whenever a relative needed it—that was how he measured his achievements.
But that kind of dedication came at a cost. The relentless hustle weighed on him, leaving little room for anything beyond work.
He wasn’t married, had no children, and burnout had become an all-too-familiar companion.
That was why he visited Alice once a month—to recenter himself, to unload the burdens he carried in silence.
She was his anchor, the one person who kept him grounded when there was no wife or long-term partner to do so.
Sure, there were flings, casual entanglements that burned hot and fast, but they never lasted more than a few weeks.
Commitment required time—something he had in short supply.
Pulling himself from his wayward thoughts, Cisco remembered to ask about the mysterious booking on his schedule. “Hey, so tell me about the appointment today. I thought my first one was at three.”
Tiny straightened up in her seat, tossing her bright blue hair over her shoulder.
It was the only vibrant color on her because she dressed like a typical punk kid, in all black.
He didn’t know how she could survive in an oversized hoodie when it was ninety degrees outside, but as a teen, he wore the same thing.
Now, at his ripe age of thirty-three, he still wore black, but clothes that went better with the season. So, not fucking hoodies.
“Yeah, we got a call ten minutes before closing last night. A woman was making an appointment for her sister. She left her card on file, wanting to pay for her sister’s birthday present or something,” Tiny explained.
“Did she say what she wanted?”
“No, just that if she doesn’t show up to call her.”
Strange, but Cisco had stranger requests.
“Alright, then I’m going to get my station ready. Bring her back when she gets here and keep the music at a decent volume, okay?”
Tiny flipped him off. “Aye, aye, captain.” She then went back to her computer, pulling up a game she played to pass the time while the shop was slow.
As Cisco walked away, he heard his cousin yell, “Oh, I restocked all your shit! Next time, tell me when you are about to be out of gloves. I just put in an order for more, but it’ll take a while since you need the biggest damn size for your freakishly large hands.”
Cisco barked out a laugh but otherwise didn’t respond as he entered his station.
It was a small room painted the same color as his office.
He liked dark colors, especially green. Only a little of the wall showed because the rest was decorated with photos of family, friends, tattoos, musicians, and places he hoped to visit one day.
Some would call his style cluttered and maximalist, but he called it perfection.
It was nice being able to look out and be surrounded by things you love.
Honestly there wasn’t much for Cisco to do. Tiny had already set up most of it. His equipment was cleaned and sitting out on the tray for him. The client’s chair also smelled of cleaning supplies and was covered in a disposable protective layer. Tiny even had his gel and gloves out waiting for him.
He was truly spoiled.
Usually, this would be the time he’d sit down and make any finishing touches to the art, but he had nothing to go off of.
Normally he didn’t like going into an appointment with no idea about what his client wanted, but he had enough experience and tons of unclaimed art pieces that he was sure they’d find something for her.
In the meantime, Cisco grabbed his iPad to work on a few other sketches for some of his clients. He got lost in The Sinner’s Web album as he waited for his noon appointment.