Ink for the Beloved Read online

  What the Somervilles didn’t count on was inexperienced teenage driving. Berkeley is a city where almost a third of the population lives in the hills. The Berkeley hills contain homes, trails, and parks. If a person wishes to buy milk, or do anything involving a commercial transaction, they must come down from the hill.

  It was Friday night, and Sheri Connors was the designated driver with her family’s Pontiac. The Connors lived in the hills off Euclid. Four girls, ranging in age from sixteen to eighteen, were in the vehicle; Sally, Randee Hanson, Leah Higson, and Sheri behind the wheel. The car was low on gas because Sheri’s brother had been driving earlier and had not filled up the tank. Sheri bitched about this because when the girls pooled their cash, they only had twenty bucks between them. Later in a statement, Leah Higson indicated it was Sally’s idea to put the car in neutral to save gas and coast down the hill. The car had power steering and power brakes, and once it started rolling, the doomed girls were trapped. With no way to slow or steer the vehicle, they smashed into a tree before they reached the bottom of the hill. The car was crushed like a can. It was a miracle Leah survived.

  Sheri may have been behind the wheel, but with Leah’s statement and the radical visual rebellion the city had witnessed with Sally, it was only a short period before bad teenage driving became synonymous with Sally Somerville. Families would talk in hushed voices to their teenagers and use the phrase “Remember Sally Somerville” to get their kid’s attention. Terry herself knew she had uttered those words to Bess when the private driving lessons started. Bess had scowled at her and sucked on one of those horrendous hot sauce packets.

  Now here was the grieving mother standing in front of her wanting to know about the Beloved ceremonies. A thought pinged inside Terry, and she immediately swept it away for the guilt it brought on. Ellen Somerville was the perfect client. Doing an Ink for the Beloved ceremony for a Somerville would take the business to a level that, at this moment, she couldn’t even fathom.

  Terry explained the ceremony in detail to Ellen and drew up a contract for her to sign. They discussed design ideas and the size of the tattoo and its placement. Ellen was wary about the notion of getting something so permanent, but then Terry said, “She was your wild child. It is only fitting you memorialize her by doing something wild yourself”. Ellen knew immediately what was in her heart to do.

  By then, Dusty had entered the shop, and Terry was able to move Ellen to the back where they could have more privacy. Terry fixed two cups of tea as Ellen talked at length about her daughter. The bright girl who liked rabbits and sunflowers and chewy brownies, with no walnuts. Terry took notes and sketched a bit, but already she could see how the tragic teenager would be immortalized in spirit and ink.

  Terry mentioned music could be added, and they had a lovely soloist, Annika, who could learn anything. Ellen asked for two songs written by Janis Ian “At Seventeen” and “Society’s Child.” Terry felt a surge of emotion. Tears almost escaped from her eyes as she wrote the entries into the contract.

  “I love those songs,” she whispered to Ellen. “But be careful, Annika will pierce your heart when she sings them.” Ellen smiled. Their friendship was solidifying.

  So much so that Terry shared the secret of the tiny sparrows inked on her left arm. “I understand loss,” Terry said. “These birds are for my angels.”

  “There are five,” Ellen observed.

  “Yes. Five. I have two that survived, the others…” Terry’s voice faded off as she brushed away the tears forming in her eyes. She brought her arm up and laid it across her heart the way she always did when she thought about her lost babies.

  “Love them,” Ellen said. “Hold them.”

  “One is now a teenager…” Terry was going to say more, but Ellen touched Terry’s arm and lightly tapped the sparrows.

  “Cherish that one,” Ellen said softly.

  Ellen’s touch was similar to the way Bess stroked tattoos, but Bess refused to touch the ink on Terry’s body. Terry understood why, but it hurt because they could only hug when Terry was wearing long sleeves.

  A hug was needed now, and the two mothers embraced and breathed in their shared grief and pain.

  As Ellen was preparing to depart, Terry stopped her and asked, “What do you know about mermaids?” and showed the woman the puzzle she was solving. “I’ve seen it in Copenhagen,” Terry insisted. “Am I missing something here?”

