Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“In my defense, I didn’t know I had it.”
Edith held a pair of scissors in her hands, and Pat had a feeling she was not afraid to use them.
“Look, you can beat the crap out of him any other time you want. Destroy his bike, or better yet, cut off his dick. I am all for it. I need to know if you have any clues as to who this guy is.” He pulled out the piece of printed paper.
At first, Edith didn’t look at him. Rusty, the coward, was hiding behind him.
“You look pretty, Edith,” Rusty said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Pat said, before Edith got the chance.
Clearly, him telling Rusty to shut up made her decision to help him. She snatched the piece of paper and looked at the ink.
“Nah, this shit is not my work. I like more intricate detail.”
From the artwork he saw on her arms, leading up to her neck, along with the images in the parlor, he could see that.
“I don’t even know if that is Ruebin’s call though, either. You’re better off asking him. If it’s not him, then he will know who’s mark it is.” She offered Pat a smile, which disappeared to Rusty. “Get the fuck out.”
“Come on, Edith, we had a good time.”
“Get the fuck out.”
She literally jumped across the counter, complete with scissors.
Pat walked out of the shop, and Rusty followed, only the club brother looked a little more panicked.
“Do you think she would have cut off my dick?” he asked.
He looked at Rusty. “Yeah, I do. You gave her the clap?”
“Okay, I didn’t mean to, and besides, I got it all cleaned up, and I even went to her with some roses and told her she needed to get clean. I went to all the women I fucked, and they all knew they had to get checked. Is it my fault they might have spread it to their boyfriends or potential husbands? That is not my fault. I didn’t tell them to sleep with me.”
He looked at Rusty and shook his head. “You’re gross, you know that, right?”
“Hey, I am not gross. I’m just a man well-traveled in the pussy.”
Pat rolled his eyes, and now it was time to head to Reubin’s. Pat had a few pieces of ink, and if Edith didn’t have a problem working on him, after what Rusty had done, he might go back to her and get a few more on his arm and back.
Arriving at Ruebin’s, he saw the same neon red sign declaring that he was open. He stepped into the main reception. Where Edith’s place was light and airy, this place seemed dark, almost dangerous. Pat was instantly on the alert.
“Can I help you?”
The gruff voice came from the doorway, leading into the main room.
“Yeah, have you done this ink?” he asked, stepping toward him.
The man, who he was going to assume was Ruebin, looked at him like he was a bug. Clearly, the man wasn’t used to having to look into another’s eyes. He was tall, but so was Pat.
Rusty stayed quiet on this one. His arms were folded, and there was a glare coming from him.
Pat waited.
“What is it to you?” Ruebin asked.
“You know who I am. You know what my patch means. What does it mean? If you want to continue running this fine establishment, then I suggest you tell me who it is.”
“Or we might assume that you’re in line with the cartel,” Rusty said, stepping forward.
Now, Rusty was a good-time man. He was fun, and he loved to get laid. Some people looked at his strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, thinking of him as the “guy next door.” But—and this was a big one—Rusty was a mean motherfucker. When he fought, he did so hard. He made people hurt. He broke people. The guy had a gift.
Ruebin must have understood what was at stake.
“I did this three months ago,” Ruebin said. “I take it I’m not going to have any trouble with giving out private information and shit.”
“Not at all.”
Ruebin went behind his counter, opened up a drawer, and Pat tensed. He saw Rusty did the same. The guy could have had a gun. He wasn’t fucking dumb.
Ruebin pulled out an address card. “The guy paid in cash. It was a lame-ass cog, with spikes coming off it. It was tacky as shit, but he wanted it done.” He held out the card. “Didn’t know he was up to shit, you know? I don’t want no trouble. I’m just running a business here.”
“You’re not going to get any trouble,” Pat said. He thanked him for the card, and then left.
Once outside, he looked toward Rusty.
“We going there right now?” Rusty asked.
“Yeah, why, you got itchy balls or something?”
“You know what, dude, I’m starting to think Grant is right, and that VP patch you wore might have rubbed off on you.”