11. ELEVEN
ELEVEN
CORY
I held out a sketchbook open to a blank piece of paper and a pen to my client. “Draw a circle for me.”
The guy took it with a skeptical smile on his face. He clicked the pen open and went to draw his circle, but the second the tip touched the paper, I moved the sketchbook. His “circle” was predictably an endless squiggle.
“Hard to draw anything if I’m moving the canvas, right?” I tossed the book and pen aside. “So don’t move.”
He held his hands up and chuckled. “Message received. I won’t move.” He laid his arm straight out to his side so I had good access to his inner bicep.
Glen had shown me that little demonstration, and it was so effective that I used it before every session. It at least got clients to speak up if they needed a break instead of sitting on the table squirming.
I started up my gun and was dipping it in the ink to start the outline, when Sasha popped her head around the curtain that sectioned off the front from the back.
“Hey, babes. There’s someone here to see you.”
“Is it important?” I looked up, and her expression spoke before she did.
“Yeah, I think so.”
I turned the gun off and set it on the tray. “Hang tight for me one minute, okay, Ben?”
“Sure thing.”
I pulled off my gloves on the way to the front, tossing them into the trash. A middle-aged man stood in the waiting room in a casual collared shirt and dark pants. He had a badge on a chain around his neck.
Crap.
I held out my hand as I approached the officer. “Hi, I’m Cory. Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, Miss Eastwood, you can. I’m Detective Levine.” His voice was authoritative and professional, no hint of what he was doing in my shop evident in his tone. His eyes darted to Sasha. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
My heart began thundering in my ears. A business owner never wanted to have the cops show up, let alone a detective. I wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans and glanced at Sasha, who was observing the interaction like a deer in headlights.
“Hey, could you maybe go keep Ben company for a minute?”
She nodded with a little too much enthusiasm. “Of course! I’d be happy to!” And she scurried behind the curtain.
I motioned to the couches. “Does right here work? There’s an office in the back, but we have clients.”
“Here is fine.” He took a seat and pulled out a notebook .
I sat on the couch across from him and crossed my legs before uncrossing them again, suddenly hyperaware of my body.
“Miss Eastwood.”
“Cory,” I interjected. “Please, call me Cory.”
He nodded with a tight smile. “Right, okay, Cory. Do you remember tattooing anyone by the name of Elijah Simmons in the past week or so?”
I thought back through all of my appointments, names popping into my mind right next to the tattoo I gave them. A lot of my appointments took up nearly a whole day because large pieces were kind of my thing, so there weren’t that many clients. Maybe ten or twelve.
“No, I don’t think I’ve tattooed anyone by that name.”
He sighed and leaned forward, abandoning the notebook and setting it aside before locking his fingers together between his knees. “The problem is, Cory, Elijah told us he got a tattoo at this shop, and more specifically, from you.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I tattooed any Elijahs recently. But what is the problem exactly? Is he suing or something?”
“No, the problem is that Elijah Simmons is only seventeen.”
My jaw dropped on its own accord, and I blinked at him, no doubt resembling a large mouthed bass on a fishing hook.
“I-I, we I.D. everyone that walks through those doors. There’s no way I tattooed a seventeen-year-old.”
He nodded in a way that indicated less that he believed me, and more like that was the answer he was expecting, and then motioned to the back. “Any chance one of the others tattooed him?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m telling you, we are thorough.”
“Filing a false police report is a punishable offense, so you’ll have to excuse me for remaining skeptical. Why would someone risk lying?”
All the saliva left my mouth and seemed to manifest as sweat in my palms. I knew without a doubt that I didn’t tattoo the kid, but with Detective Levine’s eyes boring into mine, I felt like I was guilty.
“I don’t know why the boy insisted it was me, but I promise you I didn’t tattoo him. Any of us would’ve checked his I.D. and sent him on his way,” I said and then I thought of something. “I can prove it.”
I stood up and walked to the front desk, Detective Levine following behind me.
Signing into the computer, I pulled up the program we used to house all our client information. I clicked on my current client’s contact and motioned for Levine to join me around the counter.
“This is where we input all client information including a scanned copy of the driver’s license. I’ve kept this up to date since I opened.” I looked over at him before searching for the boy’s name. “There’s no record of an Elijah Simmons here, and we definitely wouldn’t have tattooed him if he wasn’t at least eighteen. Not without the permission of his legal guardian. ”
The detective hummed thoughtfully, then pointed up at the camera above the desk. “Does that thing work, or is it for show?”
Oh, thank God!
“It works. You’re welcome to the footage from it. And you can have a copy of my client log.”
He raised his eyebrows and his lips curved in a downward smile. “That would be great, Miss Eastwood. I appreciate your cooperation with this.”
“Of course. Anything to get this cleared up as soon as possible.”
It took a couple of minutes to download the camera footage from the past two weeks, but once it was on a spare flashdrive, I handed it over to the detective with a printed copy of the client log.
He took everything and then pulled out a business card from his pocket.
“I’ll be in touch once I review all of this, but if you happen to think of anything, please let me know.”
I nodded and took the card.
Once he was gone, I felt myself deflate. Elijah Simmons absolutely did not get a tattoo from DelINKquent Tattoos, but then, like the detective asked, why would he say he did? The only thing that made sense was that Elijah was protecting the place and the tattoo artist that actually gave him the tattoo, and that made me want to scream. And cry. A little of both, because a false, underage tattooing claim was not a stain I wanted on my shop.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and shot off an SOS text to Glen.
“Deep breath, Cory” I muttered to myself before I turned and walked back through the curtain to where Ben and Sasha were waiting, hopefully completely ignorant to the conversation I just had with the detective.
“Sorry about all that. Are you ready or what?” I made sure the smile on my face held some extra wattage.