Page 45 of The Woman Left Behind

“Doyouhave a commemorative tattoo?” she shot back.

They blew right past that; they all had various tattoos, which they began describing to her, but when she tried to pin them down on which ones had been “commemorative,” they ignored her. They were relentless. Before she knew it they were exiting the airport and she was being herded to Jelly’s truck despite her protestations that she had to get her car—“We’ll bring you back,” Snake promised, grinning. She was so telling on him, too.

The only way to get out of being tattooed was to get nasty with them, and she wasn’t prepared to do that because they weren’t being malicious. This was being part of a rough-and-tumble team, and the way to handle it was to go along then get back at them later. “Three conditions!” she yelled. Some people making their way to their own cars stopped and looked her way, maybe thinking she was in trouble. Her guys stopped and waited, their expressions laughing and expectant.

“One!” she said emphatically, holding up one finger.

“One,”they echoed.

“The tattoo artist has to be a woman.”

They all looked at one another, shrugged.

“Okay.”

“No problem.”

“Two!” She held up a second finger.

“Two!”They bellowed the number.

“I get to pick the design, with no input from any of you.”

“Aw, Babe.”

“Don’t you trust us?”

“We want to be involved.”

“You can be involved by listening to me scream,” she retorted. “This goes my way or it doesn’t go at all, and I’ll start screaming and fighting right here and your butts will all end up in jail, because who do you think the cops will listen to?”

Voodoo scratched his jaw. “We could take the cops,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but the publicity would suck.” She had to stand her ground on this point in particular, or she could end up with something like a giant purple octopus inked across her back, with tentacles wrapping around her arms and legs. Trust them, she didn’t.

“All right,” Snake said, looking disappointed. “You get to pick the design.”

She moved on immediately after that concession, not giving them time to argue about it. “Three!” She held up three fingers.

“Three!”

“None of you get to watch.”

“What!”

“That takes all the fun out of it!”

“How will we know you actually get one, then?” That was Voodoo, trying to throw a monkey wrench into the situation.

“Trust, gentlemen. Trust.” She folded her arms. “Those are my conditions. Take ’em or leave ’em.”

“Ah, hell.” Trapper looked aggrieved. “She called us gentlemen.”

“And she used the T word.” Jelly heaved a disappointed sigh.

“Y’all ate my tacos and my cake,” she pointed out.

“All right, all right.” Amid much grumbling, they dispersed to their vehicles, though Jelly still insisted she ride with him. Evidently they didn’t trust her enough to let her drive on her own, and she couldn’t say they were wrong because she could see herself bolting.

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