Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (19 page)

Tattoo? Don’t think so.

I looked at the tattoo guy again and shuddered. There was no way he was touching any part of me below the hips. That left only one place that I was willing to let a stranger poke a needle through. Not that I would actually let it get that far. I’d use my super detective skills to finagle information from Shaggy here and get out before he actually came near me with a needle. “My belly button.”

Now Jack was beside me, his hand on my elbow. “You’re not serious,” he said with a hiss.

I yanked free and feigned a loving tone. “Aw, baby, I’m doing it for you. You said you’d like it.” I snuggled up next to him, smiling sweetly at Shaggy.

“Right.”
Jack slipped his arm around me and settled his hand on my hip. A jolt of electricity shot through me. He muttered in my ear, “Do you know what the hell you’re doing?” Then aloud he said in his I-wanna-take-you-to-bed voice, “I
know
I’ll like it, lover.”

Lover?
¡Ay, Dios! Right here, right now, Callaghan
.

“Hey,” the tattoo guy said.

Jack and I looked up at him, but his focus was intent on me. He jerked his head to the side. “Lemme talk to you a sec.”

My curiosity piqued, I wriggled out of Jack’s arm and leaned over the counter.

The tattoo guy glared over my shoulder, then trained his beady gaze first on my lip, then my arm. “He do that to you?” he asked, his lips barely moving.

My fingertips fluttered over my swollen lip. “No, of course not!” Jack wouldn’t lay a hand on a woman. I wanted to throttle the tattoo guy for suspecting such a thing, but then again, he’d been looking out for me. He had to be a good guy underneath the badass façade. “Thanks for asking, though,” I added.

I moved away from the counter and backed right into Jack. His arm snaked around me, his fingers splayed protectively across my stomach. I held my breath for a split second, reveling in our proximity.

Lucy piped up, breaking the spell. “I’m getting a piercing, too. Or should I get a tattoo?” She stuck her lips out and looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, a tattoo. That’ll add spark, don’t you think?” she said to me. But before I could answer, she turned to Shaggy. “I’m married and I need spark. I’m ready.”

Oh, no! She thought I was serious. “Um, maybe you should look at some samples—”

“Oooh, good idea!”

The tattoo guy nudged her out of the way and pulled out two thick black binders filled with designs.

“If you’re doing a piercing on me and a tattoo on her, I guess we should know your name,” I said, pulling away from Jack before I melted into a puddle at his feet.

“Zod.”

Zod? What had his mother been thinking?

“So, uh,
Zod
, I’m a little nervous about this.” Complete truth. If there was any way Garrett’s heart infection could be traced back to this place, there was no way I was going behind that velvet curtain.

I needed information, now. “Do you have to train to do
this?” I channeled my cousin Chely. “Like, at tattoo school or something?”

He leaned against the glass counter, watching Lucy flip through the binders, the chain dangling from his hip clanking against the case. “Yeah, it’s my friggin’ life’s dream. When the rocket science thing didn’t pan out, I thought,
Hey, I’ll draw tattoos
. Went right out and got my master’s.”

Funny man. “Right. Well, I bet rocket science isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He smiled at me, and I went on. “You must meet some, like, interesting people.”

“Yep.” He jerked his eyebrows up and looked at me like he thought
I
was interesting. Jack took a proprietary step toward me.

I pressed on. “So, how’d you get started? You know, when the rocket science thing fell through.”

His fist jutted out toward my face. I stifled a yelp, and my hand shot up to block.

“Jesus, you’re skittish,” Zod said. He stuck his fist out again and rotated it. “Chill. I’m just showing you my tats. A year ago, I didn’t have a single one. I was the sorriest-looking preppy dude you ever saw. Not even a piercing.” He shook his head. “Pathetic.”

I squinted and leaned forward, making out crude upside-down letters on each of his fingers just above the knuckle. The ink was blue and dull. There were two
L
’s. Maybe an
A
.

He pulled his hand back and studied his own knuckles before I could decipher the other letter. “I did these a little over a year ago.”

“You tattooed yourself?” They were on his right hand. “So you’re left-handed?”

He nodded, crossing one skinny leg over the other, cigarette hanging loosely from between his lips.

My deductive powers were astounding. Sometimes I impressed even myself. Not that Zod being a southpaw meant a damn thing. “They’re blue.” I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back.
Good job stating the obvious, Lola
. “I mean, why aren’t they, you know, like, colorful? I like colorful.”

