Ink for the Beloved Page 31

  I hoped the tattoo I needed to see on Ariel wasn’t on her butt. I grimaced, remembering Xtina calling out, “Are you touching it?!” to me when I was touching the cow on her butt. But since it was Xtina, she laughed at my red-faced apology, telling me if I ever needed to stroke her butt again, all I had to do was call. Something said to me that Ariel was not like Xtina. However, my problem with Ariel was physically getting to her. Ariel Sanchez was locked up like Fort Knox.

  Then I saw my entry. In two nights, the studio was closed to the public due to a private party. In two nights, I could come up with a plan to crash the private party, but I needed Joanie and Rueben’s help. I clicked around some more on the website and stumbled across a visual I thought I could use to my advantage.

  My phone buzzed. It was Officer Lopez.

  “Any news?” I asked.

  “I was hoping you would have something for me,” she responded.

  This would have been the moment when I should have told Officer Lopez Todd was still alive. I should have said he had contacted me and was aware there was a key to a bank safety deposit box. I should have told Officer Lopez about the message my mother had left for me and that I was attempting to solve it. This would have been the moment a smart person would have come clean with the cops. However, I think we have established I am not a smart person. I am a smart-ass or one of those people who are too clever for their own good.

  I mumbled something to Officer Lopez about preparing for finals in two weeks. She asked me how my sister was, and I told her Echo was doing fine. Officer Lopez asked if Child Protection Services had been by yet, and I told her no. She seemed satisfied with that answer. She then spoke about her concerns circling the lack of progress with my mother’s recuperation. The current limbo state Echo and I were occupying could get dicey with the county. I decided then to ask Officer Lopez a leading question about restraining orders and custody.

  “What would happen if my mother passes away or doesn’t get better? Could Luther Tucker petition for custody?”

  “Is he your biological father?” she asked. I thought this was an odd question, but then I realized she had seen Luther, and she knew the restraining order came from a domestic dispute.

  “No.”

  “Weeeelll, (she drew the word out like it had three syllables), he could petition, but if anyone sought custody over him, he would probably lose. And it would be expensive, legally, for him. Who are your other relatives?”

  “There isn’t anyone,” I answered.

  She was silent. I could hear her breathing on the other end, so I knew the connection had not been lost.

  “The court would seek out your biological fathers.”

  “That could take a lot of time,” I responded. And Echo and I would be separated was the underlying thought which I didn’t vocalize. “I have a favor to ask.”

  She sighed, and I almost laughed into the phone. “What?!” I cried. “It’s not like I ask for a lot of favors.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Officer Lopez responded. “Every dialogue with you is a slew of favors. What do you want now?”

  “Permission to see Luther Tucker,” I said. “For my sister,” I added.

  Officer Lopez went silent again. “I can’t…” she started to say. “WE can’t give permission,” she amended. “That’s a legal issue. We can just look the other way.”

  “Are you guys, the cops, watching us?” I asked.

  “Sometimes,” was the reply.

  “I thought you were looking for Todd and the drugs.”

  “We are. But that doesn’t mean Mr. Mackey won’t circle back to you if he’s still alive. And if not him, then whoever he owes money to.”

  Once again, here was another moment when I should have told Officer Lopez about Todd and the Maxine puzzle. But I didn’t trust what her response would be. I couldn’t risk Echo and I being yanked from our home and kept apart from each other as the adults tried to figure everything out. Placing us in foster care increased the danger. It put us at the mercy of people we didn’t know and in an unfamiliar environment. At the moment, when I was talking to Officer Lopez, I still believed I had some control, and I could figure things out.

  I had also just come up with a brilliant way to get into Atomic Allure, and I needed to get Officer Lopez off the phone and call Rueben.

  I ended the call with Officer Lopez promising I would keep her posted. Somehow, I believe she knew I was lying.

  Rueben was thrilled I was putting him on the next case. After being fed by Michael Willingham, he was sure the pole dancers would be equally exciting.