  “The answer is Solvang,” said Ellen.

  “How’s that?”

  “There is a replica of the little mermaid statue down in Solvang because of their large Danish population.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Terry laughed and filled in the answer. “I’ll be damned.”

  Ellen smiled and left.

  TOBACCO JOE

  I ended up taking Echo to a movie and getting her ice cream. She was sullen for most of the afternoon, but by the time evening rolled around, she was laughing at cartoons on television, and you never would have known the sorrow she experienced when she started her day. They say kids bounce back, but what we really do is learn to survive. I wondered if Echo had learned never to show her heart’s desire to our mother again.

  Rueben wanted to hang out on Sunday, and I had a specific plan in mind. I kind of tricked him into accompanying me to the spot where the tobacco store was located by telling him I would buy him lunch. We had our choice between BBQ and a Thai noodle place. We chose Thai noodles. As we ate, I told Rueben about my plan and pointed out the tobacco store across the street.

  “I should go in there with you,” he said.

  “You can’t. Don’t be offended, but you look like you are twelve.”

  “Okay, I’m offended.”

  “If something happens. I need someone to know I’m in there. If we both go in there, there’s no back-up.”

  “It’s just a woman in a tobacco shop. What are you thinking? FATAL ATTRACTION or something?”

  I had forgotten about the “Todd is having an affair” excuse I had used on my friends.

  “It could be a front,” I countered.

  “A front for what?”

  “Drugs,” I answered. It feels weird when you tell the truth, but it’s part of a lie.

  “And you say I have an over the top imagination,” Rueben mumbled.

  “Your stories always involve aliens and wizards,” I replied

  “I’d rather have a wizard than a drug dealer.”

  Me too, buddy. Me too. (I didn’t say that out loud)

  Rueben looked over at me and stared for a long time. I began to worry that he knew I was lying about the importance of the tobacco shop.

  “Here.” He gave me his CAL baseball hat. “Take out the braids and cover up your hair. You don’t want her to be able to recognize you. If you are not out in ten minutes, I’m coming in.”

  ***

  The man behind Joe’s tobacco counter had a pockmarked face and a permanent scowl. A plate with the remains of his lunch sat in front of him. It looked like he had gone to the BBQ place. Judging the congealed meat and the soggy fries, I was glad we had made the lunch decision to go with the Thai noodles.

  “You’re too young to be in here,” he said. “I’m going to need some ID.”

  “I just have a few questions,” I responded and moved up to the counter, hesitating to see if he was going to throw me out.

  He picked up the small knife he had been using to cut his pork ribs and began picking his teeth. Subtle. Real subtle.

  “What questions?” he snarled after removing the knife from his lip area.

  “Have you seen this guy who is tall and blond around here?”

  “A lot of guys are tall and blond.” He shrugged like he was already bored with me.

  “This one looks like Brad Pitt.” I hated saying that but describing Todd as handsome didn’t work. But comparing him to a movie star somehow made the connection for people.

  “You talkin about Mackey?” Bingo. Mackey. To
dd Mackey.

  I was, but I didn’t want to show my hand too soon. “I think so,” I answered.

  “Why? You looking to score?”

  I hoped my eyes didn’t grow into the size of saucers at that remark, but I felt my hands begin to sweat as my suspicions had suddenly been validated.

  “Yes,” I answered. God, I was scared. “But I’m not looking for weed.”

  “Pretty boy Mackey don’t do weed,” the ugly man answered. “Anybody can buy that now.” The man’s scowl deepened, and he gave me a hard once over. “You don’t look like someone who gets high,” he said. Shit.

  I forced my face into my best sarcastic expression. “And what’s that supposed to look like?” I replied. I threw my hands up as if to say I’m done. “I’m just looking for something to help me study - to cram for finals. Someone told me Brad Pitt could help me out, and I could find him here.”

