“You’re staying somewhere else.”
“Oh really? And where might that be?”
“Don’t know yet. The cleaning crew will bring your key. Your credit card history will show you checked into that hotel today instead of this one.”
She looked at the door, as if mentally calculating her odds of escape. “Who
Quinn said, “It’s complicated.”
Alison finished her drink and placed it on the table. I said, “Augustus, tell me what you can about the Bernies.”
Still looking at Augustus Quinn, Alison mouthed the word “Bernies?”
Quinn said, “You know the show? Weekend at Bernie’s?”
She nodded.
“When we’re stuck babysitting dead guys, we call them Bernies.”
“Of course you do,” she said.
While Augustus picked up one of the Bernie’s forearms and studied it, Alison asked, “Why would Mr. Quinn know anything about these men?”
“They’re ex-cons.”
“So?”
“Prison tats.”
Chapter 32
Here’s what I know about prison tattoos: they’re almost always blue or black, since those are the easiest colors to make. The prison tattoo artist fashions a needle from whatever type of scrap metal is on hand: a paper clip, nail file, staple, nail, a bit of coat hanger, a piece of steel guitar string. Ink is usually fountain pen or ball point ink, but it can also be melted plastic. The artist usually puts the sharpened metal in a plastic holder like a ball point pen cylinder and attaches it to a small motor that causes the needle to move up and down. Once started, a hundred things can go wrong, ranging from misspelled words to hepatitis or AIDS.
On the bed in front of us, both Bernies had the letters T and S on their forearms.
“What’s the T and S stand for?” I said.
“Texas Syndicate.”
“You know anything about them?”
“One of the oldest prison gangs in Texas.”
“Hard core?”
“Very.”
Beyond the classic teardrops below the eyes, I wasn’t skilled at reading tats. Quinn, on the other hand, was fluent. I said, “What else they have to say?”
Quinn ripped their shirts off and studied the markings like an Indian scout reading a trail.
“See the fine lines and shading on the drawings of the women? Tells me these guys were inked by an expert. In the prison world, no one gets more respect than a skilled tattoo artist.
“Big deal,” I said. “What’s this other stuff ?”
“Prison tats are the first line of communication between inmates. A guy’s tattoos tell you the gang he’s affiliated with, his status in prison, the number of people he’s killed, the city or country he’s from, his marital status, number of children he’s fathered, the tragedies he’s suffered, his religious and political views.”
“Thanks for the lecture,” I said. “What are all these numbers?”
