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“I don’t think you want it lasered off. It’s too new, and it would hurt like a bitch,” said Callan. “But I can make it look different, and no one would know what it was originally.”
“Yeah, yeah, please, anything but that,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.
Callan drew up something that he thought would cover the tattoo perfectly. It was a grouping of flowers, their blooms covering the dark lettering perfectly. When he was done, you would have never known there was anything beneath the gorgeous bouquet.
“Oh my God! It’s amazing! Thank you. I should have paid the extra and had it done right in the first place,” she said.
“That’s what I always recommend,” smirked Callan. “Tell me more about this artist that did this.”
“His name is Spire, and he posts in bars and clubs that he travels around specializing in unique tattoos. He only charges like three hundred bucks for something like what he did to me.”
“Yeah, and it’s only worth that,” said Callan.
“I know. I know you’re right,” she nodded. “He’s not very old. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. He’s mixed race, maybe Asian and Hispanic or Asian and black, but definitely getting the Asian vibe from him. He’s thin, not very muscular, but he’s covered in tattoos. Neck, shoulders, chest, back, up and down his legs as well.”
“Hair color? Eye color?” asked Nine.
“Black hair, thin, but lots of it. He wears it hanging down over his forehead. I even joked that maybe he should pull it up so he could see better. His eyes are brown, just plain brown. I wanted a different guy, someone that my friend used, but I didn’t get a name and never found him.”
“No scars, anything that makes him unique?” asked Whiskey.
“He has tattoos everywhere. That kind of makes him unique.” Callan could only roll his eyes. He was a fucking tattoo artist. He’d better have tattoos everywhere.
“Are any of the tattoos different?”
“No. They looked like mostly dragons, lions, that sort of thing. Listen, I have to go, but thanks again. This is really great and more in line with what I wanted.” The young woman left, paying as she walked out of Callan’s shop.
“That’s the ninth one in the last two weeks, Whiskey. That asshole is tattooing kids with symbols of ownership, property, or possession. I think he’s working for someone and taking advantage of these kids.”
“We need to find this guy and, more importantly, find out what he’s doing with these kids.”
“Uncle Nine? Are you in here?” called Walker. Walker was the son of Bodhi and Vivienne Norgenson. Behind him was Forrest, the son of Robbie and Carrie Robicheaux, and Leif, the son of Magnus and Addie Bridges.
“Back here, Walker,” he called. “Hey, fellas. What’s up?”
“We have a problem, we think,” said Walker. He nodded at his friends.
“We all met this group of girls recently at the district cross-country meet. They were cool, very nice, and we’ve been keeping up with text messages and stuff. Sometimes, we meet up at the mall or movies.”
“Okay, sounds like you’ve got yourselves some girlfriends,” smirked Nine.
“No. No, it’s not like that at all, Uncle Nine. We really are just friends. They’re cool, and we like being around them. Anyway, one of the girls is really sweet. Her name is Christina. Anyway, her friend said that they all went to a club outside the Quarter last week.”
“A club? How old are these girls?” asked Whiskey.
“Uh, well, they’re our age. Seventeen and eighteen, but they all have fake IDs,” said Leif. “Don’t worry. We don’t have them, and we would never do that, but that’s not the point of all this.”
“What is the point?” asked Callan.
“Well, she went to this club with her friends, the other girls. She’d gotten a tattoo that day, a Chinese symbol. Her friends said that she was dancing with a guy, then he took off, leaving her. She was kind of bummed, so decided to go home, but she never made it home.”
“Did her parents call the police?” asked Nine.
“Yeah, yeah, of course, but they can’t find any trace of her,” said Forrest. “When they were talking about it with other kids in their school, they knew two other kids, a boy and a girl, who got tattoos and disappeared as well. We think there’s something wrong. Something seriously wrong.”
“Any idea what this tattoo looked like?” asked Callan.
“Yeah, she sent me a picture of it from when they went to the club. She was wearing that dress when she disappeared.” Walker held up his phone, showing Callan the photo. He frowned, staring down at his own photo of the young woman he’d just retattooed.
