Page 5 of Saint
As I finish, I’m aware of someone behind me. The kid is standing watching me. I turn my head to look at him. He’s staring at the piece, his eyes wide. “That’s incredible.” His words are barely a hushed whisper, but it’s as if I can feel his breath on my neck.
I put down the gun and wipe over the skin one last time. “That’s it, mate. You’re done. Do you want to look before I wrap it?”
“Hell yeah, I do. Let me get my phone. I want you to take a pic.” He stands up slowly, letting the blood start flowing through his head. He turns his back to the full-length mirror and stares. I watch as he swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Fucking hell, Saint. I…I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t need to say anything. I’ve only done what you asked.” But I know there’s more to this. This is Kris’s way of celebrating the evils he’s battled, and after five years clean and sober, he’s embraced the devil and the angel that live inside him. Then the six-foot, muscled-up biker pulls me into a hug. His huge hands pound on my back as he thanks me again. “Get off me, you big oaf. You’re killing both of our street cred.” We’re both laughing by the time he releases me.
I wrap up his back and go through the care routine, which he knows that as well as I do. But I fulfil my duty of care. He hands me an envelope that’s got way more cash than he owes me. “If you don’t want it, pay it forward. I respect the shit out of you, man. You deserve it.”
He knows I’ll be putting it in the kids’ fund at the gym, giving my dad a hand reaching his target. I owe him everything, he saved me from a life of cruelty and probably prison, so what’s a couple of hundred quid.
After Kris leaves, I turn my attention to the young man. “If you don’t mind me talking whilst I clean up, we can start.”
“No, no that’s fine. I’m just thrilled to be here. I’ve been following your work for years.” He nods and smiles enthusiastically.
“How about you tell me a bit about you.” I throw away the ink cups and peel the wrap from the chair.
“Okay, my name’s Noah, and I’m twenty-one. I know I don’t look it, but I have my passport with me. I’ve been tattooing now for five years, and I’m looking to continue to improve my skills.”
I finish spraying the area and wiping it down and gesture for him to go back to the seating area. “Who taught you? Because if you’ve been doing this for five years, that makes you sixteen when you started. Not even old enough to get your own.”
He blushes a little, the toe of his trainers scraping over the floor. “I tattooed my friends, a lot.”
I snort. “You must have been popular with their parents.”
“Wouldn’t know. I grew up in a children’s home. No one cared what we did, so I had plenty of opportunity to practice. Would you like to see my work?” He replied so nonchalantly that I’m left speechless. So basically, he could be me, if Dad hadn’t rescued me.
I wait while he undoes the huge black folder, and when he pulls out some of the photographs and his sketches, I’meven more shocked. His work is incredible: clean, precise, and intricate. It’s almost too good to believe.
“Can you draw something for me now?” I reach over to the counter and pull my sketch book from the glass top.
“Sure, anything in particular?” He pulls out a Ziplock bag full of pencils.
I look through the sketch book he passes me. “Draw what you consider your weak point.”
By the look of his drawings, it will be hard to find a weak point. There are some errors, some details missed, and a couple that are slightly distorted. But looking at the dates, this was his earlier work. I watch him as he leans over the paper I gave him.
If I saw him at the club, I would be all over him, he’s just my type. I can imagine him in a pair of skin-tight leather trousers and a collar, kneeling before me. My dick seems to like that idea, too, which is a shame, because if his art is this good, I’ll be taking him on. And mixing business with pleasure is never a good idea.
It’s only a few minutes later that he puts down the pencils and lets out a breath. “Here.” He hands it to me. “I’m sorry it’s not my best. I’m nervous.”
I look at the Koi and can see some errors, but it’s still good. Better than some I’ve seen on skin. “It’s still pretty good, Noah. Where have you been working?” His accent isn’t a local one.
“In Leeds, I worked through my apprenticeship in a studio there. I’ve got references if you want them.”
“Okay, I can see you’re talented, Noah. I can give you a trial if you’re interested. But I want commitment. If this is you just passing through, then you’re not what I need.”
“No, I was always heading to you. You’re one of the best in the country. I want to be that too.”
“Then be here tomorrow at 10 o’clock.” I hand him back his own work and keep the sketch of the Koi.
“Really?” His bright blue eyes sparkle, glistening as if tears are forming.
“Yep, we can go seventy/thirty on the jobs you do.”
His happiness disappears like I’d switched off a light.
“I can’t afford to only have thirty percent.”
