Chapter 5
FIVE
NOTCH
The tattoos were a trend I’d started back in my EMT days.
Every time I saved someone’s life, I got a tattoo in their honor.
Most of the tattoos I’d gotten over the years were small.
Little things that added up to half a sleeve on my leg or a design on parts of my back.
But this one? Saving Texas? That man had been an important figure in my life.
He was my recruiter. The one who’d turned my head toward The Lost Boys in the first place.
He gave me the semblance of family I needed because he understood what it was like to grow up without one.
And in honor of making sure he didn’t die, I was going to get the kind of tattoo deserving of a man like him.
At this point, it was time for me to start a new sleeve.
I had one going down my entire right arm, though I didn’t talk about those tattoos much.
Both of my shoulders blades and my chest were covered in designs that flowed effortlessly from one into the other.
Which meant the only other place I had was my left arm.
Shoulder tattoos were a bitch on me. I was lean and trim, not thick with muscle like the guys who surrounded me.
So, the tops and the crests of my shoulders always made me grit my teeth.
The burn and the pain helped me to remember why I did what I did, though. It helped me to remember and respect every decision I’d made with my life up until this point.
Even though I wasn’t an EMT any longer, the tradition stuck with me.
I didn’t get nearly as many tattoos now as I used to.
But sometimes, the situation called for it.
I had one for Stone on my left shoulder blade.
One for Bronx on my right. It was only a matter of time before Texas emblazoned himself onto my skin, no matter how much he touted the fact that he could sneak up on any enemy and get the best of them, no matter what.
Everyone had their day. Just like I’d had mine.
When I first walked into the tattoo shop, the young girl who came out to greet me looked almost pissed.
Like I was some sort of inconvenience for her.
She came out with her fists balled up and her shoulders tense.
And I wondered if her reputation really did precede her.
It was the only thing that kept me around long enough to hand her the drawing I’d come up with—the tree of life reflected within a lake’s mirrored state.
She took the drawing from me without so much as a look into my eyes, and her comical stature made me grin.
But when she spoke to me, I quickly understood how fiery she was. How commanding her presence could become. I saw her come alive as she drew on that outline paper. As her hands carefully traced and her eyes darted back and forth.
I saw her reputation prove itself in front of me.
Her feistiness was simply an added bonus.
“Here,” she said.
She handed me the finished sketch she had created—an outline of the entire picture with small symbols denoting where she needed to shade and where she would have to fill in. I narrowed my eyes as I looked at it. There were a couple of things that were off.
“Give me your pen,” I said.
“A ‘please’ would be nice,” she murmured.
I shrugged off her comment and set the drawing down.
I made a few tweaks to the image itself, elongating a couple of branches and really outlining the shaded sky that would create the outline of the clouds simply by not filling them in.
I wanted that to be done perfectly. It was a complicated process, and this shop came highly recommended by many people in some of the bars I frequented.
At least half of the women I’d had the pleasure of tasting in my lifetime had a tattoo on their body done by this woman. And yet, I hadn’t paid attention enough to ask for the name of the gal that ran this place.
The woman who stared me down as I tweaked her picture.
“Here,” I said.
I handed her the drawing and the pen back as she sighed.
She tucked the pen away in her breast pocket and then slid a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes danced over the finished piece of work, and I watched as her lips moved softly.
Her head nodded as if she were having a conversation with herself.
She was an odd one, this girl.
“So, you think you can help me?” I asked.
Her eyes fluttered over to me before she sighed.
“Yes, I can. But I’m still going to have to stay open a little later for you. If you want this done tonight,” she said.
“Sounds like a small honor not many get,” I said, grinning.
“Trust me, it’s not a compliment.”
My grin quickly slid from my cheeks.
Man, this girl knew how to throw cold water on a man’s attempt at flirting.
“Come on back. We’ll get you set up. The outline will be done in black, unless you want the entire thing shaded in another color?” she asked.
“Do I get your name before you stick me with several vibrating needles?”
“Does my name somehow have a bearing on your tattoo?”
I shrugged. “I’d like to know who’s about to put me in pain, yes.”
She grinned. “Well, that makes one of us.”
I laughed as we made our way into her small cubicle. She sat down on a rolling stool and motioned for me to get comfortable in the plush leather chair she had. I slid my leather jacket off and hung it up, working my shirt over my head. And when she turned to face me, her eyes dropped to my chest.
Her gaze slid down my torso.
Her eyes focused on the tattoo designs sitting on my hip bones that poked up just beyond the hem of my jeans.
“Like what you see?” I asked.
“Hip bone tattoos. Those aren’t easy to sit through,” she said.
“Do you have them?”
“If I did, I’d never tell you about them.”
“Are you always this warm and cozy with your customers?”
“Only those that think they can trade sexual favors for tattoos,” she said.
I paused. “Wait, men try to do that?”
“And women. Apparently, prostitution for tattoos doesn’t discriminate.”
She looked up at me and smiled the most delicate smile I’d ever seen.
It ticked her cheeks and wrinkled her nose.
It illuminated her dark brown eyes and made her shiny, pin-straight black hair glisten.
I had no idea how a small grin could possibly light up someone so brightly.
But her shimmer glistened for the entire world to see out front.
It was blindingly beautiful, and I struggled to catch my breath.
“Ready to sit?” she asked.
“What is your name?” I asked.
She paused. “Maya.”
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
I sat down on the chair and rested my arm against the leather.
I watched her as she peeled back the outline paper and then pressed it tightly down onto my shoulder.
She took great care and time getting it right, making sure it wasn’t crooked and readjusting as necessary.
Her fingers ran around the outline of the picture.
