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“Sorry, is this not Duck’s shop any longer?” asked Callan.
“No. Duck died two years ago. The cigarettes finally caught up with him. I’m Mallard.”
“Mallard?” smirked Max. “Related to Duck?” The man laughed, shaking his head.
“You would think so, but no. Just unlucky with names. You guys look pretty tatted up. What do you want?”
“Actually, do you have time to talk?” asked Callan.
“Give me ten minutes. My client is getting dressed, and let me check him out.”
The client came out, his shorts rolled up to his groin. On his thigh was a massive tattoo of a shark biting what one could only think were his nuts. It was positioned just below the groin line, the shark’s mouth wide open. Callan smirked, nodding his appreciation for the work. It wasn’t his kind of thing, but it looked good.
“Gotta give the wife a few hints,” said the young man. “Girl will do anything but suck my dick.”
“Uh, yeah, but you’ve got a shark, with teeth, opening his mouth. Aren’t you worried she’ll bite?” asked Max.
“That’s what I told him,” said Mallard, taking the man’s money. He just laughed, leaving the men to their conversation. “I’m free for another forty-five minutes. What can I help you with?”
“I own my own shop south of here. I used to be off the Square and had a guy working for me, Imron. Just wondered if you know of him or have heard of him.” Mallard immediately leaned back in his chair, staring at the two men.
“Did we say something wrong?” asked Max.
“Not wrong exactly,” said Mallard, rubbing his jaw. “Imron has been bouncing around this last year. Not sure what happened, but some chick at a shop he was working at in Kenner claimed he was feeling her up when he was tattooing her ass.”
“Imron? That’s not the guy I know,” said Callan.
“I know what you mean. I worked with him over in Slidell at a little shop when I was just getting started. Dude was quiet, intense, worked like a fucking dog all kinds of hours. You know how we are. We open at noon but stay here until two or three sometimes. He was working all the hours. Dude said he needed the money for his family back home.”
Callan frowned, not sure if he’d ever heard him mention a family back home. But him touching a client seemed way off for him.
“Listen, I can tell that this bugs you. It did me, too. Plus, this chick, her name is Jamie Connor. She’s a makeup artist for the salon over on Mandalay. That chick is seriously fucked up. I don’t know how she keeps a job. She treats the women like shit, then goes to all these places that have male workers and harasses the shit out of them.
“We all saw her coming in for little tattoos and always asked for Imron. It was stupid shit. A tiny heart on the inside of a finger, a shamrock on the back of her hand. Then she comes in saying she wants a huge tattoo of a neon sign, lots of color, pointing to her ass, reading ‘enter here.’”
“Subtle,” growled Max.
“Dude, she’s fucked up. Stay away from her. As for Imron, they fired him without even listening to what we all had to say. That bitch made sure that wherever he went, she told her story. I think she wanted him to truly fuck her, and she didn’t want anything to do with him.”
“No clue where he might be now?” asked Callan.
“Naw, man. Sorry. I wish the dude well. He’s a great tattoo artist.”
“Have you heard of any kids getting strange Chinese symbols on their shoulders or arms?” asked Max.
“Yeah, I had a kid come in here about two weeks ago asking me to change it. It was stupid. Just a small thing on his shoulder. I know enough about Chinese symbols to know what it said. Possession.”
“Did you fix it?” asked Callan.
“Hell, yeah. I want repeat customers, and this kid was eighteen. I went over it with a sick design of the New Orleans Saints. He loved it. All was well.”
“Do you happen to have his name?” asked Callan.
“Yeah, hold on,” he said, standing to go to the desk. He tapped a few keys on the computer, found the name, and wrote it down for them. “Won’t be hard to find him. He works at the Riverboat Cruise lines. He’s there almost every day.”
“Chris Thasso. Thanks,” said Callan. They left the shop and headed down the street and over toward the cruise lines first. When they entered, they saw a young man at the desk with a name tag reading ‘Chris.’
“Good afternoon! Can I help you?” he smiled.
