Ink Portals

Inheritance

31

It was dark out on a side street somewhere in Paris. The bell above the door jingled next to an orange tube-light, advertising 'tattoos' in neon letters with the S at the end flickering sporadically. Arthur and Abby were greeted by a cheerful 'open' sign in the door, even though it was late in the evening. They stepped into the small bohemian tattoo parlor and wiped the soles of their shoes on the doormat. Both of them were drained after sitting through a twelve-hour flight, neither one of them had managed to get a wink of sleep.

The tattoo artist, a man in his late thirties, sporting a set of large stretcher earrings, glanced up at them from beneath an old leather golf cap.

"Bonjour," he said, wiping ink from the calf of a woman sitting in the chair opposite him. "I will be with you shortly."

Arthur nodded as he and Abby sat down on a well-worn couch in the waiting area by the door. The walls of the place were adorned with an eclectic collection of framed artworks from various cultures; Chinese, Polynesian, Samoan and Japanese.

"A choice for every taste," Abby said, glancing around at the picture frames. Her voice sounded up-beat but her face was weary after the long-haul flight.

The tattoo machine droned on with its monotonous buzzing - the sound briefly sparked a disturbing memory of buzzing black and yellow wasps in Arthur's mind. He glanced at the small, circular scar on Abby's throat next to him. It was healing nicely after she started applying the oil Kazunori had given her.

Arthur took out the glass vial from his pocket and removed the crinkly string of straw around the cork. Before they boarded the plane in Japan he disguised the little bottle to look like some kind of bath-salt container, wanting to avoid suspicion from airport security, and tucked it inside his bag next to his toothbrush and razor. Arthur shook the little vial, watching tiny sediments of ash kick up inside the liquid, like a miniature dust storm caught in a bottle.

Arthur sat watching the artist work for around twenty minutes before the man finally set aside the tattoo machine, leaving the studio void of sound, except for the ceiling fan slowly rotating overhead. Abby had fallen asleep on Arthur's shoulder. The woman on the tattoo bench got up and inspected her new ink in a full-length mirror on the wall. She thanked the artist and the two exchanged kisses on the cheeks in typical French fashion. The satisfied customer donned her coat and took out her purse. She counted out some cash and paid at the counter.

"Au revoir," she said, leaving the shop, briefly smiling at Arthur as she passed by the waiting area.

Arthur gently laid Abby's head down on the couch, then he got up and went to the work-station. The artist was busy dismantling his machine, scrubbing down stainless steel grips and tubes, before placing them inside an autoclave to be sterilized.

"Bonjour," he said, shutting the lid on the autoclave and tapping the power button.

"Hi," Arthur said. "Do you have an opening, or do I need an appointment?"

The artist glanced up at the wall clock, it was ten past nine.

"I heard you specialize in Asian art," Arthur went on. "I was referred here by a friend who was very pleased with your work," Arthur lied, knowing he had never heard of Juan before; he and Abby had just departed their plane two hours earlier, they asked their cab driver for the nearest respectable tattoo parlor.

"You heard correctly," Juan said, trying to hide a grin fueled by pride. "Asian art is my passion. What would you like to have done, Monsieur?"

"I have the art work right here, would you be able to do it tonight?" Arthur said, taking out his phone.