He frowns. “Aren’t you even going to show it to me, to make sure I like it?”
“There’s a full-length mirror right there.” Two feet over from where he’s sitting, the lazy ass. I start pulling apart my machine as he eases himself out of the chair and wanders over. He turns his body and twists his arm to get a good look at the underside, where I’ve incorporated red and blue into the zombie princess’s cape just like he asked, to represent the American flag. Ironically, this one-percenter is also patriotic to the country whose laws he regularly breaks. “Happy?”
“Yeah.” He eyes me warily. “It looks great.”
“Good. You owe me six hundred.”
His eyebrows spike and he starts to laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
“Two hours at three hundred per. The last I checked, that equals six hundred. I can bring you a calculator if you want.”
He shoots me a flat glare. “Three hundred is Ned’s rate.”
“It’s also my rate when I’m finishing my dead uncle’s work for you, when all I want to be doing is cleaning this place up and getting the hell out of here!” I’m yelling at him and I don’t give a damn, because raising my voice is the only thing keeping the tears at bay.
It finally started sinking in today. Listening to the familiar buzz of my tattoo machine for two hours helped chip away at the shock that’s dulled my senses up until now. Ned’s gone. My uncle, who taught me everything I know about this industry, who took me under his wing the day I finished high school, who was my guinea pig when I was cutting my teeth on technique—judging skin depth, offsetting movement, gauging pain levels—who never once made me scrub a toilet during my apprenticeship, who inspired a passion that I expect will live with me until I’m too old to hold a needle steady, is dead.
And the person who did it—that psycho Mario—will probably get away with it.
My teeth have been gritted for two hours, my answers clipped as I listened to that buzz that brought with it no serenity, no joy. All it did was remind me about the last moments of Ned’s life, when I couldn’t do anything but cower in the back room.
“Okay, Ivy.” He pulls his wallet out and pulls out a stack of bills. I don’t want to know how he earns his money. I really don’t care right now. “And here. You let me know if you need any help with anything else around here. It’s a lot for one person to handle on their own.” He hands me a business card: BOBBY AND BROTHERS TOWING AND AUTOMOTIVE.
“Thanks.” I chew on the inside of my mouth as guilt chews on my insides, watching him lumber out the door. Because, once again, I’ve been a complete asshole to someone who doesn’t really deserve it. “Hey, you’d tell me if you heard anything more about what happened to Ned, right?”
He turns to meet my eyes, an exaggerated frown turning his mouth down. “Nothin’ on our end.”
“?’Kay. See ya.”
I clean and pack everything up into my case as I do after every shift, wondering if Sebastian will still come by tomorrow. I’m hoping that he does, because I’m desperate to shake the unease I felt today. I need his canvas in order to do that. Maybe working on him will somehow be different.
I’m wired. There’s no way I’m falling asleep anytime soon, and I can’t just sit around in Ned’s house with his ghost, so when my phone buzzes with a text from Fez, I jump on the chance to do my next favorite thing to inking skin.
Inking walls.