I lead the way in through the back door of the tattoo shop as confidently as one can. A rancid smell of sweetness and a stale, sour odor hit me like a wall, the type of smell that wasn't in the air now, but seemed to be clinging to everything porous, the kind that threatens to infect you and your clothes long after it's gone, the little dark room proving itself a much more pungent space then the rest of the shop. A half eaten burrito from that hole in the wall shop down the strip lay on a scratched up desk where a fly buzzed about, investigating what could be the best meal of his short life.
On the other side of the desk, stood Michael and all his tattoos crawling up the side of his neck. Digging through a set of rusty, cluttered cabinets, he turned at the sound of our feet and his face lit with a big smile.
"Hey! Daniel right? Told ya' you'd be back for more. Or is it your friends' turn now?"
My hard expression wouldn't budge. I realized this was personal as well as a matter of injustice. I trusted this man with mom's art, not to mention the fact that he had taken over her shop and turned it into a den of criminals.
"Something wrong with the tat? You know, you could have just come in through the front? I can probably fix it."
I dropped the paper bag on the desk as my reply.
His pale eyes flicked to the bag and his beard ate up that jolly smile pretty quick. Anger festered behind his eyes, but there was something else. Like he had sloughed off a layer of skin, he just looked different.
Pointing a slow finger at the bag, he looked at me carefully. "Now, that's no business of yours."
I was surprised he didn't offer us a cut. Was it something in our faces?
"It is now," I said.
Little beads of sweat had already gathered on his head, and though he tried to hide it like the snake he was, I could see the panic twitching in his gaze. He was about to do something and fast.
Too late.
He lunged for his desk, like an animal bursting out of where it's predators had cornered it, but this was no escape and I'm pretty sure we weren't the predators. Fear nailed my feet in place, as I could only imagine what he was reaching for. Luckily, Ben had been watching his every move and had plans of his own. Someone might have screamed, probably Isabella. It all happened so fast. In a blink Ben had him against the wall, one arm on his throat and the other pinning Michael's hand above his head, the hand holding the jet black 9mm that could have been our end.
Ben clenched his wrist like a vice, unrelenting and unforgiving. "You wanna put that down before you hurt somebody?"
Michael had no choice. He nodded and loosened his grip enough for Ben to safely take the gun. With a shove Ben let him go and set the weapon out of reach.
Michael rubbed his neck. "Look, you guys have to let me explain." He was different again. No longer in control of the situation, the last layer came off, leaving his fear bare and armorless. He'd try to lay the sympathy on thick no doubt.
"Go ahead." Ben folded his arms. "You just try and give us one good reason why we shouldn't turn you into the cops right now."
"Well, first off, you oughta know, they found me."
"The kids?" he asked indignantly.
"What? No. Of course not." He plopped down into his chair, raising a hand to his forehead. "The ones who give the orders."
"And who are they?" Kat asked.
"You think they tell me?"
That reply reeked of the Gate, and I struggled not to wrinkle my nose.
"You expect us to believe these big, secretive thugs wanted you?" Kat said.
"Whoa! I assure you," his tone darkened, "they're no thugs, and they'd make you regret the day you ever thought them as such."
Isabella shivered.
Kat wasn't buying it. "And they wanted you?"
"Yeah, they said I was valuable, because of my gift."
"Pfft! What gift?"
"Sometimes when I'm doing a tat, I ink the wrong thing, but what's trippier is, sometimes the customer likes it, they say it actually means something to them. I blame it on all the drugs. But the ghosts, least that's what I call them, had seemed to think it was more."
"Hey," Isabella began, "that's like-" but Kat silenced her with a look.
"And why should that mean anything to us?"
"Don't believe me? Ask your pal, Daniel."
All eyes turned to me. Explain yourself! they all silently screamed.
I shrugged, raising my palms. "Well, he did add someone to my tattoo that I didn't give him a reference for."
"And you know this person?" Kat asked.
"Yeah. I know him."
"I still don't see how that helps you sell drugs."
Michael gave an almost imperceptible jump at the sound of Ben's voice, but composing himself he explained, "That's not what they wanted...at first. I told them it was hooie, whatever it is. Doesn't mean a darn thing most the time. But they insisted I was special. That I'd do important things for them. Soon as they figured out it was just as I said, they put me to work doing what I do best."
"Selling drugs to minors?" I asked.
"Now when you put it that way, it really doesn't sound the best."
Kat gave a cold laugh. "Maybe 'cause it's not?"
"Look, you think I wanna be doing this? Messin' kids up and feeding crime? I tried to get out. Was clean for close to a decade before they found me. Now I take care of the tunnel, make sure nobody finds out about it. It's not like-"
"When's the next shipment going out?" I cut him off.
Michael's pale face lost any color it had. "Oh..." He chuckled. "You think they'd tell me that?"
Ben took one step toward him.
"Tomorrow!" he blurted and with the wash of regret on his face, it really looked like a reflex he couldn't have controlled. "They don't tell me much, but I do know a big shipment's going out tomorrow night."
That got me thinking. It really didn't leave us much time.
"But that's all!" The tattooist raised his hands in surrender. "I swear. I don't know where they get them or where the rest are goin'. No one's ever even there. Most days it's a ghost town, perfect for it's hosts." His eyes grew shifty. It seemed his disliking for these people was genuine. "I just get my cut," he said, "so long as I keep a good watch on the place. Now would you please keep him away from me."
Ben obliged, stepping back into his watchful spot of crossed arms and soul boring stares.
Isabella pulled me into confidence. "That only gives us tonight," she whispered.
"I know. I know."
"What do we do with him?" Kat tilted her head, but didn't take as much care with her volume.
Michael raised what would have been his eyebrows. "Must something really be done?" He looked to me. "Daniel. Dan!"
"Don't call me that."
"Okay. So just Daniel?"
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. Just, seeing I helped you, I thought you might be the kind of guy to give a fellow man a second chance." He looked me in the eyes and for the first time, I saw something genuine deep in there. "And listen, I know how few of those come around in this life. What do you say?"
I considered him carefully, feeling a little stuck.
"Oh, come ON," Ben said. "You can't seriously trust this slime ball? He's manipulating you. Do you need me to spell it out for you?"
"I know what he's doing," I snapped. "But he got out before. Why not give him a chance to do it again? Hmm?" I looked to the girls.
Isabella looked torn. Kat shook her head.
"Well, I believe he wants the right thing deep down. Now you can go ahead and turn him in. But I think we have bigger things on our plate."
"Thank you, Daniel. You're a good man."
I didn't smile when I turned to him. "Yeah? Don't turn me into a fool of a man. We know who you are now."
"I won't. You can be sure of it."
I considered him one last time, really hoping this churning in my gut didn't mean I was wrong about him. "We ready to go?"
Ben looked like I might have to drag him out of there. He shook his head as he stared down the tattooist, making sure Michael got one last message before turning and marching out the door.