“But I’m willing to give it a shot your way first.”
“That means a lot, Gaby.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Luther grinned, but the show of humor faded under the weight of the task before them.
Through drawn blinds, a faint light shone in the front window of the tattoo parlor. It gave the illusion of warmth inside.
But outside, shrouding the tidy brick-and-mortar building, a brume of depravity slunk and swirled, shifted and regrouped.
“He’s inside, plotting, anxious.” Gaby shook her head. “The sick fuck is giddy about something.”
Because Luther looked ready to drag her away, Gaby changed the subject. Luther didn’t understand about auras, or about her special sight that showed things even he, an intuitive cop, couldn’t see.
“I asked around about tattoos so I’d know the process. I don’t want him to slip something into my skin that could poison me.”
Far from bolstered, Luther drew up short. “I hadn’t even considered that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll know if he tries that.” Gaby kept walking, giving Luther no choice but to keep up. The sepulchral thudding of his boots on the pavement echoed over tall brick façades and crumbling stucco, faded into alleyways.
Gaby made no noise at all. “Stay here.”
Luther started to protest, and she said, “I’m trying it your way, but you’ve got to compromise a little.”
He nodded. “If you’re not back around front in one minute, I’m coming after you.”
Gaby left without further discussion. She followed the perimeter of the building to the side, where she checked an old window and found it secure. In the back, she twisted the doorknob. Locked. The other side of the building didn’t have a window. Back around front, she told Luther, “Everything looks fine.”
The front door opened. Palest light radiated from inside, backlighting Fabian’s body, casting a sinister glow around his cadaverous form. “Of course.” White teeth shone in the darkness. “Were you expecting a trap?”
“Still am,” Gaby told him as she took the lead up the stoop and to the door. “So don’t fuck up—or I’ll kill you.”
Luther acquainted himself with the shop under the pretext of awe. Dark green paint and wood trim accented yellow walls. Padded stools, a special chair, and wood cabinets had been organized efficiently.
Image suggestions lined each wall, and glass cases displayed a variety of body jewelry. Some of it was beautiful, but some of the heavier pieces looked deliberately painful.
“I had no idea tattoo parlors were so heavily equipped.” On shelves, he saw tattooing guns, inks, sterilization machines, a copying machine, and a supply of alcohol, swabs, and bandages.
A more private room, possibly an office, jutted out toward the rear, leaving a narrow hallway that led to the back door. On the other side of the hall, a closed door indicated a storage room.
Luther listened, but heard nothing more than his own breathing. The room smelled mostly sterile, with only a faint hint of ink.
Fabian had set out a tattooing apparatus and sealed needle, along with a selection of paints.
Ignoring Luther, he gestured to the chair. “Sit, Gaby.”
She bestowed on him the most noncompliant look imaginable.
Fabian amended the order with, “Please.”
Gaby sat. She eyed the many ink bottles and said, “Just black. Nothing fancy.”
“I understand. But I thought we could edge it in blue or purple—”
“No.”
Shooting for pragmatism, Fabian crossed his arms behind his back and took a breath. “I am not without experience in this. I know what will look best, how to give the tattoo depth and light and movement.”
“Just. Black.”
Luther stood behind Gaby, staring down at her head. She was so cold, so distant, he didn’t know what to think. Was it part of the act, or a real reaction to Fabian?
“Yeah,” Luther said, “I like the idea of simplicity, myself.”
Jaw clenched, Fabian nodded. “As you wish.”
To lighten the mood, Luther asked, “Is that your license on the wall?”
“I display it for the comfort of patrons. Getting a tattoo can be a big decision. I want them to know they’re in good hands.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Luther grinned, but the bite remained in the words.
Fabian took his seat. “Remove the sweatshirt, please.”
Gaby pulled it off over her head and handed it to Luther. Left in a thin T-shirt, she retook her seat and said, “Can we get on with this?”
“In a hurry?”
“Let’s just say I’m not one for idle chitchat.”
Fabian studied her. “You’re worried about the pain? I hadn’t expected that.”
“She’s not,” Luther told him with great certainty. Gaby couldn’t care less about a little pain. But he couldn’t very well tell Fabian that it was his black soul disturbing her.
Unconvinced, Fabian broke into what sounded like a rehearsed speech for his customers.
“Pain tolerance is a unique thing. Everyone reacts differently. In case you didn’t know, the ink is injected into the dermis, the deeper second layer of skin, not just the top layer. I can liken the sensation to being stung hundreds of times by a hornet. Some find the pain nearly unbearable.”
Luther snorted for Gaby. “She’ll be fine.”
But it worried him. Gaby was tough as they came, and she never experienced discomfort as much as others did. But this would be different.
She’d be doing this as a woman, not a paladin.
“I promise not to cry,” Gaby told Fabian with sharp-edged sarcasm.
“Very well.” He lifted her arm by the wrist and bent to examine her scar.
Most of the shop remained mired in shadows, with only one harsh, powerful light directed on Gaby’s arm. The glow of that lamp lent added distinction to Gaby’s features. It sharpened her jawline, defined the bow of her upper lip, the length of her inky lashes.
Disturbed comprehension palpated off her in waves.
Luther saw the wary preparation in her, even if Fabian remained obtuse.
“My God,” Fabian said when he saw how much she’d healed. He couldn’t conceal an odd satisfaction. “The wound is nearly invisible now. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Some of the scar will remain.” Gaby never took her burning gaze off Fabian. “That’s why I want you to cover it.”
“As good as it looks now, that won’t be a problem at all.” He sat back in his seat. “There are several things I need to do first to prepare for the ink.” He patted her arm with paternal pride. “Sit tight.”
Moving to a sink set in the wall beside the sterilization equipment, Fabian scrubbed his hands. When he finished, he returned to Gaby with swabs and alcohol and cleaned the entire area of her arm that would be tattooed, then let her rest her arm on a sterilized towel.
The alcohol had to burn the areas of her arm not completely healed yet, but Gaby never even blinked.
And Luther felt so much pride, he wanted to burst.
Gaby was the toughest person he knew, and still she had the biggest heart and the most giving nature.
He watched as Fabian opened up a single-use needle, put it in an odd machine, and settled comfortably before Gaby.
“Ready?”
“If you take much longer, I’ll be asleep.”
Fabian’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I’m going to make an outline of the design now.” He started working, his head bent to his task.
Luther winced every so often, but Gaby remained as immobile and unflinching as a brick wall.
“So, Gaby.” Fabian glanced up, then back to his work. “I saw you across the street today.”
