Blood Work (Harlem's Deck 10)

diary...”

  Zach pouted, arms folding briefly in pretended censure before he was stepping back, waving the Shakya through. “Come in, come in. Bring Crescent Moon with you. I know he likes a bit of Dean Martin.”

  Elliot nodded, snagging the sword as he came round the counter to slide past Zach into the studio beyond. The tattooist was the only person to habitually refer to his blade by name, albeit in its truncated form. Unlike most Zachary seemed unfussed by the whole 'bound soul' thing, but then when you'd lived as long as him Elliot suspected you got to see a lot worse. “I like being not being the oldest thing in the room,” was his simple reply, after Elliot plucked up the courage to ask him about it. When Elliot then enquired exactly how old that was, the apparently-young man with the tattoo gun leaning over him had paused to smile coyly, eyes gone thoughtful as he regarded the bare chested young man lying on the couch before him. “Old enough to remember the space race's reconnaissance under the corporations, young enough that these guys were only ever recorded voices to me,” and he gestured at the stereo in the corner, where the Rat Pack crooned away quietly.

  Elliot placed the blade carefully in the bottom of the hat stand just behind one of the doors, hanging his coat from the hook above as Zach bustled past him, moving to check gun and inks were set up ready. Elliot stood by patiently, looking round at the walls festooned with the tracing paper originals of past designs. Ornate book cases lined one wall, stacked with reference material and select religious icons, as well as the stereo and Zach's vintage toy collection. The far side of the room held a desk, a drawing board (currently folded away against the wall) and the cupboard where he kept the various tools of his trade, including ink, needles and spare guns. A couple of chairs and the two high couches, with their bright pin up girl plastic cushions, completed the room. Zach shared his studio space with two other tattooists: a fine arts graduate called Stacey, and a gear fanatic named Kaiko who seemed to be involved in some sort of ongoing grudge match with Beth (the details of which Elliot didn't even pretend to understand). Stacey was a delight, whose stunning work was finally starting to see some recognition under Zach's careful guidance.

  “So, you're sure about the horns?”

  Elliot shook his head, grinning. It was a sticking point between them on this design. Zach remaining convinced that each of the fleeing cartoon ghosts should be modified with a set of devil's horns, in honour of the kya's line of work. Elliot remained firm though: an icon was an icon. No point in using it, if you were going to mess about with the imagery.

  “Long as you're sure...”

  “I'm sure,” he replied, striping off his tee as Zach came across with the transfer and squeeze bottle of goop (Elliot still had no idea what the stuff was) that allowed the transfer's ink to take.

  “You know you really didn't need to disrobe for this one...” as he knelt, placing bottle and sheet on the floor to twist Elliot's arm this way and that.

  Elliot shrugged. “Feels weird if I don't. And besides, this way there's no need to worry about ink or blood on the tee shirt.” The goop was cool as Zach squeezed some onto his skin, hands firm but gentle as they spread it across his inner arm.

  “You mean no need to worry about getting a bollocking off Adira.”

  Elliot bowed his head to hide the impish smile the ageing housekeeper's name still brought to his lips. “That too.”

  Zach glanced up from where he was kneeling, eyes sparkling knowingly for a second before he returned to his attention to Elliot's forearm, pressing the transfer into place.

  “So, all quiet on the western front at the moment?”

  Elliot shook his head, smiling. “Far from it.” The other man looked at him over the rims of his glasses and he flashed a grimace, wriggling on the couch before settling again. “Sorry.”

  “Hush. We both know this works better if you're comfortable.” Done with replenishing the ink on the gun's needle, Zach grabbed a wad of paper towels to wipe away excess blood, leaning in over his work. Elliot winced as he first sprayed the wound with water, wiping again before turning the arm this way and that. “So go on, cough up. What sort of mess has our esteemed Mayor gotten himself into this time?”

  “You mean you don't watch the news?”

  “Oh I keep up with current affairs.” Zach arched an eyebrow, raising the gun. “Ready?”

  “Go for it.”

  The dull buzzing of the tattoo gun preceded its familiar hot/cold bite as Zach applied the needle to his flesh once more.

  “I was just curious what you're take on it was,” Zach continued nonchalantly, gaze intent on his work.

