Copyright 2017. No reproduction in whole or part is permitted without prior permission of the author.
Author's note: This story is 58,943 words long and is Book #2 of The House of Scarlet series. It deals with BDSM, domination, blood, fire, and martial arts.
One
Detective Steven Howell opened the door to the small tattoo parlor. As he entered the shop, a woman, barely more than a girl, briefly looked up before looking back down to continue on the tattoo she was doing for a beefy biker type. They were seated together in a small cubicle, him on a reclining chair, her on a wheeled stool with a small rolling tool chest nearby. Power cords, bottles, and several shiny hand sized machines were on the top of the tool chest. From the looks of it, the chest was where she kept the tools of her trade.
"Be with you in a minute." The girl called out to Howell as she concentrated on her color application to the nearly finished tattoo. The buzz of her tattoo gun resuming as she returned to work.
Howell wandered about the shop looking at the images on the walls. Flash was what the pictures were called. He remembered that from his visits to other similar shops over the years. Well, similar in the fact that they all were tattoo parlors. This one, however, was different. There were green plants in ceramic pots while the walls were painted in soft colors. A beige leather sofa created a small waiting area near the front window which, wonder of wonders, didn't have paint covering it up.
There was even a small half round table with a coffee urn on top. Nearby was a sign that said 'Help Yourself.' Styrofoam cups, a low crystal bowl of non-dairy creamers, and a box of plastic spoons were nearby. All in all, the shop was light and airy. Well lit with both artificial and natural light. It definitely didn't have that seedy feel that most tattoo parlors had. It was more like an artist's studio or gallery than the tattoo parlors he was familiar with. Neutral to attract both men and women but bordering on feminine. Very pleasant.
Howell poured himself a small cup of the coffee adding a single creamer to it before taking a seat on the leather couch to wait.
After some time, the buzzing of the tattoo gun stopped. Both the man and the girl walked to the rear of the shop. Howell heard a cash register beep. The two talked for a few more moments before the man left. The girl followed him to where Howell was seated on the sofa. Howell took in her appearance as she came near. Asian. Small boned. Thin but fit. A definite exercise buff. Her face was framed in a pixy haircut. She probably wore it that way to keep it out of the way when she was working. It did frame her face nicely. The short dark hair really set off her eyes and cheekbones. Eyes that were intense while seeming to miss very little of what was going on around her.
"Callie M." The girl introduced herself. "What can I do for you officer?"
Howell stood up from the couch offering his hand. "It's Detective. How did you know I was a cop?"
The girl, Callie M., shook his hand briefly before dropping it. "We see a lot of officials. Health inspectors, fire marshals, city inspectors, license bureau, uniformed police, undercover Narc's, we get a good exposure to official types who are here on business. You learn how they look real fast. Mostly they don't look like they are into this lifestyle. Too out of place. Uncomfortable. Too Vanilla."
"Vanilla?"
"It's an expression. It means plain or ordinary. Not kinky or living an alternative lifestyle."
"Oh. Well, I'm here because I'm working on a murder case. I'm hoping you might have information for me. The victim had a distinctive tattoo, at least I think it's distinctive, I'm trying to find someone who can identify the tattoo. Maybe that way we can get a name for the victim. Right now he's just a John Doe."
Howell handed the girl a close up picture of the tattoo he was talking about.
"Decent line work. Not great, but decent. Shading and color seem off some too. That may be an effect from the lighting though.
"Don't know the artist. Which isn't that unusual since almost anyone can get a tattoo anywhere in the world. Sorry."
"Well, it was worth a try. I'm going to go ask some other shops, but you were recommended for me to try first. Apparently you have a reputation as someone who is very good at tattooing."
Callie smiled but didn't comment. She knew her art. She was a specialist in lines and shading with gray. She did color work too, like on the guy who just left. However, her real talent was black and gray. There were very few in the area who could match her in design, ability, and execution. None who were better than she. She knew it. She could say it without arrogance, no one was better.
"Can I make a copy of this? I can ask around. I can also show it to the other artists here. Might get something. Probably won't though, so don't get your hopes up."
"There are other artists here? I thought you were the only one?"
"There are three of us. I'm covering the shop while they're at lunch today."
"Oh. Making a copy is fine if you want."
"Great." Callie walked to the back of the shop. In an alcove no bigger than a double closet, Howell saw a small color copier and other office equipment along with the cash register he'd heard earlier. Callie put the photo face down on the glass plate of the copier before pushing the button. Shortly after some machinery humming, the copier spit out a color copy of the photo.
"I'll show this around. Maybe I'll get lucky for you. Don't bet on it." Callie handed him the photo back.
