‘Yeah, it’s me.’
It was uncanny how Hugo could do that. My brother always seemed to know who was in the shop. It was both creepy and comforting.
‘Grab us a couple of sodas, will you? I’ll be out in a minute.’
I heard the buzz of Hugo’s ink needle. I snagged two sodas from the shop’s refrigerator then grabbed a container of beef jerky and a jumbo bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips off the shelf. I deposited my stash on the coffee table and flopped on the closest sofa. Popping the lid off the container, I started in on the jerky and leafed through a magazine while I waited for Hugo to finish.
Five minutes later, a lanky kid appeared, sporting a bandage of plastic wrap on his bicep. Hugo entered just behind, slapping him on the back and giving a speech on tattoo aftercare. The kid, looking pale and relieved, shook my brother’s hand and left, jangling the string of bells above the door.
Hugo laughed and plopped beside me. My foster brother looked like a tattoo artist. He was wearing a pair of jeans that were so splattered and tattered they should have been burned. His black T-shirt was rolled up to his shoulders, showing off arms covered in a myriad of designs that extended to the fingers of both hands. A swirling tattoo sprouted out of the collar of his shirt, winding its way up to his right ear. His dark hair and goatee would have made a Viking proud.
He reached for his soda. ‘So, how was school today?’
Because he was thirty and ran his own business, Hugo felt the need to act parental with me, even if I was technically an adult and not legally under his care. I shrugged and ripped open the bag of potato chips.
‘It was okay, I guess.’
Hugo leaned back, taking a swig from his can. ‘That good, huh?’
I scarfed down the chips and let my gaze drift over the waiting room. It was usually quiet this time of day around the Gypsy Ink. The shop didn’t officially open until noon, and most of the regulars came during evening hours. ‘So, where are the guys?’ I asked, steering the conversation away from school.
‘Kris took the day off, and Vincent and James are next door at the store. We’re down to a just a few sodas and a bag of…’ He trailed off, noticing the empty beef jerky container and the damage I was doing to the family-sized bag of chips. ‘Make that a few sodas. Man, Sebastian, you eat more than anyone I know. Where do you put it all?’
I turned the bag up to my mouth. A few crumbs bounced off my shirt, sprinkling the floor. ‘I can’t help it if I’m always hungry.’ I crushed the bag in my hand and tossed it across the room. It dropped easily into the trash can at the door. ‘I’m a growing boy, Hugo.’
He shot me a look, but I couldn’t interpret it very well. Another ability of Hugo’s that unnerved me was the way he could just close off his emotions, like shutting blinds on a window. One minute, I knew exactly what he was thinking, and the next, it was as if I didn’t know him at all. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’re going to eat us out of the shop. You know that, don’t you?’
My lips curled into a grin. ‘I’ll pay you back one day. If you’ll teach me to ink, I’ll work for you.’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s what you say.’ Hugo leaned forward, ruffling my hair affectionately. ‘But for now, just do your homework and then sweep the floor. I’ve got to clean up my work area.’
He’d never been receptive to my tattoo artist idea. It was always talk about high school and graduation with him. He left the room while I rifled through my backpack for my calculus book and binder. The sound of my brother rummaging through things in the back made me stop and smile.
Though we weren’t related by blood, Hugo Corsi was the only family I had. I didn’t like thinking of myself as a foster kid, but I’d grown up in a state-run group home. I probably would have stayed there until I aged out of the system, but Hugo’s parents had changed all that.
Not long after they asked me to live with them, the Corsis went to Europe to take care of some major family business, but they said they wanted me to stay in Sixes and finish school. Hugo owned a small apartment attached to his tattoo parlor, and he volunteered to take me in.
Of course, I was grateful to Hugo. Because of him, I had a home and some semblance of a family. The Gypsy Ink was all I knew, but I was comfortable here.
I struggled through the math problems and managed to have them done by the time Hugo reappeared in the waiting room.
‘How’s pizza sound?’ he asked. ‘Kris has a customer coming in tonight, so he’s going to pick up some food on the way over.’
My stomach rumbled. ‘Pizza would be great. Make sure he gets enough.’
Hugo shot me that look again. ‘Don’t worry, he knows how you eat.’
It was getting dark outside, and the shop’s fluorescent lights threatened me with a headache. Hugo saw me rubbing my temples, and he switched on the lamp, dousing the overhead bulbs. The throbbing in my skull dissipated, but the annoying pain spread to my back. I rolled my shoulders, pressing my fingers into the tense muscles.
‘So, how’s the back?’ Hugo asked, sitting down beside me. He busied himself with straightening the magazines, but I could hear an edge to his voice.
I sighed and gave a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Not bad.’
‘Is it getting worse?’ Hugo studied my hand as I rubbed my neck.
‘It’s a little stiff. Maybe I’m sleeping on it wrong or something. It hasn’t bothered me until just now; probably from leaning over my notebook too long.’
Hugo’s examination made me a little uncomfortable. Sure, my back had been giving me trouble off and on the last few weeks, but Hugo was staring at me like I’d gotten into all his ink and had a graffiti-fest on the wall.
Suddenly the front door swung open, and Vincent and James burst in, bearing plastic bags of groceries. James saw me first and chucked his bags into the armchair before grabbing me in a headlock and hoisting me off the couch.
‘Hey, Sebastian! How was school today, man?’
He set me down, and I scrambled out of his grasp. The man was huge, with muscles flexing under his tattoos and a shock of brown hair pulled haphazardly into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
I rubbed my protesting shoulders and backed away before James decided to pick me up and toss me across the room in another friendly display of affection. ‘It was fine, James.’
Vincent – who was tall, red-headed, and sported the most tattoos of anyone in the shop – tossed a package of paper towels and toilet paper in my direction. ‘You know better than to ask him, James. We never get details.’
‘We should work on that,’ said James.
I rolled my eyes. ‘Well, I’m hungry and I’ve just had paper goods thrown at me. Sorry if I’m not in the mood for story time.’ Vincent flashed me a lip-pierced grin. I tucked the packages under my arms. ‘I’ll be right back.’
The bathroom of the Gypsy Ink was not the cleanest place in the shop. After all, the responsibility of maintaining it fell to four guys who were having a good day when they remembered to brush their teeth and change their underwear. Since coming to stay with Hugo, the job of keeping it decent for customers had become mine. I complained, but I couldn’t really do anything about it. I had to earn my keep, so to speak which, apparently, included bathroom detail.
I flicked on the light and surveyed the damage. It wasn’t too bad, so I decided to put off cleaning until the next day. I tossed the packages under the sink and hurried out, passing the rooms where the guys did their tattooing. Each one matched their personalities, from my brother’s bright orange walls to Vincent’s pirate theme.
I started to round the corner into the waiting room when something pulled me up short. Everything was strangely