“It’s up there.”
Lee pointed to the only shelf Brix hadn’t torn apart. Brix reached for it without comment, took the cartridge he needed, then dumped the rest of them in their rightful home.
From the doorway, Lee stared at him, eyebrow raised. “Why’ve you got a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp?”
And there it was, her favourite way to insult him when he was fit to kill the next person who crossed his path . . . anyone except her. “Perhaps I’m hungry. I’m the boss around here. Doesn’t anyone bring me lunch anymore?”
“No, ’cause you won’t let us pay for it and our good deeds go to shite. Do you want something from Becky’s? I can shoot and—”
“No, no, it’s fine.” It was a running joke that, Lena aside, Blood Rush staff rarely managed to buy Brix lunch. “How are you doing, anyway? Did your dandelion sleeve go okay?”
Lee shrugged. “Yeah, I’m getting a bit bored with them now, though. They’re too fucking trendy.”
“Wait till you’ve done a hundred tribal sleeves, then you’ll know what boring is. Trick is to make each one your own.”
“You don’t say.” Lee’s gaze turned withering. “And how, oh wise one, do you do that when your client brings you a Google screen shot and asks you to copy it?”
“Tell ’em to take it elsewhere if they want a carbon copy. You get enough work here to allow yourself that luxury. We’ve been over this.” Lee scowled, and Brix knew he had her. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”
“Shadowing Calum. He’s going to stencil me a mandala to practice my dot work on so I can try and incorporate it into that spirit-horse design I’m doing next week. He’s a pretty awesome teacher. In fact, he’s pretty awesome in general.”
“Who? The spirit horse?”
“Don’t be a dick. You know I’m talking about Calum.”
Of course he did. Apart from agreeing with the sentiment, Brix had noticed the blossoming camaraderie between Lee and Calum, and the mutual interest they had in each other’s skills. It was the kind of collaboration he usually encouraged at the studio, but he couldn’t deny the uncomfortable stab of jealousy in his gut this time. He wanted to be the one hunched over sketchbooks with Calum, drawing up a storm like they used to, a couple of cans, a spliff, and not a care in the world between them. Shame we had to grow up.
“Speak of the devil.”
Lee looked over her shoulder. Calum joined her a moment later, his hair tousled, his T-shirt just tight enough to show Brix that the washboard abs he remembered were still fucking glorious. Brix’s heart did a tiny flip. It had been a fortnight since Calum had helped him lug crates up the cliffs to the Lusmoore cave, and with each day that passed, the air between them had lightened, like the series of dark confessions Brix had slung Calum’s way had broken down a barrier they hadn’t known was there. Brix smiled at Calum now, and the shy grin he got back in return was like a tiny glimmer of sun on a cold winter’s day.
“All right, mate?” Brix said.
Calum shrugged. “Can’t complain. Who’d listen, eh?”
“I would.”
“I know.” Calum broke their stare and rubbed his fist on Lee’s head. “I’ve got that stencil for you, squirt. Wanna come take a look?”
“Sure. I’ll put the kettle on first.”
Lee ducked under Calum’s arm and disappeared. Calum watched her go, and Brix watched him, fascinated as always, until he noticed the bandage wrapped around Calum’s left hand.
“What’s up with that?”
Guilt made an unwelcome return to Calum’s face. “Er, the gun kinda blew up on me this morning. Took the skin off my fingers. Sorry, mate. I’ll replace it.”
“As if I give a shit about the gun. How bad is your hand? Did you get Kim to check it out? He’s pretty good with stuff like that.”
“He dressed it for me. Said it wasn’t serious. Want to see?”
Calum tugged the edge of the bandage. Brix froze halfway to him. “No! Shit. No, don’t get it out. Keep it away from me.”
“What?” Calum frowned. “Since when are you squeamish?”
Brix caught his overreaction in its tracks and reeled it in, heat flooding his cheeks. “I’m not squeamish. Just don’t like burns. Did you call the bank back from last week?”
