that jazz, can I pick your brain for a sec?”
“What’s up?”
“Tell me what you think of this. See, I was thinkin’ of modifying this wall here. It’s kind of plain.” Mr. Garcia pointed to a blank white wall, except for the word ‘Alpha’ in plain block letters in the center, behind the black cash registers with clear plexiglass around them. The store was closed for the day, which allowed King to fully visualize the possibilities with no distractions. Yeah, that definitely could be improved.
“If you want, I could draft up some designs for you, not just for the wall, but maybe a new logo, too.” Shit, even if I don’t get the job, let me take this opportunity to make some money. Hell, he offered. Why not?
“Oh, yeah?” The man tossed him a curious look. “That’s totally fine by me.” Garcia then proceeded to explain his company philosophy and how he’d chosen that location and established the business. But all King wanted to hear was whether he was hired. The guy still hadn’t told him if he’d gotten the job or not, despite this being their third interaction—once on the phone, followed by an in-person interview, and then this tour. The first thing he had him do was prove that he knew how to work a cash register, fold shirts properly, and perform other typical tasks in a retail environment.
King hadn’t visited this part of the city in quite some time. His mother often visited Little Brazil, which was nearby, stopping at her favorite grocery store and eateries on W 64th Street. Occasionally he would tag along, drive her around in his stepfather’s car if she wanted to go later in the day. She didn’t drive, and he didn’t like her venturing out alone late at night as she sometimes was known to do. Christopher often worked crazy hours at the hospital, forcing Mom to make a go of it on her own.
“What do you think about baseboards?” Ricky asked out of the blue.
“Baseboards?”
“Yeah. Art on the baseboards. I look at them sometimes when I’m in here and think, ‘You know what would be nice? Some design or something on them. Spice it up a bit.’”
King removed his jacket, placed it on a counter, rolled his sleeves up, and dropped down to one knee to study the wall and beveled baseboards.
Just as he was about to speak, Mr. Garcia’s hoarse voice came forth.
“You’ve got more tattoos, man? I saw the ones on your fingers but now I see you have more.”
King briefly closed his eyes and grimaced. This might be the end. He probably has a problem with that sort of thing. If so, he’s been wasting my damn time, and I don’t have any to waste. I could’ve been doing something that would bring in a check, like that modeling gig Shane told me about last night, which I turned down to bring my ass over here instead. An easy three hundred dollars just to take some cheesy photos for some online magazine.
He glanced at his now exposed forearm, maps of ink running across the prominent veins.
“Yes. I have more tattoos.”
“What kinds?”
“All kinds.”
“Did you get them just on a whim?”
King hesitated to respond. The energy was shifting, the vibe getting gritty and full of muck. He held his chin high and looked the bastard in the eye.
“I don’t do anything on a whim. A mind and an ink-free area of flesh is a terrible thing to waste.” The guy chuckled and rolled his eyes. “All of them mean something to me. Art. Cryptograms. Cultural symbols. I like ink. Be it on a wall, a piece of paper, or my body.” He shrugged, then got back to his feet. “Do you have any?” Yeah… he was feeling a bit defensive. There was one thing King wasn’t going to do, and that was pretend to be someone he wasn’t or kiss ass just to get paid.
“I do.” The guy smirked and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a large crucifix on his upper arm. “I have just this one, but considered more. I got this over ten years ago, right after my mother passed away. Your ink is nice, King, from what I can see of it. You’ll have to tell me who your artist is.”
King nodded.
“I have a few artists that I go to. One is booked out for like ten months, but I have an appointment with him next fall. So, uh, about your baseboards, my suggestion is to leave