Shelter from the Storm

a/n With apologies to everyone with body ink! The views here-in are not necessarily mine—it's just a story!

INKED

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[Ranger]

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My private cell phone vibrated on the mahogany desktop in my private office at Rangeman. I pressed the on button and speaker function and continued with my paperwork.

Nothing from the little phone speaker so I finally said, "Yes?"

"Dude. Your phone manners suck big-time."

And you called me to tell me? Is this a test? I grumped silently.

I waited. Anthony sighed into his own speaker phone and said, "No, I called because, well, ah...What's wrong?"

I leaned back and rubbed a hand across my face. What, I was alone, who'd know? Sometimes I totally understood Steph's ongoing annoyance with having her mind read.

Anthony said, "C'mon, man, talk. Waves of tension are wafting through the stratosphere even as you, um—don't —speak."

"I have a problem with Julie."

Silence, conveying concern and shock, then, "What."

"Nothing serious, she's fine, it's just that I got a call from Rachel earlier..."

... ... ... ...

The call from Rachel was less pleasant than I was accustomed to. Usually Rachel and I get along fine—or at least cordially. Okay—I guess that's the word, we get along okay.

"Yes, Rachel. How are you?" I was trying, she too hated my curt phone manners.

"Oh I am just fine, Ranger. Fine! It's your daughter that has the problem," she said sarcastically.

Okay, so just shoot me now...I said stupidly, "Zoë? What...?"

"Not Zoë! Your daughter Julie! Did you totally forget you have another child?"

That was unfair. I was confused because she never, in almost fourteen years, called Julie MY daughter.

After a beat or two of silence Rachel said, "I'm sorry, Ranger. I'm just so upset! She's at that age, she just will not listen! She says I'm a boring stay at home mom and what do I know anyway." Rachel seemed to stifle a sob.

"Go on."

"She wants to get a tattoo! For her birthday."

"And?"

"And! Are you out of your freakin' mind? She's a child!"

"And...?"

"Well, can you talk to her, talk her out of it?"

"What do I know about tattoos, Rachel? Maybe it's the in thing for teenagers..."

"It is NOT! It's popular with—you know, those kinds of people."

"What kind of people?"

"Dirty. Dangerous. Your kind of people. Like that boy in your office with the teardrop or the snake guy with flaming skull."

"Uh huh."

"So—you'll talk to her?"

"I guess."

... ... ... ...

Now I recounted an edited version of the conversation to Anthony. I didn't include the dirty people part, I didn't want to hurt his feelings, him having a lot of ink and all.

Anthony said, "So how do you feel about this?"

What are you, my shrink? "I can't decide."

I have no strong personal dislike of tattoos, but never wanted any myself. I have scars; I don't need tatts to commemorate things.

"What does she wanna have done, anyway? Maybe a teardrop like Hector's? Not many girls her age can brag that they killed a man..."

"No, Rachel said she wants a little flower or something...a butterfly?"

"A butterfly?" said the man with all the blue and black tribal designs. I could feel him thinking eeeeew from 75 miles away.

We sat in silence for awhile and thought this over. Anthony said, "What birthday? Isn't she like gonna be fourteen?"

"Yeah."

"No reputable artist will ink a child of that age, Ranger. Probably wouldn't even if her mom went with her. I think the legal age is maybe sixteen in most states, or maybe eighteen. Most people wait til they're 18 so they don't need their mommies to go with..."

"I'm sure she could find someone, for enough money. In South Beach especially, maybe not so reputable."

"Oh that's nasty."

"Yes."

"Sooo...you'd rather she didn't do it, I am guessing here."

"I won't object when she's older, although I have to admit I find ink on women distracting. I always wonder how it will look when they're 80."

"Not an issue I ever had, being eighty."

"Yeah, me neither." We shared a moment, then I added, "But you know what I'm saying?"

"No but go on, man."

"I don't like to come down all hard on my kids, be the authoritative dad who lays down the law."

"Yeah, that'd suck."

"...I'm not their officer in charge, giving orders. I need an angle, a way to get her to drop the idea. To just have me forbid it, that's asking for trouble at her age."

"Dude, you have a bazooka. Stop thinking Prague Police and start thinking Playstation. Blow shit up! "

"What?" WTF?

"It's from a movie, bro. Triple X? Man I love that movie, lotta philospohy in there. It like means you gotta make an impression, talk on her level...Remember how she told Rachel that she was a dull stick in the mud?"

"Stay at home mom."

"Whatever. Well, you can easily shoot this tattooing sucker down. Blow it away, dude!"

"I repeat, Huh?"

"Tell her that butterfly tattoos are boring, so over, so...millenium. Like, too mainstream."

"Mainstream?"

"Yeah, so, like uncool. Every girl in the world has a stupid butterfly or a rose, didn't you ever notice?"

"No."

"Trust me."

"What if she goes for the teardrop?"

"Then she'll never be on the cover of Vogue."

... ... ... ...

Later I imparted Anthony's words of tattoo wisdom to Julie. And held my breath.

"The cover of Vogue?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm going to be fourteen. Maybe I'm too old to model?"

Oh heaven help me. "Chica. What about the tattoo? No tattoos, okay, baby?

"Okay, daddy. It probably really hurts anyways, right?"

"Yeah."

"So do you think I could have a Juicy Couture bookbag instead? They're only three hundred dollars on eBay."

"Sure."

"Daddy—about the tattoo? I just wanted to see what mom would say..."

Poor Rachel. Poor me. Checkmated again by the master.

the end of the story/ series tbc