  “Look at the Atomic Allure website and go to their private party page,” I told him. I listened while he clicked himself to the spot I needed him to see.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “See the pictures of previous events? Almost all of the food being catered is Mexican.”

  “So. They probably have a company they use regularly. My aunt is not going to do the gig.”

  “You’re not looking hard enough,” I said. “Look at the tables, not at what people are wearing.”

  “I AM LOOKING AT THE TABLES,” he growled. It was said too forcefully, which meant he was looking at the dancers.

  “See the picture with the guy putting down wine glasses. See what’s over to the side of his left hand?”

  “It’s a bowl of hot sauce packets.”

  “Yes. It’s the same hot sauce your aunt uses at her restaurant. The stuff you get for me. Go pick up a box from her before Thursday and meet up at Joanie’s house by 6:00. You should wear a white shirt with black pants.”

  I then explained the plan to Rueben, but once I told him what he needed to wear, he got it immediately.

  THE TINY DANCER

  Ever since my run-in with Todd, I made it a practice to leave my bike in different spots around the city, so my location was not given away. Some days I would ride the bike to school but then take the bus home. Other days I would lock it someplace around the CAL university campus, enter a building on one side and then exit out the back. I tried to break up my routine as much as possible so there wasn’t a routine.

  Tonight, I was heading to Joanie’s, so I stashed my bike at the North Berkeley Bart station. Her place was about eight blocks away. I didn’t want the police to know I was heading to a dance studio, and on the off-chance Todd was watching me, I didn’t want him to know either. I locked up my bike, went through the turnstile with my commuter card, and then hopped over the rail on the opposite side when a guard wasn’t looking.

  My friends were there to meet me. Joanie was the driver to allow her to maintain her distance, and Rueben and I were both wearing white button-up shirts and black slacks. We also both had on black sneakers, but I didn’t think our footwear would be noticed. The important thing was to play the role. Rueben brought the box of hot sauce packets from his Aunt’s restaurant. I had pegged the caterers employed by Atomic Allure used the same brand. The rest of the plan was simple.

  Mr. Whittier waved his goodbyes as we headed out the door. I wondered if Joanie had told him where we were going. With the jackets covering what Rueben and I were wearing; he may not have noticed we were dressed the same.

  Since Joanie and I had driven to Atomic Allure earlier, we got there quickly. We knew we could park down the street and wait for the caterers to show up. Since the place was a thriving dance hall, I guessed they wouldn’t be setting up for the private event until after the last class for the day.

  I guessed right. The catering van arrived about ten minutes before the class was over. We saw the dance students leave, and then the catering company began to move their equipment in. A few minutes later, some servers were dropped off, and they were wearing the uniform of black slacks and white shirts I had seen from the pictures of the website.

  “We’re going in,” I said to my team. “Rueben, grab the box.” I patted Joanie on the shoulder. “Once we are inside, leave here and wait somewhere safe for us to call.”

&nbs
p; Joanie nodded. “There’s a Starbucks in Emeryville.”

  Rueben and I hopped out of the car and ran up the street with the box of hot sauce. We behaved as if someone had forgotten the box. In fact, that is precisely what I told the bouncer dude when he stopped us at the stairs.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “We were told to bring it,” Rueben answered. He then said his next practiced line. “Someone forgot to put it in the van.”

  The bouncer looked at us briefly and nodded his head. We were in.

  Once we got to the top of the stairs, we zipped up our jackets to hide the fact we were wearing white shirts. We didn’t want to actually get pulled into catering work. Two people began to direct us to the kitchen in the back.

  “You need to get rid of the box,” I hissed to Rueben. He propped the hot sauce box in an out of the way place, hoping he could retrieve it on our way out. He didn’t want to have to reimburse his Aunt.

  People were milling about everywhere. There were two large studios with mirrored walls, and they each had seven or eight silver poles reaching from the floor to ceiling. Long pads to cushion landings were stacked to the side. I looked around for anyone who could be part of Atomic Allure. But mostly what I spotted were caterers and serving staff setting up tables and pulling out tablecloths and glasses. It looked like there was an office in the far back, so Rueben and I headed that way.