Zod’s cigarette bobbed as he took a drag. “I was experimenting.” He blew a smoke ring and gave me a knowing look. “Little tidbit for you, sweetheart. Anybody who has tats like these was in the joint.” He stopped, sucked on his cigarette again, and did a freaky French inhale thing through his nose. “Well, let me amend that. I did teach a friend how to do it a while back.” His expression changed almost imperceptibly. “He died. Had a bad heart, poor SOB.”

Pay dirt! That statement was proof enough for me that Zod had known Garrett. “Wow, that’s too bad,” I said. This case was going to be way too easy if Shaggy fessed up about being involved in Garrett’s death.

“
Almost
anybody who has plain tats like this was in the joint,” he said, changing the subject.

“The joint as in prison?”

He nodded, squinting his eye as smoke wafted over his face.

“Were you?”

He rattled his chain and looked down. Almost remorseful. “Nah. Have a buddy who was. You could say I have convict envy.” He cracked up at his own joke, slapping his long thigh with his hand.

Did Zod seriously regret having a clean rap sheet? “How does self-tattooing work?”

“E string from a guitar, a cassette tape—” His cigarette hung from his lips, and he gestured wide with his arms. “—piece of cake.”

“Eww, sounds scary,” Lucy said.

And it
did not
sound sanitary. “Isn’t that, like, dangerous?”
Ooh, Chely would be so proud of all my
like
s. “Hepatitis and stuff like that?”

He shrugged.

Okay, so did he have a death wish? “How’d you get from self-tattooing to this, uh, joint?” I asked, trying to use his lingo. The effort was giving me a headache.

I sputtered when he actually answered. “My sister and one of our father’s friends showed me an ad. Muriel—she’s like the manager—hired me on the spot.”

So Muriel didn’t own the place. No big surprise, but good to know.

Zod looked at me and Lucy. “You stalling, or what? Let’s rock and roll. Who’s first?”

I jumped. “That would be me.” I had to get more out of him, so behind the velvet curtain it was. Plus, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was letting this guy touch Lucy. My cousin, Zac, would never forgive me.

Zod pulled on his cigarette, and his eyes wandered to my chest. “Where’d ya say you wanted it? Through the nipple?”

I froze. “Uh, no, I did not say that.”

His gaze lingered. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Too bad.” He grinned—a little demonically. “I bet you have killer nips. And if they were pierced?” He blew out a mouthful of smoke. “Outstanding.”

Jack tightened his grip on my hip. What it meant, I didn’t know. Either he also thought pierced nipples on me would be outstanding, or he thought beating the crap out of Zod would be.

“Thanks, but the belly button’s fine,” I said.

Zod looked disappointed, but he pressed on with the details. “You want the fourteen-gauge or the post?”

I picked out a stainless steel post—what did it matter, since
I wasn’t going through with it?—then passed behind the velvet curtain. Jack was at my heels. “You shouldn’t do this,” he said through clenched teeth.

I whispered as softly as I could. “I’m not.” Then I winked, hoping he’d catch my drift. With my voice back at full volume, I said, “I think they’re sexy.” And I did, but hello? Heart infection. I’d see what other information I could get from Zod, then back out at the last minute. “Of course, I don’t think my parents will think so—”

Zod showed me where to lie down. “What the hell do parents know?” he said. “Their plans backfire half the time.”

Zod’s pierced tongue was wagging, and I went with it. “What do you mean?”

“It’s all about control. My dad thinks he can get me to live the way he wants, but he can’t. He can’t bribe me with Prozac like he can my sister.”

I looked at his tattooed body and the gigantic hole in his earlobe. Looked to me like Zodman had won the control battle. “Don’t I know it,” I said in full pretend mode. “Parents.”

“Lay down,” he commanded.

¡Dios mío!
My head started swirling, nerves encroaching on my clearheadedness. But I reclined in the chair, and Jack settled in the seat next to me. I had to expedite this or I’d end up with a needle through my belly.

Zod kept talking. “Yeah, hmm. Imagine my surprise when I found out my frickin’ father owns this dump. B.C. Enterprises my ass.”

“Wow, that’s pretty deceptive,” I said. “Why didn’t you quit?”

“And let him win? No way.”