"Well, if you come up with anything, please give me a call." Howell stuck the photo inside his jacket then pulled out a silver plated business card case from his shirt pocket opening it one handed. On one side was clipped a red card with gold numbers on it. That card was dog eared and worn. Pulling a card from the other side of the case he handed it to her.
"What's that?" She indicated the red card even as she put his card in her pocket.
"Why? Have you seen something like that before?"
"Well, it looks interesting. The red really catches your eye. Pretty. With only the numbers on it, you either know who it's from or you don't need to know. It's like a secret." A short laugh of apology. "Sorry. I'm into mysteries, reading them that is. That card looks like something from that sort of thing."
Howell handed the card to her. "It's from the same case. It was in the victim's wallet."
Callie ran her fingers over the embossed numbers. "Hmm, that's real gold leaf. Somebody has money if they can spend it on something like this."
"Why do you say that?"
"The card is a throwaway. It has no value other than the number on it. Otherwise it's really just wastebasket fodder. It takes some big money to make something with real gold on it for others to potentially just throw it away. I just had a bunch of cards printed for the shop here, so I pretty much know the current price for business cards. This is expensive. Top level expensive."
She looked up at him. "Did you call the number?"
Howell didn't know why, but he was intrigued with the tattoo artist who was obviously more than she appeared. Intrigued enough to give out information. Anything that would lead to solving this murder would be a help. He was almost at a dead end.
"Yeah. Someone answered but said nothing. I started to introduce myself. As soon as I did, whoever was on the other end disconnected. I tried calling back. The number came up as not in service."
"Weird."
"Yeah. I had it traced. Nothing. Number not assigned. Which is crazy since I
know
someone was on the other end of the line at that number."
Howell's frustration came through with that statement. Callie grinned at him. "Well, it wasn't me," she said as she handed back the red card.
Howell apologized. "Sorry."
Noise assaulted them as the front door opened. Two girls and a younger man walked into the shop. All three were wearing jeans and T-shirts.
"Ok, Callie, you can go to lunch now." One of the girls called out to them as she walked over to the first tattoo cubicle. The young man followed her to sit in the reclining chair.
The other girl came all the way to where they were standing. Short and thin, with medium length glossy straight black hair, she had a strong resemblance to Callie. She looked first at Callie, then Howell. A quizzical expression appeared on her face.
Callie rolled her eyes. "He's not a date. Stop trying to fix me up."
"Mama's going to be on your case for grandkids if you don't get it together." The girl scolded her. "This one looks nice. In a suit even. I like men in suits. Yummy."
"He's a cop. He's looking for help to solve a murder. Stop drooling over him."
Howell looked from one to the other as the byplay went on as if he wasn't there. "Excuse me, who are you?"
"T Rose. I'm her sister."
"Tea Rose?"
The girl grimaced. "Yeah. Mama,
our
mama, is an artist. She likes flowers. Paints them on canvas, wood, walls, you name it. She gets commissions for them. She likes flowers so much she named her kids after them. Tea Rose for me. Calla lily for her. T, just the letter, Rose for short for me. Callie for her." T Rose curled around him hooking her arm in his.
Callie rolled her eyes again before grabbing her sister pulling her away from Howell. "He's not interested. He's here on a case."
"So?"
"So, the only thing he's interested in right now is a tattoo. He has a picture of it. He came in hoping I'd seen it before. It's on a dead guy."
"A tattoo? On a dead body? Ewww."
"It's just a picture of the tattoo. Not the whole dead guy." Callie told her sister.
"Ok, let me see the picture." T Rose held out her hand after a moments thought.
Callie handed her the color copy. T Rose looked at the copy turning the paper clockwise in ninety degree intervals.
"I've seen this."
Howell was instantly alert. "You have?"
"Yeah. Let me think." T Rose stared at the paper without seeing the image there. "Someplace. Recently."
Snapping into a walk T Rose began to pace holding the photocopy in front of her. She was not seeing the image on the page. Instead, she was looking at images in her mind.. Callie pushed Howell out of the way placing her finger in front of her lips for silence.
After a few repetitions pacing the length of the shop, T Rose stopped pacing. She confronted Howell.
"It's on the wall of a shop down on second street. It's next to a club called 'The Pit'. It's a picture of someone who has the tattoo. Not flash. I don't know the person in the picture but the shop owner probably does."
"How do you know that?" Howell was suspicious. This was too easy.
T Rose shrugged. "I remember things. Lots of things."
"Photographic memory." Callie explained. "Especially when it comes to art."
"We all have it." T Rose smirked. We all get it from mama."
"We all?"
"Oh, we have 2 more sisters and a brother."