A tinkling of a bell rang through the shop, alerting the owner that someone had deigned to enter the Eye of the Beholderon an otherwise uneventful Sunday evening. Before he could even stand to see to see who it was, a loud Bostonian accent beat him to it.
"'Sup man. Here for a tramp stamp? Or ya wanna get a bleedin' skull cover-up of your ex-wife's name?"
"Is that how you greet a potential customer, short pants? The last city boy who talked to me like that got a boot so far up his ass he tasted shoe polish for weeks!"
The owner sighed. Two sentences in and Scout was already causing trouble. He got to his feet and made his way to the front of the shop.
"Whoa, what's your major malfunction, brother? I'm just tryin' to make conversation."
"If that is your 'conversation' then your rabble must be smacking your own ass and making chimp noises! What sort of establishment is this? I demand to see your manager!"
"Well, you're in luck then," the owner said, stepping into the rather small reception. "Tavish DeGroot, pleasure tae meet you." He held out a hand.
The newcomer jumped at Tavish's sudden appearance. He was a bit shorter than the owner, stockier, and sporting a slight underbite. Most offbeat were his clothes: a blue button-down too cool for the autumn weather, and overlarge hat to block out the non-existent sun. A tourist maybe? He was certainly dressed for someplace much warmer than Seattle.
Regaining his composure, the man shook Tavish's hand. Tavish could see the accent had given him pause. Or maybe it was the missing eye. Most people recovered from that pretty quickly, but this man let the handshake go on longer than necessary as he gazed at Tavish in bewilderment. He must have realized it, because he snapped his hand away just as Tavish was about to ask him if he was alright.
"You the owner?" he asked stiffly.
"Aye, I am," Tavish affirmed. "Sorry 'bout me apprentice. He's a bit overzealous with people."
"He's also standin' right here, ya asswipe," Scout grumbled.
"And why is he standin' right here?" Tavish asked him. "Shouldnae he be unloadin' the new coils in the back?"
"But I-"
"Scout. Go."
The visitor watched the young man retreat venomously. "His name his Scout?" he asked, once Scout was out of earshot.
"No, but that's a long story. Mind if we move tae the drawin' room? Bit cramped in here, and I'd like tae be somewhere atmospheric if I'm greetin' new customers."
After leading the man to the drawing room, Tavish pulled out a chair for him, making a show of being cordial. Even in the best of times he prided his shop on customer service, but he had a feeling this man could be trouble. It didn't help that his eyes were half obscured by the hat, making his expression difficult to read. Tavish sat across from him, flashing a wide grin that would hopefully sooth his ruffled feathers.
"Let's start over then," Tavish began. "Welcome tae the Eye of the Beholder, where your vision is the one that matters." He had always prided himself on that one, even if Scout said it with more sarcasm than humanly possible. Fuck Scout anyway. It was a great slogan.
"Uh-huh," the stranger said, looking around the room with a hint of awe.
Tavish couldn't blame him. The walls were lined with hundreds of designs his apprentices had made over the years. They covered all sorts of different styles: biomechanical, yantra, Irezumi, realistic, and even some authentic Ta Moko. It was impressive, even if many of the original artists had moved on from Tavish and his little shop.
"So, what can I do for you today Mister…?"
That snapped the man out of his trance. "Oh, uh, Doe. Jane Doe." He reached forward to shake Tavish's hand.
Ignoring the strange name and the fact they had already shook, Tavish put his hand forward as well. This one was mercifully brief.
"And, um…I'd like a tattoo?" Doe said, retracting his hand.
"Well, I've got some great news for you mate: this is, in fact, a tattoo parlor. What can I get you? Somthin' big? Small? Cover-up? You got some references tae show me?"
Just as Tavish thought he was loosing the other man, his eyes lit up.
"Yes! References! I brought references!"