I didn’t see how Zod quitting let his father win, but it didn’t really matter. He stuck his tongue out, Gene Simmons style. His demonic grin was back in place, and my thoughts derailed.
“You gonna watch me stick your old lady?” he said to Jack.

Jack’s jaw tightened, bless his heart. “I’m not moving.”

His protective nature was really very sweet, albeit unnecessary, since I wasn’t going all the way with Zodman. Still, when the tattoo guy snapped on a pair of latex gloves, I tensed. My words sped out of my mouth. “Everything’s sterilized, right?” Just in case something sharp acccidentally pricked my skin somehow.

“We follow normal protocol here. I keep it clean. Never had a problem. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

This is not Disneyland, Zod
, I thought. More info.
Muy pronto
. “No problems with tattoos? Aren’t they dangerous?” Zod gave me an odd look, and I hurried on. “My friend, uh, Glenda over there—” I nodded to the front, where Lucy was still looking at tattoo designs. “—she’s going to get a tattoo. I don’t want anything weird to happen to her. She can’t, like, die or anything, can she? Your friend with the heart problem, he didn’t die from a tattoo, did he?”

“Shit, why do people think that?” he muttered. Louder, he said, “Lady, I gave my buddy three tats over the years, and he was as healthy as a frickin’ horse. I got a great little sterilizing machine off the Internet. No worries.” Zod looked me over. “Now, pull up your shirt and open your pants.”

I gulped. Jack’s eyes were glued to me. “Uh, right. Will it b-bleed?” I stammered, sure my exaggerated acting would give me away.

Zod just shook his mangy head. “Nah.”

I pulled up my shirt a fraction of an inch and undid the button on my capris. Would they be able to tell I was wearing a thong? Shoot. I should have gone for the safe Jockeys. “So if you self-tattoo, do you sterilize the equipment, er, the guitar string?” I asked.

Zod smirked. “Now pull ’em
down
, sweetheart.” He held up a bottle. “See this? Orange antiseptic. Good for guitar strings and bellies. I’m going to smear it on you then clamp your skin. You don’t want to ruin your pretty little outfit, now, do you?” He stood over me with his gloved hands and his cotton swabs. The thought of orange antiseptic staining my clothes was too much. I steeled my nerves, pulled my top up to my rib cage, and unzipped my pants, folding the sides in. I loved these pants.

Zod and Jack suddenly grew still. Their eyes were riveted to my midsection. What could they see? I propped up on my elbows and peered down at my navel. A triangle of sheer lace—and everything dark and curly underneath—stared back at me. My eyelids fluttered.
Ay, Dios
.

Jack scooted his chair behind my head and slowly slid his arms down my sides until his palms lay flat against my hips. He whispered in my ear, his voice like silk. “Is driving me crazy on your list of things to do?”

I managed what I hoped was a coy smile. “It’s at the very top.”

He made a low, breathy sound in my ear that shot straight through my body, awakening nerves in hidden places. Well, in partially hidden places.
Think about the case
, I told myself, not about the feel of Jack’s hands against my skin. Or the startlingly masculine scent of him. Or the feel of his lips so close to my cheek.

Finally, Zod stopped leering enough to swab my stomach. I still had plenty of time, and I grinned up at Jack. A smack of cold metal pinched my skin together, and I jumped, back to reality.

I could fight off crooks with a broom, survive getting run over, beat the shit out of anyone who got in my way, but Zod was getting way too close to piercing my skin. I gave myself thirty seconds before I bolted out of the chair.

I bit my lip and braced myself. “Zod!”

“Hmm?”

He ran a finger over the needle and I felt faint. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Do you ever get any people in here bugging you?” I blurted. I had to get more information before I stopped him.

Jack’s hands pressed hard against my sides. “Lola, he’s—”

More information! “Ever been blamed—?”

I stopped cold. A harsh prick followed by a raging sting zeroed in at my belly. “No!” Zod was plunging the needle into my flesh. Oh my God, I’d waited too long! He was piercing me!

Jack held tight to my arms and put his head next to mine. His lips brushed my cheek as the needled stopped. Zod pulled it back and, like he was getting a running start, plunged again. I screamed as he forced it out the other side.

“Holy shit!” I screeched. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Zod looked at Jack. “She’d never make it through a tattoo, dude.”

I gritted my teeth. “Your bedside manner needs work, Zod. Give a girl a warning, would you!”