Blood Lines by Mel Odom

parlor.
    Someone slapped his forehead.
    â€œHey!” Bobby Lee opened his eyes and tried to push up from the chair. “Don’t you be slapping me, you big piece of—”
    â€œStop moving!” Spider spoke gruffly around a fat cigar shoved into his wide mouth. He was a big man in his fifties, with a flat, rugged face and beard and hair that roped down to his broad shoulders. He held the tattoo gun off to one side and dabbed at Bobby Lee’s chest with a wipe with the other hand. “You keep moving around like that, this tat’s gonna look like a three-year-old done it. And if you walk out of here with a bad-lookin’ tat and you tell everybody I done it, I’m gonna charge you double.”
    Juiced by the drugs and whiskey, Bobby Lee grinned. “Okay, okay.” He started to raise his hands in surrender.
    Spider cursed. “Keep your hands down!”
    Bobby Lee put his arms at rest beside him. It was hard to be still. With the drugs and the music working, he wanted to be up and dancing. More than that, he wanted to be with Lorna, his girl. He closed his eyes and thought about that.
    The tattoo gun started buzzing again. Pain seeped back into his skin.
    â€œYou spell Lorna with two o ’s, don’t you?” Spider asked.
    â€œWhat?” Bobby opened his eyes again and tried to peer down at his chest.
    Spider barked laughter that echoed even over the heavy metal. He put a big hand on Bobby Lee’s forehead and pushed him back into the chair.
    â€œMan, relax,” Spider guffawed. “I’m just screwing with you.”
    Bobby Lee lay back.
    â€œI know it’s spelled with a u ,” Spider said.
    Irritated, Bobby Lee reached for the pistol tucked into his waistband.
    Spider’s demeanor changed in a flash. He dropped a hand to Bobby Lee’s arm and trapped it against his body. “Hold on there, boy.”
    â€œLet go!” Bobby Lee shouted. “I ain’t in here for you to make fun of.” He held on to the pistol, but Spider’s strong hand prevented him from pulling it.
    â€œChill, bro,” Spider said. “I was just havin’ a little fun.”
    â€œIt ain’t fun for me. That’s the name of my woman. I don’t want it spelled wrong.”
    â€œIt ain’t gonna be spelled wrong.” Spider held up a forearm. There in ink he’d written Lorna . “Got her name right here. As long as you spelled it right, I spell it right.”
    Bobby Lee stared at the man a little longer, then relaxed in the chair.
    â€œWe cool?” Spider asked.
    Bobby Lee nodded. “Cool.”
    â€œThen you just get mellow, bro, ’cause we’re in the home stretch.”
    But before Spider could start in with the ink gun again, Bobby Lee’s cell phone rang. It was just a track phone, a cheap, disposable handset he’d had Lorna purchase for him. He waved Spider off, pulled the phone out of his pocket, and flipped it open.
    â€œGot some bad news, man,” a voice said after Bobby Lee answered. “Lorna told the cops where you are. They’re on their way there now.”
    Panic flooded Bobby Lee as he scrambled up from the chair despite Spider’s protests. He wasn’t going to jail. No way.

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    >> Spider’s Tattoo Shop
    >> Doggett Street
    >> Charlotte, North Carolina
    >> 2033 Hours
    â€œSomething I can help you with, man?”
    Shel looked at the slim young woman behind the counter to the right of the door inside the shop. She was dressed in black jeans and a black Anthrax concert T-shirt. She was pale enough to pass as a vampire. Metal studs gleamed in her eyebrows and at the bottom of her lower lip. Her long blonde hair was the color of old bone.
    â€œI wanted to see about getting a tattoo,” Shel said. He let the Texas drawl slide naturally into his words. In the military he’d learned what he called “TV talk,” that flat Midwestern accent used by news anchors