  A woman raced out of the office space in a halter dress. It wasn’t zipped up so you could see her bra and ample breasts. I’m sure Rueben got an eyeful. She was pinning her hair up while she was moving and almost collided with me.

  “What…what are you doing back here?” she demanded.

  “I’m looking for Ariel Sanchez,” I said.

  The woman glanced at Rueben, who was wisely keeping his mouth shut. He diverted his eyes upwards to keep from looking at the mounds of flesh in front of him.

  “She’s back there. But I’m the contact person for tonight.”

  I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, don’t ask me. “I was told to talk to Ariel.”

  The woman sighed and finished pushing a bobby pin in place on the bun she had been constructing in the back of her head. “Ariel, get out here!” she shouted.

  “Why?” cried out a voice from the office.

  “I don’t know. Some teens want to talk to you.” Well, at least she had pegged that right. “I need to find out what happened to the flowers.” She charged ahead, entering the bustle of caterers with her dress still undone in the back. Rueben’s eyes followed her. I elbowed him to keep him focused.

  “I’m dressing for crying out loud!” was the response, but the other woman was long gone. “Dammit. Whoever’s out there, hold on for a second.”

  “No problem,” I responded. I wished my voice didn’t sound so high and shaky. I wanted to open that box of hot sauce we had brought with us, but I thought it would look weird if we broke open our prop.

  Ariel Sanchez stepped out from the back room. She was wearing a dressing robe and had her hair in curlers - the ones that twist and give you ringlets. Ariel had makeup on, but she had just begun the process. The foundation was done, but she had only gotten one eye completed with eyeliner and dark shadow. The effect was disarming. I couldn’t help but stare at her face.

  “Who are you?” she challenged. “I don’t know you.” Her demeanor was guarded, and I suddenly got worried she was going to call one of the security guys over. Ariel took a few steps towards us. Her picture on the website gave you no clue as to how tiny she was. As she approached Rueben and me, I was reminded of the reality television show about families pushing their little girls into beauty pageants. That’s what Ariel Sanchez looked like - a toddler in a tiara, but with mucho attitude.

  “What do you want?” Ariel demanded. “We have an event starting in half an hour, and I still have a shitload to do.”

  “You don’t know me,” I started. “But you know my mother. She’s Teresa Wynters.”

  Ariel kept her arms crossed over her chest. Her stern bearing did not waver.

  “I believe you’ve gotten some ink done from her…”

  “Yeah, so what” was Ariel’s response.

  “Maybe you’ve heard, but my mother was attacked about two weeks ago and…”

  “I heard she died.” Hearing Ariel speak that way directly made me flinch.

  “She’s not herself,” I amended.

  “What does that mean?”

  “She may not…she won’t recover.”

  Ariel shifted her weight and looked away. “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that”. There was genuine remorse in her voice, but then she steeled herself up again. “But what do you want from me?”

  “Since my mother has been hospitalized, I’ve been asking the last clients who visited her if I could see their tattoos.”

  “What for?” Ariel asked.

  I gave her the answer that had worked on Xtina and Michael. “Closure.”

  “Damn. Really? That’s fucked up. Not that you want closure or nothing, but that this could be the end of something.”

  I nodded. Ariel’s words were more valid than she understood.

  “I’ve got a Terry Wynters’ tattoo on my shoulder.” Ariel began to move the sleeve of her dressing gown up, when she stopped, snapping her finger as if she had a bright and brilliant idea. “You know who else has one of your mom’s tattoo? Tina. Tina had a rabbit done, and that’s why I went in to get the unicorn. Hey Tina,” she hollered over her shoulder. “Get out here for a second.”

  Tina came shuffling out of the back office. Unlike Ariel and the woman before her, Tina was dressed and had her makeup done. Only her hair was incomplete. One side had already met the curling iron, while the other half was waiting to be introduced. Bedroom slippers adorned her feet as high heeled shoes would be the last thing she put on.