  “Bollocks...” but Elliot was grinning as he said it, the expression amping up as Zach gave up trying to hide his own teeth “...everyone knows you lot are the biggest gossips in the city.”

  Zach straightened, raising both hands with a shrug. “Guilty as charged.” He leant back in again, winking at Elliot before he continued. “When you'll live forever you learn to enjoy the little things.”

  “Fair comment.”

  Zach glanced at him. “Well...?”

  Elliot rolled his eyes. “Jaret's got himself in a bit of a mess. Let's just say there's more to the murder than meets the eye...”

  “Silly boy's playing with fire is he?”

  Elliot thought about protesting, but then decided it was pointless. “Something like that.”

  “And he's intent on dragging you into the furnace with him.”

  “It is sort of my job.”

  “True.” The vampire flashed him an impenetrable look. “Doesn't necessarily make it right though.”

  Elliot did his best to ignore the flash of anger that sparked. After all, there was a tiny part of him that agreed with Zach. Not just for his own sake either. There were other people involved here. Annalise for one. And Sam (apparently). Ishra...

  It's turning into a greatest hits parade for Jay.

  He shook his head, glancing at the man scrawling on his skin. “I'm just trying to make sure he gets through it in one piece. And not because it's my job. He's more than that to me. You know that.”

  Zach nodded. “He's a lucky man.” He didn't meet Elliot's gaze, remained intent on his work. “So, you got any leads?”

  “One.” Elliot sighed, settling back. “Which might finally be getting me somewhere.”

  “What is it?”

  In for a penny... “A brand of cigarettes I don't know. Left at the scene.”

  “Removing evidence. My we've turned into the delinquent.”

  “What do you mean 'turned into'?”

  That did draw a smile from the old man; Zach flashed him his pearlies, gratitude in his eyes. “You got it with you?”

  “Yes...”

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Sure. In my inside pocket.”

  “When we're done.” Zach nodded to his work. “Almost finished anyway.”

  “Cool.”

  After the final few strokes (“There, you're done”), there was the obligatory mooch around the studio whilst Zach lit a cigarette and went through his post session ritual, disposing of unused ink, rubber gloves and unhooking the needle from his gun. The copious mound of paper towels used for dabbing at the open wound (currently mushrooming out of the bin) was shoved down, the vampire making a show of inhaling deeply over it when he caught Elliot looking. The kya rolled his eyes, went back to his pacing and admiration of the designs taped up around the walls. The sheer variety of imagination on display never ceased to amaze him. Zach demanded his clients at least attempt to put what they wanted down on paper, even if he then ended up modifying the results.

  There's an artist in all of us, I guess.

  Their efforts were then hung here as examples of the sort of work Zachary Goldsmith was prepared to take on. Elliot found the whole thing rather shrine-like. In part, at least, due to the amount of religious and mythological iconography woven through the designs. And of course the profusion of figurines only exacerbated the effect. Elliot paused in h
is wanderings to regard the laughing Buddha and grinning Christ that stood to one side of the stereo, flanking some bright kids cartoon character. On the shelf above, an imposing robot that looked like it became an old jet fighter scowled down at the trio with particle cannons cocked. Elliot shook his head, smiling to himself as he straightened, sensing the tattooist was ready for him.

  “Admiring your sponsors?”

  Elliot smiled. “Wondering whether the guy with the guns has moved since last time?”

  Zachary raised an eyebrow. “What do you imagine I do with my time?” Face deadpan as he advanced with the cling film.

  Elliot shrugged internally. Sometimes it was difficult to know how to take the tattooist's sense of humour.

  “So, happy?”

  Elliot surveyed the video game characters now climbing the inside of his right forearm: a circular hero with gaping jaw, chasing three startled ghosts. “Extremely.” Like Zachary's studio, his own body art was a mixture of religious and pop culture references others might find a little irreverent. One of the reasons, he suspected, that he and the vampire got on so well.

  “Usual drill, keep this on for the next four hours or so, then give it a good soak. Then cream it regularly until it's healed. Which shouldn't be too long, for something this small...” Zach glanced at him. “Don't feel the need to contain your amusement just because there's an adult in the room.”

  Elliot giggled, then forced his expression to sober for a second. “Sorry.”

  Zach cast his gaze heavenward as Elliot