  The ugly man held up one finger, telling me to hold. He then made a fist and struck himself hard in the chest. This brought out a nasty burp, and a beat later, I could smell the BBQ sauce. Disgusted, I turned around to leave. Outside, Rueben clocked me, moving towards the door, and I could see him heading to intercept me.

  “Hold on, girly. Hold on.” The ugly man called out, and when I turned back around, he waved me over. I gestured behind me, signaling Rueben to move back and out of sight.

  “Sorry about that. You know I don’t work on commission for that guy.” Which meant he did. “But I can probably help you out. What is it you want?”

  “I don’t know. Pills.”

  “What kind of pills?”

  “You’re right. I don’t usually do this, but I need something to keep me up.”

  “Speed?”

  “Is that pills? Cause that’s what I want.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Mackey’s got pharmaceuticals with his hospital connections. Those are what you want. Minimum purchase is a hundred.”

  “A hundred pills?”

  “No, a hundred bucks.”

  “How many pills is that?”

  “Sixty.”

  “SIXTY?!”

  “You want them or not? You’re cute, but I don’t have all day.”

  “I don’t need sixty pills.”

  “Whatever you don’t use, you can sell.” Holy Crap! Is this how people become dealers?

  “Do I buy them from you?” I asked. “I thought I was buying from Brad Pitt.”

  “Let’s say I put in an order for you.”

  I paused the negotiations because there was no way I was going to buy the drugs. Technically, I had gotten the information I wanted. But this gross human being seemed to be a fountain of knowledge, and he was willing to share since he had burped in my face. Even humanity at the bottom of the barrel has a semblance of manners.

  “What else does Brad Pitt have,” I asked.

  “I thought you wanted to study for your UC exams.” Right. I had forgotten about the baseball cap claiming I was a college student.

  I shrugged. “I might want to be more experimental later, After the exams. To celebrate.”

  The ugly man shook his head. “Nah. Stick to the pills, girly. You don’t look like you can go crystal.”

  With the statement I’d be back once I went to the ATM, I walked out of the tobacco shop. I moved slowly because I felt if I didn’t, I would run and betray my fear.

  I rattled off a poor excuse for my spooked demeanor to Rueben. I told him the woman recognized me and threatened to tell Todd I had been in the store. It was a stupid lie, but my brain was more focused on the information I had received.

  Back when my backpack had gone missing, Duane had taken it by accident and delivered it to this shop. This was where the drugs were placed inside their bag. The backpack was then retrieved, and the drugs were distributed. The guy at Tobacco Joe’s worked with Todd, but he wasn’t the boss. It was the comment about a commission that confirmed their arrangement. Todd was a dealer, and he moved many types of drugs. He was using our tattoo studio to handle transactions inconspicuously.

  This was confirmation, but was it enough to take to the police? Was it enough to take to my mother?

  I still had Officer Lopez’s number in my phone. Could I call her? I realized the next step I took could blow my poorly bandaged and fragile world wide open.

  MR. WHITTIER

  It doesn’t often rain in California, but when it does, it pours. We can’t just have a regular rainfall like everyone else. No. We must have a freakin storm.

  When it comes down that hard, I don’t bother with the bike. The side streets are flooded, motorists can’t see for shit, and it’s easier to dodge out of the way if you are a pedestrian. I had an umbrella, but what I really needed were boots - any kind of boots. I didn’t want to soak my tennis shoes.

  I thought I had seen an old pair that looked about my size about a year ago in the front closet. The front closet is the depository of all things communal. It’s the Lost and Found bin of the house. Once a week, Ollie does a thorough clean of the house, and if he comes across something he doesn’t recognize as belonging to one of the Wynters women, he chucks it into the front closet. There are lots of jackets, sunglasses, sweaters, and umbrellas in that closet. There are even some questionable items like skirts and bras. However, I don’t think Ollie has ever come across a pair of panties. If he did, I’m sure we would hear about it. I think the whole neighborhood would hear about it.

  In the past, the closet has been a goldmine at Halloween time. Echo and I would rummage through it and have the base items needed to create cool and colorful costumes.

