2017 Red Ribbon winner, The Wishing Shelf international book awards (Adult-Fiction).
A tattoo artist is pursued by the man of her dreams, but her biker-gang friends mistake him for a hit man out to get her.
It's 1995, and Galen Randall, the world'...
Today we'll meet Lou for the first time, and Randall will have another close call [pun intended], in Africa.
Because these chapters are brief, and Wattpad suggests posts of about 2,000 words, I'm sharing three chapters with you today. Enjoy this installment of LOU'S TATTOOS.
~o~~o~~o~
In the small Miami suburb called Cutler Ridge, a gaudy neon sign flashed "CUTLER RI_GE TAT _OOS" above a plate glass window. A hand-lettered sign in the window read:
"If you're stoned, broke, or under 18,
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT."
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Another poster in the window warned:
"NO CUSSING.
LADIES ON THE PREMISES."
At one of the two inking stations, a young woman was completing a complex and colorful tattoo on the broad back of a carefully coiffured man.
The woman was Lourdes ("Lou") O'Malley, daughter of the shop's owner and the darling of myriad biker gangs, who valued her artistry and discretion.
The man in the shiny black pompadour was Buddy Petruccio, a minor mobster with a major tattoo obsession. He, also, was a fan of Lou's work.
The tattoo was a curvaceous Lady Luck, posing like a pin-up girl dressed only in cleverly placed dice, playing cards, roulette wheels, and other gambling paraphernalia. The artwork covered Buddy's entire back, from shirt-collar level all the way down to his Italian designer slacks and alligator belt.
Lou lifted her needle and wiped away fresh blood with a cotton ball. She was tired, but satisfied with her product.
"All done, Buddy."
Buddy rose to study himself in a full-length wall mirror.
Lou disposed of her supplies. She was particular about keeping everything in her shop hospital-sterile.
"She's beautiful, Lou!" Buddy exclaimed, admiring his Lady Luck in the mirror. "Wait till the guys in Vegas see this baby!"
Lou laid out non-adhesive gauze pads and medical tape, then gestured for Buddy to resume his seat at her station. She gently covered the newly applied section of Buddy's tattoo with gauze, to protect the fresh ink and keep errant blood from staining Buddy's clothes.
"I'm sorry it took so many sessions," she said, "but you can't rush these things."
"Nah, it was worth it to get painted by the best. Thanks for working with my crazy schedule."
"Actually, it worked out for me," said Lou. "I'm only here occasionally now, and only at night. I've got a day job downtown."
Buddy slipped into his silk shirt and slid his eelskin wallet out of his pocket. He peeled money off a flashy wad of bills and pressed it into Lou's hand. "Keep the change. To show my appreciation for you finishing the job for me tonight, 'cause I'm going back to Vegas tomorrow."
"Oh, you closed your deal, then?"
"Tight as a drum," Buddy quipped. "See ya, babe. You're still the best." He scooped his expensive jacket from a chair and left the shop.
Lou slumped in her seat with a tired sigh, not particularly thrilled to be "still the best" at tattooing. Lou had dreams of a more respectable career. Tattooing ranked right up there with pole dancing on the Respectability Scale, in her opinion, and too many members of the general public felt the same way.
"Yeah, I'm a great artist," she murmured to herself. "The toast of society."
