Inkslingers Ball (A Forensic Handwriting Mystery)

by Sheila Lowe

  ***

  They got a table on the patio and ordered burgers and Cokes, except for Monica, who was trying out vegetarian and asked for a salad. Across the boardwalk, three shirtless dudes with guitars and a bass were singing for donations. They sounded better than they looked.

  Angel leaned forward in her white plastic chair, elbows on the table. “So tell me, AnnaB what happened after I left? Did that skank Jordan Riley get herself pregnant? All those times she snuck out at night; I know she was too dumb to take care of herself.”

  Angel looked like she’d had the flu and was just getting over it, but Annabelle recognized her sallow skin for what it was—bad diet and drug use. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Didn’t you hear, the school got shut down? It wasn’t all that long after you left.” She felt Monica’s foot nudge hers under the table, as if tapping out a question. “Angel escaped,” Annabelle explained. “Like the slaves—right, Angel? She got emancipated.”

  “Emancipated minor,” Angel corrected her. “The judge let me get free from my mom. She didn’t give a shit anyway—too busy playing with her friends in Europe.”

  “But she’s still a slave,” Jamie put in.

  Angel’s face fell. “I moved in with Mouser and his brother.”

  “And his brother’s lady, and his brother’s kids, and his brother’s dogs,” Jamie added.

  “Mouser’s her boyfriend,” Annabelle informed Monica. “He’s like, this insanely gorgeous surfer dude.” She looked back at Angel. “I can’t believe you’re still together.”

  “Yeah. I take care of his brother’s rugrats and help with the housework, and they let me live there,” Angel said with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm.

  “She’s like that Cinderella chick,” Jamie said. “Ariceli treats her like dogshit and Bad Bobby lets her. In fact, he kicks her ass if Ariceli tells him to. It pretty much sucks.”

  Angel ignored her. “It’s not all that bad. I get to hang out sometimes, like now, for instance. Anyhow, what happened at Sorensen? Why would they get shut down?”

  Annabelle and Monica exchanged an uneasy glance. Annabelle still had a hard time talking about the horrors she had experienced in those weeks. She avoided a direct answer. “Ms. Sorensen’s stepkids took it over and closed it. I go to regular school now, with Monica. Hey, you won’t believe this—I found out my father isn’t really my father and my real father’s a stuntman.”

  Angel’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit?”

  “I know, huh?”

  “So, when do I get to meet Real Dad?”

  “He’s been working on a movie in Canada all summer. I’m staying at Monica’s aunt Claudia’s.”

  “Well, I wanna meet the stuntman.” Angel scraped her chair back, pulling off her sweatshirt. “Be right back sistas; gonna hit the little girl’s room.”

  “She has a tattoo?” Annabelle said, noticing the colorful design on Angel’s shoulder.

  “Yeah.” Jamie pulled her own shirt down to display some serious ink on her own shoulder. “Sugar skulls. We both got ‘em.”

  Annabelle stared with admiration at the bizarre mix of glamour and horror. “That is so awesome.”

  The tattoo was a stark white skull’s face, female, a red rose adorning a mane of black hair. The tip of the nose formed a black triangle, the eyes heavily outlined charcoal and decorated with green petals. Black stitches sealed the lips.

  “It comes from some Mexican celebration,” Jamie added. “The Day of the Dead, or something.”

  “Dia de los Muertos,” Monica said, then looked abashed when the other two girls stared at her as if she’d said something dirty. “It’s the day after Halloween. We studied it in Spanish class. People bring food and stuff to the cemetery to honor their dead relatives.”

  “That’d be so cool—a picnic on a grave,” Annabelle said, her mind already spinning with the possibilities.

  But Monica wasn’t having any of that. “Don’t even think about it. We’re not going to any cemeteries for a picnic.”

  Angel returned from the restroom, dropping into her chair with dilated pupils and a glassy stare that told Annabelle she’d taken a hit of something. Once, Annabelle would have asked her to share, but she could feel something changing in her.

  “What’d I miss?” Angel asked with a big sloppy smile.

  “Your BFF is jealous of our tats,” Jamie said.

  “Does it hurt to get it done?” Monica asked.

  Jamie gave a jeering laugh. “You didn’t hear us crying or nothing. I guess it kinda feels like a bee sting. You gonna get one?”

  “I want one,” Annabelle broke in. “Where’d you get it done?”

  “No parlor is gonna ink you,” Angel said with certainty. “You’re underage. They’d get busted and lose their license.”

  “You’re underage.”

  “But the guy who did ours is a special friend. He knows we’re not gonna rat him out.”

  “Would he do one for me? Yours are so awesome.”

  Jamie and Angel exchanged a look, then Angel giggled. “Viper? He might, but you’d have to fuck him, and he’s an old dude. He’s at least 40.”

  Annabelle wrinkled her nose. “Hells no, I don’t want it that much.”

  “Maybe Crash’d do it,” said Angel.

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s just another old tattoo dude, but he doesn’t got his own studio like Viper, so he don’t have to worry about a license.”

  “He’s a really good artist.” Angel’s lips pursed. “I bet I could talk him into it. He likes me.”