  Today, I wanted boots, and I was pretty sure I saw a pair in the far backspace. After blindly reaching around with my hands, I landed on something that felt like what I was seeking. I pulled out the items and found myself staring at a familiar pair of black hiking boots. These boots had belonged to Spiderwand, the creator of the mural on the side of the tattoo studio.

  Memories of Spiderwand and his odd habits flooded back, and I sniffed the boots to see if they smelled like garlic. They didn’t. I lined the shoe alongside my foot and saw they could be a fit. However, before I plunged my foot inside, I held them upside down and shook the boots hard. I once heard someone put their foot in a shoe that had been in a closet for a long time, and they were bitten by a spider that had taken up residence in the big toe. The story came out of Australia, but you should never take chances.

  No spider came fluttering out, which would have been funny now that I think about it - a spider in Spiderwand’s boots. I put the shoes on, and they were loose, but two pairs of socks made them workable, so I could go out in the rain.

  It was a Saturday, and I was planning on sneaking a visit with Luther at the Auto Shop. My mother and Dusty were at Cosmic Hearts and Ollie had left to drop Echo off at a friend’s house. I was feeling antsy and I needed to talk to somebody. Luther would be furious when he heard about the sleuthing I had done. But the information I had was proof Todd was using the tattoo parlour to house his drug business. Things were clearly pointing in that direction. I wanted to know if I could go to the police. I could contact that police officer, Lopez. Even though she was robbery and not narcotics, she would listen to what I had to say and then tell me who to speak to in the right department.

  I wondered if I would get to wear a wire and trick Todd into talking. I smiled. That would be kind of fun. I could see myself getting Todd to admit what he was doing and maybe I could even get him to admit what he did to Wolfie. That would really freak out my mother. She’d back off then and perhaps even throw a frying pan at him.

  My thoughts were about drugs and criminals and the court system, so imagine my surprise when my phone rang, and I saw the name flashing on the screen. Back in freshman year when Joanie made the twosome of Bess and Rueben into a trio, she had insisted we give her father our cell phone numbers. She said it was for her dad’s peace of mind. Rueben and I weren’t in the Kingdom Hall and her father needed a means to contact us. She made it sound
like her father wouldn’t let her hang out with us unless he had our numbers. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, and we wanted Joanie to join our friend group, so phone numbers were exchanged. Over the years, I had never received a call or message from Mr. Whittier. Nothing. Until now.

  I hesitated, but then hit the button to accept the call. “Hello?” I said into the phone.

  “Is this Elizabeth Wynters? This is Keenan Whittier. I believe you are friends with my daughter, Joan.”

  “Yes,” I replied. This was weird.

  “Ms. Wynters, an opening in my schedule has presented itself this morning. I should be in your area in about an hour. I would consider it a kindness, if you would meet me for coffee.”

  “Okay…” I said.

  “There is something I would like to discuss with you, and you should know Joan will not be present.”

  Mr. Whittier gave me the name and address of a coffee shop located on College Avenue. I was already familiar with the place. I ended the call feeling off kilter as if I was shifting between mindsets. I had to admit as weird as this was, I was insanely curious. I couldn’t remember ever spending more than two seconds with Mr. Whittier. He’d wave at Rueben and me if we were in the house, but that was about it. I worried I wouldn’t recognize him when I arrived.

  When I entered the dark and musky cafe, he was the only black man wearing a suit on a rainy day. He was seated expectantly at a small table in the front. He nodded his head when I came in and formally stood to help me into the little wooden chair. He asked me what I would like, and I asked for a chai tea. It was all very strange like we were meeting on a blind date. My heart was beating like a rabbit. I was worried Joanie was in trouble. I was worried Mr. Whittier would tell me to stay away from his daughter. I was worried he thought I was a bad influence on Joanie, and since there was no way I would become a Witness, it was time to cut the purse strings.

  However, asking me for coffee didn’t make sense in that scenario. Mr. Whittier could have just called me or sent me a letter if this was his intent. Do you sit down and have coffee with someone if you are going to tell them to go away?