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He turned to me； shocked。
〃Grow up；〃 I said。 〃You don't just shoot your brains out when things turn to shit； do you hear me？ Do you know what suicide is？〃
He stared wide…eyed at me。
〃It's getting in the last pissed…off word。 It's a big so there；〃 I said。
22
The Pit Stop was just past Kate's Beauty Salon and a small house with a sign out front advertising a psychic。 I parked next to a beat…up black pickup truck tattooed with multiple bumper stickers that gave me broad hints about Mr。 Pit。
The door to his business instantly opened and I was greeted by a man whose exposed skin； every inch of it； including his neck and head； was tattooed。 His body piercing made me cringe。
He was older than I had expected； probably in his fifties； a wiry man with a long gray ponytail and a beard。 He had a face that looked as if it had been beaten up a few times； and he dressed in a black leather vest over a T…shirt。 His wallet was chained to his jeans。
〃You must be Pit；〃 I said as I_opened the trunk to get out the plastic bag。
〃e on in；〃 he replied in a relaxed way； as if nothing in the world was off kilter or worth worrying about。
He walked in ahead of Ruffin and me and called out； 〃Taxi； sit； girl。〃 Then he assured us； 〃Don't worry about her。 She's gentler than baby shampoo。〃
I knew I wasn't going to like what was inside his shop。
〃I didn't know you were bringing anybody with you；〃 Pit mented； and I noticed his tongue sported a pointed silver post。 〃What's your name？〃
〃Chuck。〃
〃He's one of my assistants；〃 I explained。 〃If you have a place to sit； he'll wait。〃 '
Taxi was a pit bull； a brown and black square block of muscle on four legs。
〃Oh； yeah；' Pit was pointing out a corner of the room where there was a TV and a sitting area。 〃We gotta have a place for the customers to wait for their appointments。 Chuck； you just help yourself。 Let me know if you need change for the Coke machine。〃
〃Thanks；〃 he said； subdued。
I didn't like the way Taxi stared at me。 I would never trust a pit bull no matter how gentle its owner said it was。 To me； the mixture of bulldog and terrier had created the Frankenstein of breeding； and I had seen my share of tornup people； especially children。
〃Okay；。 Taxi； tummy rub；〃 Pit said in a cooing voice。
Taxi rolled over； legs in the air； and her master squatted and began rubbing her stomach。
〃You know〃…he looked up at Chuck and me…〃these dogs aren't bad unless the owners want 'em to be。 They're just big babies。 Aren't you； Taxi？ I named her ‘Taxi' because some taxi driver came in here a year back and wanted a tattoo。 Said he'd trade me a pit bull puppy for a Grim Reaper with his ex…wife's name under it。 So that's what I did； didn't I； girl？ Kind of a joke that she's a Pit and I am； too。 We ain't related。〃
Pit's shop was a world I didn't know and couldn't have imagined； and I'd visited some very strange places in my career。 Walls were covered with flash； every example edgeto…edge。 There were thousands of Indians； winged horses； dragons； fish； frogs and cultist symbols that meant nothing to me。 Pit's Trust No One 。 and Been There ；Fucked That opinions were everywhere。 Plastic skulls grimaced from shelves and tables； and tattoo magazines were placed about for brave hearts to flip through while they waited for the needle。
Oddly； what I would have found so offensive just an hour ago suddenly took on the authority and truth of a creed。 People like Pit and probably much of his clientele were outlaws who bucked anything that took away the right of people to be who and what they are。 Out of place in all of this was the dead man whose flesh I was carrying in a jar。 There was nothing countercultural or defiant about someone dressed in Armani clothes and crocodile shoes。
〃How did you get into this？〃 I asked Pit。
Chuck began browsing sheet…flash as if he were wandering through an art museum。 I set the bag on the countertop by the cash register。
〃Graffiti；〃 Pit replied。 〃I bring a lot of that into my style； sort of like Grime at Primal Urge out in San Fran； not that I'm saying I'm anywhere near as good as him。 But if you bine bright； more graffitilike images with the bolder lines of the old school； that's me。〃
He tapped his finger on a framed photograph of a nude woman smiling slyly； arms provocatively crossed over her breasts。 She had a sunset behind a lighthouse on her belly。
〃Now that lady there；〃 he said； 〃she es in here with her boyfriend and says he's giving her a tattoo for her birthday。 She starts out with this little itty…bitty butterfly on her hip； scared to death。 After that she es back every week for another one。〃
〃Whys〃 I asked。
〃It's addicting。〃
〃Most people get more than one？〃
〃Most who get just one want to tuck it somewhere； usually out of sight。 Like a heart on a butt or a boob。 In other words； that one tattoo has special meaning。 Or maybe the person got it when they were drunk…that happens； too； but not in my shop。 I won't touch you if you smell like booze。〃
〃If someone had one tattoo on his back and nowhere else on his body； as best I can tell？ Important？ Maybe something more than bravado or being drunk？〃 I asked。
〃I'd say so。 The back's a place people see； unless you never take your shirt off。 So yeah； I'd say it probably meant something。〃
He looked at the bag on the countertop。
〃So the tattoo in there came from the guy's back；〃 he said。
〃'No round yellow dots； each one about the circumference of a nailhead。〃
Pit stood still and pondered this； his face screwed。up as if he were in pain。 。
〃Ibey got pupils； like eyes would？〃 he asked。
〃No；〃 I said； glancing at Chuck to see if he was in range of our conversation。
He was sitting on a couch； flipping through a magazine。
〃Gosh；〃 Pit said。 〃That's a hard one。 No pupils。 Can't think of anything without pupils if it's an animal or bird of some kind。 Sounds to me you aren't talking flash。 More likely it's custom。〃
He swept both hands over his shop； conducting his own orchestra of outrageous design。
〃Now all that's sheets of flash；〃 he said； 〃as opposed to a tattoo artist's original work； like Grime。 I'm saying； you can look at some tattoos and recognize a particular style。 No different than Van Gogh or Picasso。 For example； I could spot a Jack Rudy or Tin Tin anywhere； most beautiful gray work you'll ever see。〃
Pit led me across the shop into what looked like a typical examining room in a doctor's office。 It was equipped with an autoclave； ultrasonic cleaner； surgical soap； Biowrap； A & D ointment； tongue depressors and packs of sterile needles in big glass jars。 The actual tattooing machine looked like something an electrologist would use； and there was a cart with squirt bottles of bright paints and caps for mixing。 Central to all this was a gynecological chair。 I supposed stirrups made it easier to work on legs and other parts of the body I didn't want to think about。
Pit spread a towel on a countertop； and we pulled on surgical gloves。 He switched on a surgical lamp； pulling it close as I unscrewed the lid from the jar； my nose instantly assaulted