Chapter 4 #3
We left the apartment early that morning, making sure to stay out of sight of the other tenants.
They might have already been suspicious that a werewolf was living with me, considering all the missed calls I received from the property manager.
I didn’t answer or check the voicemail because what I didn’t hear I didn’t have to deal with.
It was like avoiding debt collectors, but sooner or later, I’d have to face it head-on.
The barred entrance of a seedy-looking tattoo parlor with a half-lit open sign stood before us, graffiti covering most of the cracking facade along the walls.
I wouldn’t have called it an eyesore considering how beautiful the artwork was.
There was even some abstract painting near the roof that looked like a blocky werewolf and a topless woman with square tits holding hands on the beach.
“You okay?” Roscoe asked. There was actual concern in his voice which surprised me. I’d kind of expected him to be a little more relentless with his teasing considering how terrified I was.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
Roscoe grunted and pushed open the door.
“Well, look at this ugly bastard,” a tall man at the counter said.
He was older, perhaps in his late fifties, with peppered black and gray hair.
Tattoos covered his body—some tasteful, others profanity-laden nudes of different women.
He wore a skimpy leather vest with nothing underneath, revealing a pacemaker scar that had been decorated with an anatomically correct heart in a cage.
“Finally snagged yourself a sucker, huh?”
Roscoe wrapped his arm playfully around my neck and pulled me close. “Cody, meet Brodie.” He chuckled to himself before nudging me forward. “Yer in good hands—well, when he’s sober.”
I turned around, hoping to make a run for the door, but Roscoe caught me by the arm.
“He’d be in better hands had you gotten him here sooner,” Brodie said, getting a closer look at my ears. “You got the kuu?”
Roscoe opened his hand, revealing the earrings. “Yup.”
He took the jewelry and began walking to the back with us following close behind. “All right, let’s get you pierced. It’s gonna hurt like hell, though.”
“Nope.” I turned back to the door, but this time, Roscoe lifted me up like a child and carried me over his shoulder to the back room.
The piercing process didn’t take quite as long as I thought it would, and it didn’t hurt that much either, especially since I couldn’t see what was going on.
It was a good thing, too. He couldn’t pierce my ears using the normal method of guiding a needle with a stud attached to the end.
Apparently half-turns heal so rapidly that the needle could get stuck halfway if it’s not done quickly enough.
He ended up jamming it all the way before quickly guiding the earring through the hole.
As soon as it was in, it wasn’t coming out.
Roscoe and I walked back to the apartment, and every step seemed to tug at my lobes.
The feeling of something dangling from my ears was going to take a while to get used to.
Not only that, but I had felt something odd the moment both of them were secure—a sudden surge of warmth that pulsed through me before dissipating.
After that, the eerie glow of the gold dulled and they looked like normal hoop earrings.
I looked up at Roscoe as he smiled, seemingly in relief, his tail swaying in time with his cocky stride.
“You got what you wanted, I guess,” I mumbled as we passed people along the walkway. It felt like the whole world was staring at me now. There was no more blending into the background, no more hiding under hoodies and sunglasses. I was front and center, the side-show no one trusted.
“We got what we needed,” Roscoe corrected as we began our ascent up the steps toward my apartment, a red envelope taped to the front door.
Roscoe and I glanced at one another, and I grabbed it before stepping inside.
“I guess I can’t keep ignoring them.” I opened the envelope which contained several security camera stills of Roscoe’s idiotic costumes as well as him out of costume leaving my apartment.
I began reading the letter, and there wasn’t much to it, just some professionally worded sentences with some legal jargon.
“How long are they gonna give you?”
I sighed and tossed the envelope into the garbage. “Not long enough. I don’t even know where I’m going to live yet.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll put yer stuff into my storage unit. Lucky you ain’t got that much.”
“Then what?”
“You like the beach?” he asked, stepping into the kitchen.
“I like having a roof over my head.”
“I got a buddy that lives in a shack by the ocean. If we give him meat, beer and weed, he’ll let us hang with him.”
“A shack. By the ocean,” I muttered before sitting on my bed. “Can’t we just get a cheap motel near Ruskin Street?”
“You ain’t gonna find a room. The whole reason I was on the streets was because I couldn’t find any werewolf-friendly motels that weren’t already full.”
“How do you even know this buddy of yours is going to say yes?”
“In all the years I’ve known him, Darryl’s had my back. I mean, the guy saves people for a living now.”
I remembered something Rob mentioned last week. “This isn’t the werewolf lifeguard at White Dunes by chance?”
“Ya heard of him, huh?” Roscoe popped open a bottle of beer. “He’s a big fucker, too.”
“He’s one of my old boss’s friends.”
“Darryl’s everybody’s friend. Never met a nicer guy, but he fucks everything that moves.”
“Shocking.”
Roscoe let out a grunted laugh. “Okay I know what yer thinking, but Darryl’s legendary. I don’t know how he does it. He’s even gotten with straight human guys. I wonder what he’s up to lately.”
“When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Uh…” Roscoe scratched his head. “Three years ago?”
“Well, call him and see if this is okay. You can’t just drop in on someone unannounced like this.”
“It worked with you. Plus, he doesn’t have a phone.” He swallowed the last of his beer and tossed the bottle into the trash can. “How about after I move yer stuff into my storage unit, we pay him a visit? I haven’t been to the beach in years, and you need to get the hell away from this place.”
“How are you going to move my stuff?”
“Let me worry about that.”