If Brix’s abrupt change of subject gave Calum whiplash, it didn’t show. “I’ve been dodging that call for two weeks actually, but yeah, I did. Had to haggle like a motherfucker, but they’ll accept two-hundred a month for now and hold off on the CCJ.” Calum glanced around the disarray of the storeroom. “Anyway, enough about me. What happened in here?”
“Lena took a day off, and the world fell apart.”
“Need a hand putting it back together?”
“Nah, go with Lee. If I’m not out in a few hours, bring me a curry.”
“Deal.”
Calum left Brix to his muddled thoughts and disordered shelves. He’d forgotten their parting words until Calum reappeared sometime later clutching a paper bag.
“It’s not exactly a dhansak from the Akash in Shoreditch, but the one I scoffed on the way back from the shop was fucking amazing.”
Brix looked up from the box of spare tattoo machine parts he’d somehow found himself sorting through. He sniffed the air. “Is that a keema pasty from Belly Acre Farm?”
“You can tell that by smell alone?”
“Course I can. Me and Kim lived on those for a week when they first started making them. Best things ever, just don’t tell any locals I said that. We’re all bound by blood to the traditional Cornish one.”
Calum grinned and relinquished the paper bag, along with a small polystyrene tub of mango chutney. Brix dug in, then held it out. “Wanna bite?”
“No, thanks. Told ya, I had one for my own lunch.” Calum’s eyes glinted mischievously. “And a Cornish one too, so I can back you up on saying the spicy one’s the best.”
The humour in Calum’s too-often brooding gaze warmed Brix’s heart, or maybe it was the spicy meat on its way to his belly . . . Yeah, it was definitely the spices. Right. “How did it go with Lee?”
“Erm . . .” Calum shrugged. “I’m not sure she has the patience for dot work just yet, but we’re making progress.”
“Aye, it’s not quite the same as throwing ink around, eh?”
“No, but that’s a different skill all of its own. I don’t have the balls to freehand like she does.”
Brix wondered if Calum knew he’d outlined their contrasting personalities better than any shrink could. Lee had a delicate touch, but her rebellious streak gave her the freedom to splash colour on skin with a unique reckless abandon. Calum was a different animal altogether. His intricate dot-work designs took a concentrated vision many artists—Brix included—didn’t have. Brix had never seen anything like the few custom pieces Calum had produced so far. Calum had always been in a class of his own, but now? Damn. Brix didn’t know a better artist. “She said you’re a good teacher.”
Calum shrugged. “Just picking up where you left off. She wouldn’t be inking in the first place if it wasn’t for you.”
“She’d have found her way eventually. We all do.”
“Yeah?” Calum’s half smile was unconvinced, but it appeared, like always, that he wasn’t in the mood to explore a conversation about himself. “Are you going to spend all day in here?”
“I wasn’t planning to. Not much of the day left now, though, is there?”
“I s’pose not.”
A knock at the door startled them. Brix tore his eyes from Calum to Kim, who glanced between them with a knowing smirk. “Sorry to interrupt, boss. Your old man’s here. Wants to see you.”
Great. Brix had already spent his morning chasing his father around town, a common occurrence on pension day, leaving Brix with the distinct impression that his father was avoiding him, which was never a good thing.
Brix followed Kim to the front of the studio, too aware that Calum wasn’t far behind him.
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“So you let Calum buy you lunch, but not me?” Lee called out. “You wound me, Brix.”
Brix gave her the finger, hoping no one would notice the heat in his cheeks, and approached his father, who was standing in the waiting area, frowning at one of Jory’s latest abstract designs.
“What in God’s name is that?”
“Afternoon to you too,” Brix retorted dryly. “I’ve been looking for you all morning. Where’ve you been?”
“What do you care? Can’t a man have a morning to ’imself anymore?”
“Not if you want paying.”
His father’s face brightened considerably. “Got some papers for me, ’av ya?”
“Course I have. It’s the first of the month.” Brix ducked behind the front desk and retrieved the envelope he’d stashed in the till. “You know it would be easier if you let me put this in a bank account for you.”
John Lusmoore took the envelope and stuffed it inside his coat. “Easier for who? Bloody taxman to stick his oar in my business? Go on with yer.”