They were soft. Delicate. Like the rest of her.
Her dark brown eyes focused, and her long, straight black hair fell down past her shoulders.
It fluttered in the wind as the air conditioning kicked on, sending a soft chill through my bones.
At least, I blamed it on the air.
“I’ve got blankets if you need one,” Maya said mindlessly.
“I’m good, but thanks,” I said.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell any of your biker buddies if you prefer the fluffy pink one.”
She looked up at me with a grin on her face and I chuckled.
“How did you pin me for a biker?” I asked.
“You mean, other than the leather jacket, the black boots, and the tattoos everywhere?”
“Yes, other than those things.”
“I heard your motorcycle coming from two miles away,” she said.
I laughed as I leaned back, my eyes cast toward the ceiling.
“So, are we doing this in black or a different color?” Maya asked.
I paused. “What do you think navy blue might look like?”
“On your tan skin? It would look nice. It’s what I outline my tattoos with, anyway.”
“And how many of those do you have?”
“Seven,” she said plainly.
“Where are they located?”
“Black or navy?”
I peeked over at her. “Navy. Let’s do it.”
As Maya turned on the machine and sank the needles into me, I distracted myself with studying her.
She was obviously of Asian descent, with her crescent eyes and her thick, straight hair.
She was tiny in stature. Barely came up to my chest and had the body of a woman others would yell at to eat a cheeseburger.
She was slim. Petite. A compact woman who packed a walloping punch.
She was exactly the kind of woman that ground my gears together.
But Maya hit a nerve in my shoulder, and I hissed.
“Hold still,” she murmured.
“I’m good, that was just a rough patch,” I said, sighing.
“Well, you jumped. Try not to jump on me. I know it’s rough, but you have to sit as still as possible.”
“Only time I’ve ever been told that is when a woman has her hands on me.”
Her eyes darted to me as I lobbed my head over, taking her in.
“Are you always this flirtatious with women who have control over whether or not you experience pain?” Maya asked.
“Well, usually pain isn’t what I’m inducing in women,” I said, grinning.
“Uh-huh. And what is it you induce?”
“Maybe it’s better if I show you rather than tell you.”
She ran over that nerve again, and I gritted my teeth.
“Thank you for that,” I grunted.
She grinned. “Figured that would be foreplay for you.”
I sighed and closed my eyes as I lay my head back into the leather chair.
“What are your other tattoos for?” she asked.
My eyes snapped open. “What?”
“Your other tattoos. What are they for? Why did you get them?”
My mind rushed back to the sound of sirens and people crying. Boots hitting the floor as flames emerged from the building. I let them wash me away. I let my mind take me back. The smell of smoke was heavy underneath my nose as the pain from the tattoo ebbed and flowed.
Faded away only to come back and strike with full force again.
“Well, when I’m not biking around, I’m an EMT,” I said.
“Mhm,” Maya hummed.
“And every time I help someone or save their life in some way, I get a little tattoo commemorating that moment.”
“Wow,” she said.
I could have sworn I heard actual respect in her voice.
“How long have you been working as an EMT?”
“Just shy of five years. I took the certification classes right out of high school and dove straight into it.”
“Never had a passion for college?” Maya asked.
“I hated school,” I said, chuckling.
I groaned as she ran over the top of my shoulder.
“Keep talking to me. Focus on something else. What’s this latest tattoo for? Who did you save?” she asked.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to focus my efforts.
“There was a shootout,” I said.
“How long ago?” Maya asked.
“Only a few days ago. On Highway One. There was a gunfight. A man was shot through the arm. I was able to get him stitched up enough to stop the bleeding before I could get him into the ambulance.”
“You talking about the shootout that happened across town?”
My eyes snapped open. “What?”
“The shootout near the ocean. I think it was Highway One. The one by that building that practically hangs off the cliff?”
My attention was fully elsewhere now.
“You heard about that?” I asked.
She snickered. “Yeah. Everyone has. Rumor on the street is a couple local gangs got into it. Is that what happened?”
“I don’t know logistics. I just get in there and try to save as many lives as I can.”
“Well, everyone says that’s what happened.
The local police don’t seem too worried about it, though.
They police this strip heavily, with all the clubs and open bars in the restaurants on this strip.
They come in here from time to time and make sure I’m not giving piercings and tattoos to drunk, underaged kids. ”
“Did they say anything about it?”
She fell silent as she finished off part of the outline and then moved back down to my arm, giving me a reprieve from the pain that was beginning to numb my senses.
“Not really. I mean, I asked them about it. I asked them if we had anything to worry about. They told me not so much, since the shootout was on the other side of town. One of the officers told me that the police probably wouldn’t worry about looking into it too much because of the fact that it was nothing but gang violence,” Maya said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It’s the same kind of mentality back in my home country. The bad blood will ultimately kill themselves off in stupid fights. At least, that’s what the police believe. So they can focus their efforts on people who deserve it, supposedly.”
There was a bitterness in her voice I detected. Her home country? What had happened there? Is that why she had migrated over to the States?
Because of some sort of violence directed at her?
Either way, I didn’t like how that sounded.
I didn’t like the fact that the police in San Diego were beginning to think like prejudiced bastards.
But it also sounded like the police weren’t looking into shit.
They weren’t looking for bodies or proof or who was to blame but simply to cover it up and keep moving on so they didn’t get too bogged down with an investigation they knew would go nowhere.
Since I was the best cleaner in town.
“So, were you born and raised here?” Maya asked.
And as she hopped back up to the crest of my shoulder, I started in on my life story again and answered her questions as they came, using them as a distraction.
But hot damn, I’d figure out a way to get to know her too.
Eventually.