Chapter Seven #3
“‘The love that moves the sun and stars.’ It’s the last line of Paradiso, the end of The Divine Comedy. It’s for Harper.”
Everything had come full circle, and Cujo was thrilled for his friend. “Where do you want it?”
Trent went over and locked the door, flipping the CLOSED sign. He disappeared into the office and came back out without his shirt and with a beer in his hand. “Right over my heart, where she belongs.”
Trent ran a razor over the area he wanted the tattoo.
Cujo debated the needles he wanted, but settled for a seven-needle round liner for the quote, a three for the fine outlining of the image, and a seven-needle weaved magnum for shading.
Now that Trent was a judge on the tattooing reality TV show, they were always getting free samples of the latest tattooing equipment, but for this, he selected his favorite brand.
“What’s with the image?” he asked Trent as he returned to the main studio.
“Well, it’s a galaxy, the Whirlpool galaxy—”
“Wait, is this going to be like that time you told me about the twelve souls who illuminate the earth on your arm piece?” Cujo snapped on the gloves they always wore.
“Fuck you, asshole. The galaxy makes a shitload of stars, but she’s always gonna be the brightest. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you think it sounds fucking hokey as shit,” he said with a grin.
“Okay, let me draw this up for you.”
“No,” Trent said. “Freestyle. That’s when you do your best work.”
Trent took another sip of beer, and Cujo set up the inks.
“I wish Junior was here to do it for you.” He checked that the clip chord and tattoo machine were properly covered with plastic, straightened the cables, and checked the speed setting to control the rate at which the needles would pierce in and out of Trent’s skin.
“You aren’t my second choice, Brody. Your talent at realism, man … it’s surpassed Junior’s, mine. Shit, I don’t know anybody better.”
Cujo swallowed hard, wishing he had a beer, something he never did while inking.
He picked up a pen and started to draw a rough outline straight onto Trent’s chest. “Don’t know what to say.
Thanks, I guess.” His career was all he had, and for another artist he admired to tell him he was the best at what he loved almost patched up the pieces of him that hurt.
“When are you going to let me do something on that left arm of yours?” Trent raised his eyebrow.
Cujo smiled. His right arm was filled with small, colorful tattoos that represented all of his most meaningful memories. But his left? He was saving it for something special.
* * *
“Not that I loved cappuccinos less, but that I loved lattes more,” Harper said, handing a latte to a flummoxed customer. “Julius Caesar.”
Shifts were so much more fun when Harper was around.
She was currently serving customers with coffee-adapted quotes from Shakespeare.
José had just left for the day. Joanie was in the kitchen, itching to show Harper her latest exam scores, which had improved since Harper had started tutoring her.
Drea was wiping down tables. Between the chaos of the lunch and dinner rush, Drea found time to slow down.
The phone in her pocket vibrated. José had understood her need to keep it with her since the incident. She checked who it was. Gilliam. She waved to Harper to watch the counter and stepped to the rear of the café, not willing to make the mistake of disappearing into the back for the sake of a call.
“Gilliam. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know that I reached out to Mike’s DEP contact, Ashley Sullivan. He was more than willing to schedule another test of the site to ensure Cleffan is adhering to the conditions of the permit.”
“Did you mention the woman?” She should be more grateful, but in the end, as disgusting as some kind of environmental fraud was, she cared more about the woman’s whereabouts.
“I knew you’d ask, so I sent him the photograph you sent me. He doesn’t know her.”
Damn it. “I’m running out of places to look for her.”
“I wish I could help you further. But there is every chance some good will come out of all this, Drea. If the information you sent is accurate, it could expose a critical issue, a very significant level of corruption. I know this is cold comfort, but I would encourage you to look to the positive, Drea. You’ve done a good thing. ”
It didn’t feel like it. The woman had done the hard part, collecting all the information on the drive. Her own contribution had been allowing the woman to be abducted from José’s, and finding the drive after it had happened.
“Thank you, Gilliam. And thank you for calling Ashley. Will you let me know what he finds out?”
“Of course. Good-bye, Drea.”
Drea ended the call and headed for the washroom. Somehow, over the last week or so, she’d learned more about fracking than she’d ever cared to know. She’d even dreamt about going to visit a well and meeting all the people she’d read about.
She’d been gone a couple of minutes when Harper cut her off on her way through the swinging doors.
“Drea,” she whispered, waving her behind the cooler with soft drinks. “The very yummy Detective Carter is sitting on the patio.”
“What?” She glanced quickly over her shoulder. He was waiting at one of the outdoor tables, dressed in jeans and a light gray polo shirt.
“Cujo or Carter. Tough decision, girlie. What are you going to do?”
Drea closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her heart sank. It wasn’t a conversation she really wanted to have, but she pulled up her big girl pants and went outside anyway.
“Ryan,” she said as she pulled out the chair opposite him.
“Hey, Drea.” He leaned forward, put both elbows on the table and fiddled with the lid of his to-go cup. “Your colleague makes great café con leche.”
“She swears it’s the Columbian coffee, but I think it’s all in the flick of her wrist. She’s got the coffee god’s juju.”
“Can’t convince you to come join me, can I?” He smiled, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Don’t answer that,” he added. “I saw you and Mr. Matthews. I get it.”
“I wish I did,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry,” she added sincerely. “Why are you here?”
“My gut’s telling me you’re on to something. I have a bad feeling. Not one I can prove. Yet. But I think you’re right about all this being connected.” Ryan took a sip of his drink.
“Why?”
“I’ve been speaking with the RCMP. Mike MacArthur was run off the road.
I shouldn’t be telling you this, but a witness came forward yesterday.
Saw a news report about the case after being out of province for a while.
Had thought the two cars he’d seen racing and driving erratically were kids messing around. ”
“So what does that mean for the woman?”
“I don’t know yet. But we have a lead on who Walter might be. Walter Tobias was killed the same night as the incident here. It looked like an accident. A car crash turned into a fireball on the ninety-five, just north of the causeway exit.” That was only fifteen minutes away from the café.
“So how do you think he is connected?” she asked.
Carter looked at her intently. “He was senior partner at an environmental law firm currently challenging the state over fracking in the Everglades.”