Brix let it go. Despite his and Abel’s best efforts, no Lusmoore above the age of fifty, save Aunt Mam in her posh bungalow up on the hill, had embraced the modern world. No doubt Brix’s hard-earned cash would find its way below John’s bathroom floorboards. “How are the chooks?”
“Oh aye, they’re fine.” John’s expression softened like it always did when conversation turned to his own beloved collection of scruffy rescue hens. “I’ve put ’em on that organic grain from Hunter’s and got that heavy straw in for the winter. Can’t have my girls getting cold.”
“Don’t want any more, do ya? Millstream Poultry are kicking out soon, but I don’t know if I’ll have any takers now the summer rush is over.”
“How many you getting?”
“Haven’t said I’ll do it yet.”
“Aye, but you will.”
Brix smiled. He had little in common with his father, but in this they were the same. John would be with him at every hen rescue in a heartbeat were it not for his propensity to twat rogue farmers when they showed none of the compassion he expected—demanded—from anyone who kept animals. Damn, his poaching dogs ate better than most folk. “You’re probably right. What the fuck am I gonna do with them, though? Got no space left out back.”
Especially with Peg’s lot dumping shite in my yard. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. John’s dark glance told Brix he knew all about the crates that had found their way into Brix’s back garden. Probably knew their contents too, perhaps even—
Stop it. Brix’s father was a Lusmoore through and through, but it had been years since he’d played much of a role in the family business. These days, his state pension and Brix’s cash-stuffed envelopes kept him fed and watered, and his beloved fishing boat occupied him until the pub opened.
Brix thrust his hands in his pockets. “What are you doing today? Do you want a pint later?”
“Can do, can do. It’s blowing a tewedh out there, mind. Third storm this month. Going to be a big one, let me tell you.”
“You do tell me, Dad. All the time. That’s why Abel calls you Uncle Fish, remember?”
John scowled. “What about that fella you got at your place? He brave enough to come out?”
“Er . . .” Brix’s tongue let him down. For some reason, he’d kept Calum to himself as far as his family was concerned, which was ironic, considering how much Calum now knew about the Lusmoore clan. “Do you want him to come?”
“Up to you, lad. He’s not going to get all fisticuffs like that blue one, is he?”
Brix suppressed a chuckle. “No, and Lee wouldn’t have done that if you’d thumped Uncle Len for her.”
John grumbled under his breath, and Brix let him be. His father did his best with all Brix and his Blood Rush gang threw at him. And he did bring fresh eggs for Lee every day after her surgery, remember? Not that Lee would ever know the mysterious baskets on her doorstep had come from John Lusmoore, or that it was the closest thing to an apology he’d ever made to an emmet.
“I’ll be off, then,” John said. “Find me later.”
Brix saw him out, resisting the urge to direct him to the chippy for his dinner before he likely hit the Sea Bell for shanty night. John could look after himself, the fact that he often didn’t wasn’t something Brix could fix.
John disappeared into the distance. Brix went inside and allowed himself to be drawn back to Calum, who was now at his station, setting up for a walk-in Brix hadn’t noticed wander in while he’d been with John. “Do you fancy going out tonight?”
“Out?” Calum wrapped cling film around the arm of his client’s chair. “Thought you were off the sauce?”
“I’m not teetotal, mate. Just can’t handle the bangers anymore. I’m meeting my dad for a pint at the Sea Bell. Wanna come?”
Calum turned away and sketched a few lines on the design the client had brought in. “You want me to meet your dad?”
“Sure, why not? He’s an arsehole, but he means well. Trust me, you’ll not buy a drink all night.”
“What was in the envelope you gave him?”
“What?”
“The envelope. Were you were paying him off?”
“Aye. He don’t take cheques.”
Silence, then Calum appeared to shake himself. “Sorry. Old ghosts, you know?”
“I know my ghosts, Cal. Never met yours.”
“Right.”
Brix raised an eyebrow. “You okay to work with that hand?”
“Yup.”
