Page 5 of Scythe's Salvation
“Okay,” he mumbles as he stuffs his face.
“Healing Hands, can I help you?” I ask the inbound caller.
“Yeah, I’d like to make an appointment,” a deep, gravelly voice says. “Name’s Scythe, and Roxy recommended you.”
I beam hearing that this is a referral; while many of my clients from my old employer have found me, and I’m also busy thanks to the orthopedic clinic, word-of-mouth clients are the best. “Let me check my calendar. Are there any days that work better for you?” I question.
“Roxy said you don’t work weekends,” he replies.
“No, I don’t, except for very rare occasions,” I state.
“Do you have anything today?” he asks.
“Actually, I have a spot that opened up at noon,” I tell him. “Massages are done in either one hour or ninety-minute sessions, depending on what the client needs. The initial one may go over slightly if I hit an area that needs work. Will that work for you?”
“I’ll make it work. I’m a tattoo artist at Imperial Ink and I should’ve probably called a week ago, but we’ve been going ninety to nothing since we opened the doors. The pain is too much to ignore, though, so I gotta do something,” he admits.
“We’re always the last ones to get stuff done, aren’t we?” I muse. “I’m the same way, but with what you do, you definitely don’t need aching body parts. That can’t be comfortable when you’re hunched over a client with your tattoo gun.”
“Sounds like someone knows the process,” he teases. I’m not sure how to respond; it’s been forever since I went on a date, much less had time to flirt with a man, but his voice has me thinking I might need to put myself out there.
“I have a few,” I admit. “If you could get here fifteen to twenty minutes early, I’ll have a clipboard with forms on it sitting on the desk. I’ll be in with another client but should wrap up just before noon.”
“Sounds good. See you then, Tamara,” he says before he hangs up.
How did he know my name?my brain wonders. Then it dawns on me…Roxy.
CHAPTER
THREE
Scythe
“Glad you’re going in,”Cuda says as we sit in the breakroom going over our schedule for the week. We hired everyone we needed and so far, everyone’s working out well, which is good because I’ve had to back off quite a bit.
Seems I’m a stubborn asshole who thought the aches and pains would work themselves out. Newsflash—they’ve only gotten worse, to the point thatI’mcalling for breaks during longer pieces because my shoulder starts throbbing in time with the gun.
“Yeah, me too,” I reply. “Looks like we’re staying pretty busy,” I murmur, as I gaze at the spreadsheet.
“I’m fucking impressed, to be honest. We’ve had a few calls from some other clubs who’ve seen our work wanting appointments. How do you feel about that?” he asks.
Since we’re partners, we go over the main shit, then have a staff meeting to cover anything the rest of our employees need toknow. The systems that Hawg, Beast, and Selah put in place are easy as hell to use, and it enables us to input client payments without any issues. Each artist sets their own prices based on the size of the piece, while flash art is a set price, as are piercings. They’re logged into the system accordingly, including tips that are put on credit cards, and then Hawg handles payroll for the whole shop, with the artist getting one hundred percent of their tip. Most of our business is cash, which is nice, of course, but many citizens use plastic these days.
I don’t care who does what as long as our employees get a check every week, and money goes into our respective club coffers. Brick and Dragon talked and came up with a plan to handle money distribution to the brothers. Each of the businesses contributes a percentage of their monthly profits then it’s divided according to a brother’s position within the club. Officers get a bigger slice of the pie, but even prospects get something.
“You’re kidding right?” I reply. “I mean, we probably need to have Selah add that while colors are okay in the shop, we won’t tolerate disrespect between clubs. Any club that tries to start shit will be banned for life, all members, regardless of who starts it. We want to be known for our work, brother, not brawls.”
“I agree. I think we also need to put it on the signage out front as well. I have no problem laying ink on biker from another club at all, as long as they respect the fact that what we say goes, regardless of who the fuck they are,” Cuda says. “Could really have us making bank before we thought we would, too.”
“We gave ourselves a year, but the numbers that Selah pulled show us already paying off the equipment costs, as well as the inventory, brother,” I murmur, whistling. “Fuck, we’re already in the black? How did I not realize that?”
“Maybe because we’ve both had our heads down and our guns in our hands?” he teases. “Seriously, though, we seldom have any downtime since we opened the doors. Not only that, but while we have had walk-ins wanting flash art, most of the pieces we’ve all done have been fairly large, and those cost.”
“True enough,” I reply. “Okay, so when the rest of the crew shows up, let’s go over what we’re going to add as far as bikers from other clubs coming in, and get their opinion on whether or not we should consider adding another artist. We have the room ready, just need a qualified body.”
“Works for me. Did Chloe put in the inventory order?” he asks.
“Yeah, should arrive later today. I’ll have her log it in and put it up between clients coming in.”