  “You better hope Viper doesn’t find out you’re hangin’ with Crash,” Jamie said.

  Annabelle intercepted the warning look Jamie threw at her friend, but Angel brushed it off. “Who’s gonna tell him? Anyway, he’s the one who sent me over there. He wants those guys to like me.”

  “Shut up, Angel. Viper doesn’t need his business spread all over town.”

  Angel pursed her lips in a sulk, but she didn’t argue. Annabelle’s curiosity nudged her. She wanted to ask Angel what she meant—who did this Viper person want to like her? But she kept the question to herself, not wanting to incite any more friction.

  Monica filled the tense silence. “It’s not gonna work, Annabelle. Aunty C won’t—”

  “She doesn’t need to know,” Annabelle interrupted. She turned to Angel, all business. “So, you think this Crash guy will do it for me? Would you mind if I got one like yours? It’s so cute.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call a skull with makeup cute,” Monica protested. “And you should wait ‘til your father gets back.”

  “Like he’s gonna say yeah? I’m so sure.” Annabelle shook her head. “Anyway, don’t be such a wuss.”

  “She gonna rat you out?” Jamie asked, nodding toward Monica.

  “Of course not!” Monica said indignantly. “I don’t snitch, but she’s gonna get in trouble. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Well, I do,” Annabelle said, getting out her cell phone. “Ask him, Angel. I’m gonna do it.”

  Chapter Three

  Sunday

  “What are you so antsy about, Annabelle?” Claudia wanted to know. “Do you think it’s going to make the phone ring if you keep looking at it?”

  “I’m waiting for a call.”

  “I guessed that much. Anyone interesting?”

  “I ran into this girl I used to go to school with at Sorensen. We’re gonna get together and talk about the bad old days.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Angel.”

  “Angel what?”

  “I don’t remember her last name. It’s really Angela, but she didn’t like it, so we c
alled her Angel.”

  “Where did you run into her?”

  Annabelle made an exasperated noise. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I trust you. Do I have a reason not to?”

  The answer came rapid fire. “No!”

  “Okay. But I have one more question. Do you need a ride?”

  Looking abashed, Annabelle said, “No, thanks. She’s going to call me when she gets to Tyler’s. I’ll walk down and meet her.” Tyler’s was the neighborhood coffeehouse about a half-mile away, down a steep hill.

  “I’d be glad to drop you there. I’m going to the grocery store.”

  Annabelle jumped up, her cheeks flushing a sudden bright pink. “You don’t trust me!” She flounced out of the kitchen, her words trailing behind her.

  Claudia frowned, listening to the slam of her bedroom door. It had been some time since she had seen this kind of behavior from Annabelle. She pondered on it, trying to figure out what was going on. The girl had been in an odd mood since her trip to the mall with Monica on Friday. Her behavior was furtive. She was hiding something.

  Claudia sighed. Three steps forward, two steps back. It felt like they were doing a dance. But it was to be expected. After everything Annabelle had endured last year, including being kidnapped and witnessing the vicious murder of someone she cared about, it would have been strange if she didn’t continue to have bad days. And nights; though thank God, several weeks had passed without her waking up screaming.

  According to Zebediah Gold, Claudia’s old friend and Annabelle’s therapist, she was suffering from PTSD—post traumatic stress disorder. Maybe meeting up with Angel, who was part of her old life and memories of the Sorensen Academy, had triggered a return of the nightmares.

  Claudia resolved that after she had done her grocery shopping she would put in a call to Zebediah and make an appointment for Annabelle.

  Chapter Four

  Sunday afternoon traffic rushed past the corner of Jefferson and Pershing, where Angel had arranged for her friend Crash to pick them up. Annabelle craned her neck, looking for the white van Angel said he would be driving. “Are you sure he’s coming?”

  “Don’t be scared AnnaB, I told ya it’s not gonna hurt too bad.”

  Annabelle glared at her. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want Claudia to start looking for me when I told her we’d be at Tyler’s.”

  “What’s the big deal? She’s not your mom.”

  “She’s letting me stay at her house, and I don’t need her telling my dad I messed up. Again.”

  “Screw her anyway,” Angel said rudely. “I’m sticking my neck out for you, so don’t go wimping out on me.”

  “I am not wimping out.”

  “Well, just make sure you don’t. He’s doing us a big favor.”

  “Whatever.” Crash was already ten minutes late and seeing how Angel was wearing another baby hooker outfit, Annabelle was hoping nobody driving by would mistake them for pickups. She was getting tired of waiting. “Hey, what’s up with that snake dude you and Jamie were talking about the other day?”

  Angel scrunched up her nose as if not understanding. “What snake dude?” Then her face cleared and she laughed. “You mean Viper? He lets us hang at his place cause Bobby works there. There’s always cool biker dudes. They like having young chicks around. Hella better’n those little gangbangers you and me used to run with before Sorensen.”

  “Where’s his place?”

  “Dragon House? It’s on Lincoln over near Rose in Venice.”

  “Cool name.”

  “Yeah. The guys buy us beer, and the other day, Viper’s bodyguard, Big Carl, even rolled me a blunt.”

