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“Let’s meet him.”
Once again, the artists were busy with customers in the back, but this time, there was a receptionist who took their names and asked them to have a seat. About thirty minutes later, the owner walked out, shaking their hands.
“Man, I’m honored that Callan Battle is in my shop,” he smiled. “I’ve heard great things about your work.”
“Wow, thank you,” said Callan with a small smile. “I’m sorry to bother you while you’re seeing a client, but we have some questions for you.”
“Is it about kids getting tatted with a Chinese symbol?” he frowned.
“How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess. I had three yesterday. All three said some guy named Spire was setting up a traveling tat station. That’s problem number one that these fucking kids aren’t thinking about. All three got the same tattoos. I couldn’t do the cover-ups but told them to keep them bandaged so they weren’t visible.”
“Did you know these kids were being taken?” asked Whiskey.
“Didn’t know for sure, but I knew something similar happened in west Texas, near El Paso. Some guy was tatting kids with gang symbols, which is what I thought this was at first. Kids were being taken by the gangs, being told they belonged to them. Cops came down hard on ‘em and finally scared them enough to get out of town.”
“No names?” frowned Callan.
“I’m sorry, but no. This guy, Spire, he’s tall, skinny, lots of tats and piercings.”
“Do you know an artist by the name of Imron?” asked Callan.
“Yeah. Solid dude. He brought me an application, and if I had a spot for him, I’d hire him in an instant. He was completely honest with me about what that woman at the salon did to him. Did you know about that?”
“Some,” said Callan. “We know she was lying. He would never do that to any woman.”
“That’s what I thought,” nodded the man. “Look, I don’t know the chick at all, but his photo book was sick. Best tats I’ve ever seen.” Whiskey’s phone rang, and he stepped away.
“Imron is the best tattoo artist I’ve ever known, and I think the kids that are getting tattoos don’t know what’s happening here. Somehow, Imron got sucked into this thing, and I need to find out how, but I really want to get those kids back.”
“If I hear anything, I’m happy to give you a call. Just leave your number with the receptionist, and I can call you at your shop.” Callan shook his hand, leaving his card and number with the girl at the desk. Stepping outside, he heard the end of the conversation Whiskey was having.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Dex and Vince found Imron. Let’s go.” Whiskey took off in the opposite direction down the street, and Callan struggled to keep up with him.
“Where are we going?”
“An apartment on Magazine.”
After twenty minutes, they finally stopped in front of an old red-brick building. It had been a storage facility at one time but recently converted to tiny apartments. Following the stairs to the third floor, Whiskey knocked on the door. When it opened to reveal Imron, Callan thought he would cry. He pulled his old friend to his chest, hugging him tightly.
“I was so fucking worried about you,” he sniffed.
“Me? I’m okay,” he nodded. “But thank you for worrying about me.”
“Brother, we got a lot of questions,” said Callan.
“Yes, your friends have been asking me questions. They can verify my responses, but I didn’t touch that woman.”
“I know that, brother. I’m not worried about that. But the kids? What the fuck was happening there?”
“I couldn’t get a job after Jamie accused me of raping her. I was desperate, afraid I’d be deported or something. Suddenly, this guy approaches me and said I could make an easy five grand.”
“Easy?” smirked Callan.
“Yeah, I should have known. He said it was a social experiment. Tat the word possession in Chinese symbols on these random kids, and I’d get my money. I don’t know what I was thinking. On the fourth kid, I demanded my money, or I was going to the cops. They said they’d bring all the complaints from Jamie back to light, and I’d once again be without a job.”