Any further response Calum might have made was interrupted then by his client, who appeared dressed in the tiniest shorts Brix had ever seen on a man, and took a seat on Calum’s prepped chair.
Brix caught Calum’s eye at just the right moment, the tension of only moments before all but gone as they shared an incredulous glance. Looked like Calum was in for an interesting end to his day. “I’ll get a screen.”
With the tiny-shorts bloke shielded from the rest of the studio, Brix left Calum to his work and retreated to the only place in the studio he got any peace: the utility room. He sorted through junk, and then filled the sink to wash the piles of cups and mugs, and brood on the sudden suspicion that had clouded Calum’s usual mild manner. Brix hadn’t noticed him watching his brief, innocuous encounter with John, let alone thought to explain himself, and he was still wrestling with it when Kim found him still absently washing up a little while later.
“Man, you should see the piece Calum put on that weird bloke. It’s fucking sick.”
Kim’s enthusiasm got Brix’s attention; he wasn’t a man given to wasted emotions. “I didn’t see the design the dude brought in. What was it?”
“Come and see.”
Brix was officially intrigued. He preceded Kim into the studio, noting that everyone else seemed to be done and gone for the day. Shit, how long had it taken him to wash a few mugs? Not that it mattered, and all thoughts of dirty crockery left him as he pulled the screen around Calum’s station aside and caught his first glimpse of how Calum had spent the last few hours. “Jesus!”
Behind Brix, Kim sniggered and disappeared, leaving Brix alone with Calum, the client, and the freakiest penis tattoo Brix had ever seen. “Is that a dragon?”
“That’s right,” the client said proudly. “And my bellend is the head. I’m going to get a Prince Albert to give it the eyes.”
Calum pursed his lips, looking everywhere but at Brix who, for the second time in a few hours, was lost for words. He couldn’t deny that the intricate dragon was an awesome piece, but seeing it wrapped around a flaccid cock was more disturbing than he cared to admit.
“It’s, er, great,” he finally said. “Should get it wrapped up, though. Keep it clean.”
Calum wrapped the dragon dick, including its wings, which had taken the place of any pubic hair the client might have had before the fiery serpent was etched there instead. He handed the client his complimentary tube of Bepanthen, then pointed past
the screen. “Come to the front desk when you’re ready to pay.”
They left the client to get dressed, and went to the front of the studio. Calum went straight to the desk and added the job into Lena’s system with far less fumbling than Brix had ever managed, printing out a receipt and packing it up with the Blood Rush aftercare sheet.
“I was paying my dad an instalment on the money he loaned me to open this place,” Brix said suddenly, startling himself as much as he seemed to Calum. “Nothing dodgy. I told you the other day I’m not down with the shit the rest of my lot get up to.”
“I know.” Calum appeared to focus absolutely on stapling the client’s paperwork together. “Don’t humour me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Why not? Is it your fault someone’s fucked you up enough that you see the bad in everything you don’t quite understand?”
Calum’s gaze snapped to Brix, his dark eyes smouldering. “Perhaps it was all my fault. Know my own mind, don’t I? No one ever made me feel that way.”
“Says who?” Brix shot back. “If someone treats you like dirt, it conditions you to believe that you don’t deserve any better.”
“I don’t believe much of anything anymore, mate.”
They were interrupted again. Calum’s client emerged from the back of the studio, dressed, and brandishing a bundle of cash. Brix waited impatiently for Calum to take the payment and the client to leave so they could finally finish a conversation that wasn’t about chickens, food, or ink, but it wasn’t to be. Dragon Dick left, but as the door swung shut behind him, it opened again, revealing that Kim had returned with Lena in tow.
Brilliant. Brix glared at Kim, who’d always had a way of reading his mind, but Lena intervened before Kim could react.
“Can I borrow you, Brix? I need a favour.”
“It had better be a good one,” Brix grumbled, but followed her back into the studio anyway. “Nice hair.”
Lena touched her previously bright hair that was now a rich golden brown. “Thanks. Reckon I’m getting a bit old for a technicolour barnet.”
“Bet Kim doesn’t think so.”
House of Cards Page 12
