He could smell the sour stink of the masked man’s breath; hear Shark Boy’s teeth clicking; feel Susan’s pulse beat against his fingers.
If someone had walked in, they would have thought that the four of them were having an intimate discussion—the masked man pressed next to Susan, Shark Boy behind her, Archie facing Susan, gripping her hand.
“Lift up my shirt,” the masked man said.
Archie gave Susan’s hand a firm squeeze and then released it.
He took a step forward. He was so close to Susan now that his right shoulder touched her bare left shoulder just above where Shark Boy’s arm wrapped around her. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his shirt. Archie untucked the masked man’s T-shirt from the front of his pants and lifted it up. He waited a moment to look down. He knew what he’d see.
The masked man’s chest was a mass of scar tissue.
The scars were more healed than Shark Boy’s. There were dozens of them. They’d been done over time; the oldest ones looked to be at least a year old. The freshest were still red and raw.
“I did it myself,” the masked man said. “I want you to do it better. I want it to look like yours.”
“I see you’ve waxed,” Archie said.
Susan started to smile, but winced as the needle moved in her cheek.
The masked man lowered his chin at the scalpel in Archie’s hand. “Go ahead,” he said. “Cut me.”
Archie held up the scalpel and wiggled it. “Let her go,” he said.
No one moved.
Archie adjusted his grip on the scalpel. “This is the Palmar grip,” he said, holding the handle with his second through fourth fingers, the base of his thumb along the side of the handle securing it, his index finger extended along the top rear of the blade. “It’s also called ‘dinner knife’ grip.” He sawed at something imaginary in the air. “You can see why.” He looked at the scalpel. Even in the low light, it glittered. Even the sight of the blade made his stomach tighten, but he wouldn’t let them see it. “This grip is best for initial incisions and larger cuts,” he said.
He adjusted his grip again, this time holding the scalpel with the tips of his first and second fingers and the tip of his thumb, so that the plastic handle was resting on the crook between his index finger and thumb. He wrote something imaginary in the air. “The pencil grip,” Archie said. “You’ve got to be careful with this one not to let the handle rest too far along the index finger. Don’t want your hand cramping up.” Archie looked at the blade and frowned. “Better for smaller blades.
“Gretchen preferred the Palmar,” he said. “Most medical professionals do.” He leaned close to the masked man. So close he could see the color of his eyes through the nylon—blue. “Let her go,” Archie said. “And I’ll do what you want.”
The masked man lifted the second needle away from Susan’s chin and with the same hand grabbed hold of the end of the needle
piercing her cheek. With a smooth movement of his elbow, he snapped it out of her face.
“Fuck,” she yelled. This time Shark Boy let her lift her hands to her face and she cupped both to her bleeding cheek.
“Get out of here,” the masked man told her softly.
She drew her head back in rage. “No,” she said.
Archie lowered the scalpel and leaned in to Susan. He kissed the hand that covered her cheek. “Trust me,” he whispered.
She glared at all of them for a moment and then took a step toward her purse, which still lay on the floor by the wall.
“No,” the masked man said. “Leave it.”
She looked at Archie questioningly and he nodded, and then she turned and ran, her hand still on her face.
The man in the mask nodded at Archie. “Let me see yours,” he said.
Archie smiled. “Sure,” he said.
He reached up with his left hand and began unbuttoning his shirt. The girl appeared at the masked man’s shoulder and then the two other men from over by the boiler joined her. Shark Boy licked his lips. They all wanted to see Gretchen’s work in person.
When Archie had unbuttoned his shirt and opened it, he reached out and lifted the masked man’s shirt again. He compared the damage.
“It’s not so different,” he said.
The man in the mask wasn’t even looking at Archie’s face anymore. His entire focus was on Archie’s chest. Hands trembling, he reached out and brushed his fingertips across the topography of Archie’s scars.
As he did, Archie moved his right hand to his waist, dropped the scalpel, and pulled the gun from the back of his pants.
The scalpel made a metallic crack as it hit the concrete floor and the masked man and Shark Boy and the girl and the two other
men all looked down reflexively. When they looked back up, Archie had his gun trained at the masked man’s sternum.