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your mind about the tattoo, come back and see me. Tattoo removal is also one of my specialties.”
    “Removal?”
    “Yes. You would be surprised. Sometimes people change their minds. Sometimes they decide a tattoo was not the smartest decision to make. Especially a tattoo with this kind of detail. The devil is all in the details. You are warned—the removal is painful, and it leaves one hell of a scar.” He gave Jason a quick wink. “So,” he said as he put the paper back into his briefcase. “Shall we begin?”
     
    7
     
    An hour later, Jason sat white-knuckled with beads of sweat on his forehead. He’d overheard one of his co-workers say a tattoo felt like a cat scratch, but at the moment, he was only inclined to agree if said cat was a tiger.
    “Still with me?”
    “Yes,” Jason managed between clenched teeth.
    “Not so good with pain, are you?”
    “Guess not.”
    “The pain will not last forever,” Sailor said. From time to time, he stopped to take out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes, a quick little lift and dab. “I think this might be my best work ever.”
    Each time the needle touched Jason’s skin, it left a red-hot jolt behind. Jason looked down, surprised that Sailor almost had the outline complete. The tattoo gun buzzed and hummed, the sound echoing in the air when Sailor paused to dip the needles in the ink. The smells of ash, blood and ink mixed together and hovered in the air—a dark perfume of art in progress. Jason swayed in the chair as bright spots of light danced chaos in front of his eyes.
    Sailor pulled the gun away. “I suggest we get you something to eat before you pass out.”
    The pain in Jason’s arm receded to a tiny throb of irritated flesh. Before he could speak, Sailor rolled his way to the back of the room, pushed through the dark cloth, and returned a few moments later, humming under his breath, with a bottle of soda in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other.
    “Here. When you finish these, we shall start again.”
    “Okay.”
    Sailor wiped at his eyes as Jason took the first bite of chocolate. “So what will be your next act of newfound independence? A motorcycle perhaps?”
    The chocolate lodged in Jason’s throat, and he took a drink from the bottle. “I’m not sure yet.”
    “Perhaps a girl? Get yourself laid well and proper? Perhaps visit a strip club and bestow single dollar bills upon women with plastic breasts and artificial smiles?” He nodded as Jason blushed.
    “I thought so. You look like a man who has been deprived.” He winked, and a tear ran from the corner of one eye to his cheek.
    Lift. Dab.
    Jason swallowed another bite of chocolate. “Shelley, my wi—my ex, hates tattoos and motorcycles and thinks strip clubs are practically the devil’s den.”
    Sailor chuckled. “Doubtful, although many a young man has gotten into trouble within their walls. How long were you married?”
    “Seven years—well, almost eight.”
    “That long? You must have married young.”
    “Yeah, we did.”
    “Ah, the folly of youth. How unfortunate, or perhaps not, since Shelley’s misdeeds led you to me.”
    “Have you ever been married?”
    A deep peal of laughter rang through the room. “No, no. Never. I am not the marrying kind, as they say. Since you are finished, shall we begin again?” He plucked the empty wrapper from Jason’s hand.
    “Sure.”
    When Jason felt the bite of the tattoo gun again, his arm sang out in protest; he half expected to look down and see his skin hanging in ribbons of raw flesh. The coppery smell of blood rose up, strong enough to taste.
    “I assume the change in your marital status was quite unexpected?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, not to worry. A young man like yourself will find a new friend soon enough, and your wife will become a distant memory.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Oh, I am certain of it.”
    He whispered the last so low, Jason could barely hear the words over the steady hum of the tattoo gun.
    Just a little pain.
    It