Karen Olson - Ink Flamingos

“You look like a tourist,” I teased as we went out to the parking garage to his Chevy Impala.

He rolled his eyes at me, and we got in the car.

The whole ride over I replayed the scene with Harry. The last thing he’d said was that I was crazy. Had I imagined that he was up to no good? I’d been a tad paranoid the last few days, so maybe I had imagined it. But what was the whole thing with him having a wife?

I figured that Tim would take me to the shop and he’d head off to Ainsley’s, but now I noticed that he was taking me along with him. I decided not to say anything, because he could change his mind.

“It’s safer if you’re with me,” he explained as we pulled into the apartment house’s parking lot.

A cruiser was waiting for us, and a uniform climbed out to escort us to Ainsley’s apartment.

“Where’s Joel?” I asked the uniform. “My friend.”

“The big guy? He took a cab.”

He probably went back to the shop.

“She lives here,” I said then, assessing the building.

Tim looked at me like I had two heads. “No kidding, Brett.”

“No,” I said, “not just Ainsley. Terri, the woman with Ace. We saw her here this morning.”

Tim stopped and stared at me. Uh-oh. I hadn’t told him about our little field trip. Time to come clean.

“Bitsy and Joel and I came over here,” I said quickly. “We met Terri on the stairs; she said she lived here.” But as I thought about it, I wondered if she really had. I didn’t think she’d actually said that; we’d just assumed it. I said as much to Tim. “Anyway, there’s got to be a connection between Terri and Ainsley.”

Tim was fighting back the words I knew he wanted to say: Why can’t you stay out of police business? But to his credit, he pursed his lips, tensed his jaw, and merely nodded.

We went up to Ainsley Wainwright’s door, and the uniform knocked.

We waited. No sound from inside.

He knocked again.

Tim assessed the door, then nodded at the uniform. The two of them slammed their bodies against it, and it swung open, the sound of the doorframe cracking ringing in my ears.

The place was cleared out.

The mess we’d seen this morning was gone. The books were gone, too, probably out in that Dumpster, along with all those little kitschy tourist things. A look in the bedroom showed us that the clothes had been cleared out of the closet. Nothing personal had been left. It was merely furniture and dishes in the cabinets in the kitchen.

“She’s not here,” the uniform said, stating the obvious. “She was here when that guy left. He didn’t leave until I got here.” He was talking about Joel.

Tim stared him down, until finally he blushed and said, “Okay, I needed a coffee.”

Great. A thirsty cop takes his eye off the girl, and she disappears.

“I’m taking you to your shop,” Tim said. To the uniform, he said, “Stay here. Watch the place. No coffee this time. I want to know if she comes back.”

As we went out to the car, I asked, “Where’s Flanigan? I haven’t seen much of him.”

Tim grunted, and I took that as my cue to stop asking questions.

The ride to the Venetian was cloaked in silence. As we went into the entrance to the parking garage, I thought about my car.

“Where’s my Mustang?” I asked.

“Impounded. After you took off earlier.”

My heart sank. “What do I do to get it out?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tim said as he parked near the entrance to the Grand Canal Shoppes and walked me past the kiosks and the shops, past the oxygen bar where Ace was usually hanging out, to The Painted Lady. Bitsy was sitting sentry at the front desk. She hopped up when we walked through the door.

“Joel’s just back. What’s going on?”

Tim waved his hand in the air, said to me, “I’ll be by in a bit to pick you up,” and said good-bye to Bitsy as he took off.

I had no idea where he was going.

Being back in the shop gave me an odd sense of calm. As though nothing could touch me now. I wanted desperately for someone to walk through the door and want a tattoo, because I could lose myself in the act of tattooing, go into that little Zen zone I had. But as far as I knew, no one would be walking through the door. It was late now, around ten o’clock. My stomach growled.

Bitsy grinned, even though I could see the anxiety behind it. “Joel brought back In-N-Out burgers.”

My heart did a little happy dance.

“And I rescheduled your eight o’clock.”

My heart sank as I remembered. “I didn’t call you,” I said. “I didn’t have my phone.”

“Joel called me. I took care of it.” While I figured she had every reason to be upset with me, her voice was kind. Maybe she knew how much of a mess I really was.

We passed Joel’s room, where he was tattooing a guy who was almost as big as he was. He gave me a nod as Bitsy and I went into the staff room. The aroma from the Double-Doubles made my stomach growl again. I tore open one of the paper wrappers and sank my teeth into the burger. I made a yummy sound and began to tell Bitsy about the events of the day. I left out the bit about Jeff kissing me again. Bitsy can’t keep her mouth shut, and I didn’t really know how I was going to deal with that and didn’t want it broadcast until I did.

As it was, she settled on the one thing I knew she would.

“Harry Desmond has a wife? That girl who was here earlier?”

I nodded. “Guess so. She was with Ace. And remember, she wanted a flamingo tattoo.”

We mulled that a few minutes as we finished our burgers. I took a sip of a Coke, as if I needed the caffeine, but the way I was feeling right this very minute, well, I doubted anything would keep me up tonight. I wanted desperately to lie down and close my eyes.

“Where do you think they went?” Bitsy asked. “And Jeff? You said Jeff followed them?”

I thought about Jeff’s orange Pontiac, handed over to the valet. Had he gotten his car or had he followed on foot? Maybe a cab. I thought about my car, impounded. With my bag inside. With my cell phone.

I went out to the front desk, the familiar whir of the tattoo machine emanating from Joel’s room. The sound calmed me as I dialed Jeff’s number.

“Where did you go, Kavanaugh?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said. “Where are you?”

“I lost them. I’ve been driving around, trying to find them; then I went back to the Flamingo, but you were gone.”

I quickly told him about Harry and Tim and Ainsley’s apartment.

He blew a low whistle. “I’ll be over in a bit. Make sure you’re okay.”

“No need,” I said. “Joel and Bitsy are here. Tim’s coming to get me. You need to open your shop.” Murder Ink was open till four a.m. most nights. I wasn’t sure how he did it, except that he wasn’t open as early as I was.

“You sure?” I could tell from his tone that he wasn’t sure.

“Yes. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And I hung up before he could argue with me.

I half expected him to call right back, but he didn’t.

Joel finished up his tattoo, and his client came out and paid Bitsy as Joel and I cleaned up his room. Bitsy said we didn’t have any other clients scheduled for the night, and I began to think that maybe I would get that sleep I needed sooner than expected.

I leaned against the glass door and stared out at the canal, the gondoliers packing it up for the night, too. The mall would be shutting down soon; the tourists and shoppers would go home. Everything seemed so normal.

Bitsy and Joel watched me as I went into the staff room by myself. They hadn’t initiated too much conversation since Joel’s client had left. I pulled the laptop out from under the light table and opened it. I knew I shouldn’t do this, but curiosity was getting the better of me.