  Ariel gestured for Tina to approach. Tina was a very tall girl and standing next to Ariel, they looked like Rocky and Bullwinkle. Ariel pointed at me. “This here is Terry Wynters’ kid. Show her your rabbit.” Tina immediately hiked up her dress to reveal my mother’s distinctive rockabilly rabbit with the pocket watch. It was possibly the most popular of my mother’s designs. Literally, hundreds of people had it or pirated versions of it.

  I smiled politely at Tina, who was happy to show off the inked image on her thigh. “It’s one of my favorites,” I said through a forced smile.

  Tina beamed.

  “This is what I got,” Ariel announced as she loosened the ties on her gown. “After Tina showed me her rabbit, I knew I had to get one from your mother.” Ariel’s hand reached up to the neck of the gown to pull it back. I wondered what the tattoo would be since the only note my mother had written was “phases,” and Ariel had just mentioned a unicorn. I inched towards her so that I could quickly move my finger on the skin to demonstrate my fascination.

  Unfortunately, I got blocked by Tina, who was still holding her dress up, displaying the rabbit tattoo. Tina started talking, “Let me tell you why I got this.” I shot a quick glance at Ariel, and I could tell she had heard this story before, and she was letting her friend take the stage.

  “My little brother had this stuffed rabbit toy he called Boo-boo. My brother’s seven years younger than me. My moms had him with her second husband, my stepdad. Trey loved his Boo-boo. He’d take it anywhere; to the park, to the grocery store, he’d take it to the movies. My moms wanted to get a second one because she was worried he would lose it, and then he wouldn’t be able to sleep. And Boo-boo was getting dirty, you know what I’m saying.”

  I could see Ariel was getting a bit antsy. She was shifting her weight back and forth, looking at Tina and then over at me. Ariel still had to finish getting ready for the special event. But I didn’t want to interrupt Tina, and it looked like Ariel didn’t want to interrupt her either.

  “So, my step-dad takes Trey to the circus. I don’t know if it was really the circus, but it had animals and shit. Trey takes Boo-boo, and my moms
warns my stepdad not to let Trey forget his Boo-boo. But of course, that’s exactly what happened. My stepdad leaves Boo-boo the rabbit. Trey came home with a balloon but no Boo-boo.

  Ariel sighed and looked behind her at the office space where she had been doing her makeup and hair. I needed Tina to speed things up. I couldn’t afford for Ariel to get bored and not allow me to see the tattoo I had come all this way to see.

  I sensed Tina’s story was not going to end well. I was right.

  “My moms was furious about my step-dad leaving Boo-boo, and they got into a big fight. Everybody was freaking out. You know what I’m saying…” (I wanted to interject and say, “Yes, I DO know what you’re saying) The fight was huge and shit. If Trey couldn’t sleep without his Boo-boo, he sure wasn’t going to sleep with all the racket our parents were making. And then my stepdad admits he threw Boo-boo away. He says Trey is too old to be carrying around a rabbit, and he storms out of the house. Trey keeps crying and crying, so I decide to go and get a tattoo of a rabbit and let Trey see it, and it would be our secret. I couldn’t get a tattoo of Boo-boo, but I liked this one, and I told Trey Boo-boo got an upgrade.” Tina smiled when she finished her story. I could see the joy that had powered her decision to help her younger brother.

  “So now Boo-boo is always with us,” she added.

  “Why did you put it on your thigh?” Rueben asked. I had forgotten he was there. My head whipped around to make sure Rueben wasn’t leering, but he seemed genuinely interested in Tina and her story.

  “I needed to hide it,” Tina answered. “I didn’t want my moms to see it.”

  I suddenly had a lot of respect for Tina. I took a hard look at her and tried to imagine what she looked like without all the makeup. I realized she was probably only a few years older than me.

  Ariel interjected. “I’m really sorry about Terry and everything, but I need to get ready.”

  “Yes, please can I look at the tattoo my mother inked. I see you have a lot, but I’d really like to see my mother’s work.”