Doe fumbled with his front pocket, extracting a phone and tapping it on. It took him a few seconds to scroll to the picture, handing it to Tavish when he did so. The photo on the phone was small and grainy, taken of another photo framed in glass. The second photo was of a bald eagle clutching the American flag with rockets shooting out behind it, barely distinguishable with a bright white reflection bouncing off the glass.
"I dunnae ken if I'm goin' tae be able tae do much with this Mr. Doe. You dunnae have anything bigger?"
"I was going to print it out but…" Doe shifted bashfully. "I couldn't figure out how to get it off the phone."
"Well, they dunnae exactly make these little things for men like us," Tavish said, handing it back. "Too many bells 'n whistles in me opinion."
"Exactly!" Doe agreed. "It's these damn techno junkies! Clogging up their heads with tweeters and youtunes…got to press a million buttons just to take a goddamned picture."
"You're tellin' me, mate. For me birthday, bought meself the newest iphone. It's been three weeks and I cannae get the bloody thing tae stop talkin' tae me!"
Doe laughed, and Tavish joined him. After so long being surrounded by his college-age apprentices and his younger cliental, it was good to speak to someone his own age every now and again. Doe seemed a good man now that he wasn't throwing a fit in the middle of the lobby.
"Alright, next question," Tavish said once the laugher had died down. "How big do you want it?"
Doe put his thumb from one shoulder to the other, making a general swooping motion a cross his chest.
"That big, eh? Well I can write up a quote for you, if you like."
Tavish grabbed some paper from a nearby desk, scratching out some quick math while Doe looked around the room. When he sat back down, he passed the paper to Doe.
"You'll have about two weeks tae heal in between each visit, and it'll take about six visits. I charge $100 per hour, and the apprentices charge $75. It all depends on who you want doing it."
Doe looked up from the quote. "What makes you more expensive?"
Tavish blinked in surprise. He thought it was obvious, but if Doe was curios, he didn't mind giving an explanation. "Experience. Both for me and for them. I let the apprentices undercut me a little, since they're the ones who need tae practice on a regular basis. They get more customers, but I get the ones who really want the best o' the best. You get what you pay for, and the extra twenty-five gets you two decades o' experience."
"You do not even have any tattoos," Doe pointed out. After all, even Scout's dragon tattoos visibly peeked out from under his red uniform.
Tavish laughed. "Oh, I have tattoos lad. Just nae in places I show tae random men walkin' intae me shop. Besides," he added, leaning in conspiratorially, "there's and old sayin': if you walk intae a parlor where one artist has good tats and one artist has crap ones, pick the crap man. 'Cause he certainly dinnae do that tae himself."
Doe laughed, folding up the quote and putting it into his pocket. Tavish took that as a good sign.
"I'll take 'two decades of experience' over that wide-mouthed little munchkin any day. I accept your services Mr. DeGroot."
"Please, if we're goin' tae be seein' each other for the next three months, you might as well call me Tavish."
They shook hands for the third time. As they talked out a schedule, Tavish added, "I'm still nae goin' tae be able tae do much with that photo. Where'd you see the original?"
"The Salvation Army. I wanted to buy it, but I was late for work so I just got a picture. Not my fault there's so many do-dads," Doe grumbled.
"Well, see if you can get that photo printed out. The library might help you blow it up if you ask very sweetly."
"Will do," Doe responded in a crisp, almost military like fashion.
The bell rang once again as the man in the big hat evacuated the parlor. When the tinkling receded, Scout poked his head out of the back, a skeptical expression on his face.
"Admiral Stone Age finally beat it?"
"You heard all that, did you?" Tavish asked.
"Walls ain't exactly thick, man." Scout hopped onto one of the swivel chairs and put his feet on another. "An' that ain't the only thing I heard. 'Not in places I show to random men'? Could you be more obvious?"
Tavish rolled his eye. "Oh like you havnae chatted up every girlie who so much as stepped in here. Besides, I wasnae flirtin'."
"Hey, at least I'm honest about it. None of this 'just bein' friendly' crap."
"You're full o' hot air."
"Dude. He had socks with sandals. Have some standards. I'm just sayin'."