  Annabelle had never tried one herself, but she knew Angel was talking about a hollowed-out cigar filled with marijuana. “Did you like it?”

  “Not so much, but I didn’t want them laughing at me, so I faked like I did. You oughta come over there sometime.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” A year ago Annabelle would have taken Angel up on her offer without giving it a second thought. But something in her had changed. Getting high with a bunch of bikers didn’t sound half as much fun as it once would have. Maybe Monica had rubbed off on her. Or maybe she was starting to grow up. She liked that idea and decided that’s what it was. “What’s Viper like?” she asked.

  “Believe it or not, he’s kinda hot for an old dude. And he lets us do stuff for him.”

  “Stuff, like what?”

  “Oh, you know, deliveries and shit, when his other girls aren’t around.”

  Annabelle knew what that meant—drugs. Knowing better than to pursue it, she changed the subject. “How come the other day Jamie said not to let him know you were hanging with Crash?”

  Angel leaned in close and lowered her voice as if someone on that empty street corner might overhear what she was about to say. “I shouldn’t tell you this, so don’t spread it around, okay?”

  “You know I don’t have a big mouth.”

  “That’s true. You were always cool about not telling shit.” She looked around, making double sure there was no one within earshot. “Okay, this guy, Travis, opened a new tattoo studio down the street from Viper’s place. It’s called Under My Skin. Viper’s mondo pissed about it because Travis used to work for him. So, he told me to go over there and hit on Travis and get him to fuck me.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Angel looked at her like she was stupid. “Well, obviously because I’m underage and Travis’d get in trouble if I told on him. He’d go to jail for statutory rape.”

  “So, you mean Viper was setting him up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s pretty nasty.”

  Angel shrugged. “Well, at least Travis isn’t bad looking. Of course, he’s around twenty-five or something.”

  “But what about your boyfriend? Doesn’t he care?”

  “Mouser isn’t gonna argue with Viper, trust me.”

  “And is Travis going for it?”

  “Well…” Angel looked away, avoiding Annabelle’s questioning eyes. “Travis is nice to me. Nicer than Mouser, actually. I don’t want to get him in trouble, so I told Viper he’s not interested, but he keeps making me go back over there.”

  “What’s Crash got to do with it?”

  “He’s been helping Travis get his place going. He used to have his own shop, but he retired or something like that.”

  “Well, I wish he’d hurry his butt up. Is he going to do my tat at Travis’s place?”

  “No, stupid. I told you Travis’d get in trouble and lose his license. Crash wouldn’t—” Suddenly, Angel stepped to the edge of the sidewalk and began wildly waving her arms above her head. “There he is!”

  An old white cargo van that looked as if it had seen happier days maneuvered its way to the curb. Someone had written “CLEAN ME” in the thick coating of reddish dust on the side.

  The driver leaned his elbow on the open window frame. He pushed his shades up on his forehead and squinted out at them. Annabelle guessed he was at least her father’s age. With his ragged beard and moustache, and greasy-looking brown hair streaked with grey pulled into a ponytail, he didn’t look any cleaner than his vehicle. He jerked his head toward the rear of the van, “Go get in back. I don’t want no one seeing you.”

  The girls walked around to the rear of the van. Angel pulled open one of the doors and stepped aside to let Annabelle go first. Annabelle climbed inside; a Harley with gleaming red fenders ate up half the cargo bay. She crawled in as far as she could, leaving room for Angel, and plopped onto a pile of moving blankets next to the bike. The blankets were probably a hundred years old and smelled funky. They looked about as clean as the van and its owner. Praying there was nothing creepy crawling in
them, she turned back to see Angel was still standing in the street.

  “Have fun.” Angel started to close the door.

  Annabelle jumped up and hit her head against the roof. “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Ariceli will have a shit fit if she gets home and I didn’t start dinner.”

  The door slammed shut, leaving Annabelle alone in the windowless interior.

  She started crawling toward the doors, but the van suddenly pulled away from the curb, knocking her onto her butt.

  A metal grill separated the driver from the cargo bay. With the Harley in the way, she couldn’t get close enough to touch it, but Annabelle could see the top of Crash’s head rising above the headrest. Beyond that, she could see through the windshield when he turned right onto Jefferson and started driving toward the city of Inglewood. Her heart was thumping hard enough to break her ribs.

  “Where are we going?” she yelled.

  He yelled back without even turning his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Why would Angel do this to her? She had acted like they were going together to get her tattoo. Annabelle’s stomach churned, remembering what Jamie had said about how she would have to have sex with Viper to get a sugar skull. Is that what Crash expected? After all the stupid shit Angel had gotten her into before, including the painful and humiliating experience of being used by the gangstas they hung out with, she should have known better than to trust her so-called friend.

  Would it scare Crash if she told him that Claudia’s boyfriend was a cop and she was staying with them? Annabelle and Jovanic were still far from being best buds, but they had been getting along better—she didn’t dislike him anymore, anyway, and he treated her okay, even when Claudia wasn’t around. At this moment, she needed desperately to believe that Joel would go after Crash if he raped her.