Karen Olson - Driven to Ink

But then he ruined it. “Maybe it’ll be Dr. Sexy. Tonight. Should I tell your brother not to wait up?” He winked.

I dipped the needle in black ink. Despite his attempt to distract me, the question remained. “Are you sure?” I asked again, the machine poised.

Jeff pointed to a small space of bare skin just above where his wound was. “Right there. And I’ve never been so sure in my life.”

“You and Sylvia have talked about it?”

“That’s between me and her, Kavanaugh. Don’t worry your little head about it.”

But I did worry about it. This wasn’t just another tattoo.

I sighed and pressed the foot pedal, and the machine began to whir. I touched the needle to his skin.

There was no stencil. I didn’t need one.

It took fifteen minutes.

I wiped the last of the ink and blood away with a soft cloth and took my foot off the pedal. I handed him the small mirror so he could see it.

Jeff took the mirror and gazed at the tattoo.

“You know, Kavanaugh, you could have a good career for yourself if you play your cards right.”

I turned to put the machine on the shelf.

I felt his hand on the back of my neck. “Thanks,” he whispered, all teasing gone now.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see that I’d teared up. I nodded as I heard him slide off the chair. I reached over and grabbed a tube of ointment.

He stood, shrugging on his shirt.

“You better put this on first,” I said, indicating the salve.

He grinned and winked. “You do it.”

I rolled my eyes at him, ran my fingers through the ointment, and touched it to the new tattoo, red around the edges, slightly inflamed.

“That’s Amore.”

detective. I had a bad feeling about this.

“You hear about Dee Carmichael?” He didn’t mince words.

“Watching it on TV right now. What happened?”

“That’s what I’d like to ask you.”

I stopped breathing for a second. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve got a witness who says she saw a tall redhead leaving the hotel room about two hours ago.” He paused, and even if my mouth hadn’t felt as though it were filled with sand, I knew he wasn’t done yet. I waited as I curled one of my own red locks around my finger.

“We found some ink pots and tattoo needles in the trash.”