Riker's Calling - Episode 20

Riker Wednesdays

AS JAIME CLEANED HER TOOLS OF THE TRADE and closed up for the night, the soundtrack to the film Purple Rain filled The Tackle Box. It was quiet outside, the gentle breeze tickling a nearby wind chime and sometimes picking up as it skimmed over the water, in effect creaking the wood of the old docks as well as sending a little sway to the boats they were tied to.

Heslehurst deepened the sound of the shifting wood as his weight came down on the planks, stopping right outside the door of the small shack and reading its disclaimer.

INTOXICATION = NO INK

With a light knock, he opened the door and peered inside. “Good evening, mind if I inquire?”

“Come on in!” Jaime replied.

He did so, closing the door behind him and looking over the small space. On one of the shelves, the plush dolphin Riker had given Jaime when she was a newborn.

 “Cool little place you got here.”

“Thanks, but it’s actually my grandparents. But I plan on having my own someday, minus the bait! So you’re thinkin’ about getting inked?”

“Sure am.” Heslehurst had chosen to approach Jaime as himself, not being completely sure he could have fooled her with one of his prosthetics. It was a bit of a gamble, but so far she was showing no signs of recognition. After all, not many her age were CNN viewers.

He brought his right forearm forward so she could see it. “Got this one a few months back, and been thinkin’ about getting another one.”

Unlike the pirate treasure chest of gold he had showed her years ago, this tattoo was real. It was the nightscape of Los Angeles, lit up like Vegas, fast-forward traffic at its base. In the foreground, a silhouette of someone from the back. A back that happen to be pretty prominent, kind of reminding Jaime of her uncle.

“Cool tat! Where’d you get it?” she asked.

“Some place in L.A. called Cenobites Cove.”

“Oh, Jules’ place!” she said with a new surge of excitement in her voice. “She’s an online friend. We’re hoping to meet each other someday.”

“She’s cool. Kinda scary at first sight, but very interesting.”

“That’s Jules,” Jaime agreed. “So, what’d you have in mind for your next one?”

Heslehurst took a rolled-up piece of paper from the inside of his windbreaker. “Well, some might see it as disturbing, but since you’re a friend of Jules, maybe you can see the art in it. I’ve been working with an artist to get it right, and I think we nailed it.”

He unrolled the paper, revealing a woman sitting in a rocking chair breastfeeding her newborn, head tilted down to where you couldn’t really see her face, throat slashed, blood pouring down over bosom and baby.

“Kinda has a renaissance feel to it, don’t you think? Like Caravaggio’s painting of the beheaded general?”

“I can see that. Pretty intense! Where did you want it?”