CHAPTER 15
Nash
The shop was coming along way better than I could have imagined. Zeb was a magic man and an honest-to-God visionary. The final concept he had come up with was an old-school carnival straight off some boardwalk, and since my life felt like a three-ring circus half the time now, it totally fit. It was old-timey and a little kitschy, but the idea was awesome and all of us liked how different it was from the rough-and-tumble way the original shop came across. Each of the six artist’s stations was modeled after a booth that would be in a 1930s freak show—we had a strongman, a bearded lady, of course a tattooed lady, a fortune-teller, a lion tamer, a sword swallower, and a freaky-looking wolf man painted on the wall. Zeb wanted to install a vintage strength machine, a retro photo booth, and one of those old creepy fortune-telling machines, which I thought would send the concept and the shop over the top. All our portfolios and pictures of tattoos we had done were on a state-of-the-art LED screen that was constantly changing and operated on a touch screen so that potential clients could interact with it.
It was a fantastic mix of old and new, and while the actual tattoo shop probably only had three or so more weeks of work to make it a workable and usable space, Zeb hadn’t gotten around to the top floor yet. The idea was to keep that space more modern, more boutique feeling. So far the bridge between the shop and the retail space hadn’t come to fruition, mostly because it was uncharted territory for all of us and I think we were all worried about screwing it up or making it a joke when we had all worked so hard to solidify our reputations as the top tattoo artists in the Denver metro area. It was a brave new world and things were changing fast for all of us who called the Marked home.
I called the girl Phil had insisted I give a shot. It was a weird conversation. She was undeniably sharp and quick-witted. When I asked her if she had any experience working in a tattoo shop, she had laughed heartily and told me there was nothing she couldn’t do. She actually didn’t sound that interested in the opportunity to come out and interview with us until I mentioned the shop was in Denver. I told her what Phil said about looking the shop up online and letting me know. She hung up laughing and I thought I was going to end up writing her off as nothing more than a flighty model.
I was headed across town; I wanted to make a stop before going into work for the day. I needed some advice about getting around the ties and bonds that held a person to the past, and the only person I could think of that might be able to help me get some real answers, some real clarity, was Asa. He was a man who had lived a terrible life—a user and abuser—until almost losing not only his life but his sister as well. He had been forced to reevaluate what he was doing, who he was. Now he was making strides, trying to make amends, and while his relationship with Ayden was still rocky and often strained, there wasn’t a day that went by that they didn’t try and move on in their new relationship together. Asa was a man trying not to be defined by his past.
I was pulling the Charger into the parking lot when my cell went off and showed the Vegas number I had just dialed. Curious, I answered the call.
“Yeah?”
“Is all your shop info up-to-date on your website?”
Where she had sounded bored and slightly amused earlier, she sounded intrigued and almost breathless now. Anticipation crawled like a living thing across the phone line.
“It is.”
“Like all the same artists are at the shop?” Man, she was insistent.
I made a face at my phone.
“Yep. We’re all still here and getting ready to add a whole new crew in the next few months.”
“Phil is maniacal. That guy just loves to mess with people’s lives.” She laughed a little and I wondered what Phil had been thinking with this chick. She seemed a little off-kilter to me, but the old man was a softy for a killer face—always had been.
“Listen, Salem, I have to get someone in and on top of shit fast. The new shop is opening at the end of May, the old shop is swamped. Either you’re interested or you’re not, but I don’t have time to screw around if you’re not into it. This was Phil’s great idea, not mine.” And I wouldn’t tell her I would do anything to make him happy and make him smile while he was still here to see it.
“Oh, I’m way more into it now. Look, I have some stuff lined up until the end of April. I have to do Viva Las Vegas over Easter weekend, I have a photo shoot for a tattoo magazine in New York the weekend after that, and I have to give the shop here notice that I’m bailing. It snows in Colorado, right?”
I was having a hard time following her rapid change in conversation. I was still stuck on Viva. Being a car guy, I knew all about the weekend hot-rod show that drew bands and old-car lovers from all over the world. I was starting to think Phil had sold this girl’s qualifications short.
“Yeah, it gets cold here when the seasons change.”
“Well then, I need to add shopping to the list as well. Let’s plan for the first week in May. I’ll be there with bells on.”
She was talking like the job was already hers.
“You have to do an interview. I have a business partner and a business manager that you need to talk to before this is a done deal.”
She laughed and it sounded husky and rich. Even over the phone, I could tell this lady was something else.
“I’m perfect for the job and I’ve never been to Colorado. It’ll be an adventure.”
“Why the sudden interest? You sounded bored earlier when I called you.” I was curious and had to ask.
“Tattoo shops are a dime a dozen, but you guys are doing amazing work, and I like the idea of getting in on the ground floor of a place with a solid reputation that’s looking into expansion. And my interest”—her voice changed to something I didn’t understand—“is anything but sudden. I’ll see you in May, Nash Donovan.”
She hung up on me and I was left looking down at my phone trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened. I wasn’t kidding about her having to interview, and I could see her and Cora going rounds. It would be entertaining, to say the least.
I put my phone in my back pocket and pushed through the nondescript doors of the Bar and let my eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior. Since it was before eleven in the morning, the bar was quiet and the only customers lined up at the actual bar top were the grizzled old veterans that had called the Bar home long before Rome and Asa had taken over. No one looked up at me but Asa caught sight of me as he rounded the outside corner of the bar, arms loaded full of cases of beer.