The Devil Has Tattoos

by Destiny Ford

  “Maybe the robber thought they’d be worth something too?”

  “It’s possible,” Brandy said. She pulled a photo out of her wallet. “I took some pictures of the room for insurance purposes last year, and these were the animals that were taken.”

  The photo looked like it contained the image of every stuffed animal this particular company had ever made. Brandy had circled an octopus and a flamingo.

  “They only took two?” I asked.

  She lifted a shoulder. “From what I can tell. I didn’t take inventory of the toys often, and there were a lot of them.”

  “Can I keep this photo?” I asked. I wanted it for reference in case any of the stolen items started turning up.

  “Sure,” she said. “It’s a copy.”

  “Thanks, for letting me know. I hope it will help us figure out who’s committing these crimes.”

  “Me too,” Brandy said. “Have a good day, Kate.”

  “You too.” I turned around and went back to Delia Dole’s house.

  Delia had seen me pull up and was waiting for me at the door. “They left me mashed potatoes!” Delia said with a wide smile as she opened the storm door and ushered me inside her house.

  “Plain mashed potatoes?” I asked. Betty Turner’s dish had been a full-on casserole.

  “Well,” she said, motioning for me to follow her into the kitchen, “I think they tried to make it into a shepherd’s pie of some sort since there were some veggies and meat on the bottom, but it was mostly potato.”

  I’d always thought shepherd’s pie looked like someone mixed all their food groups together and then frosted the whole thing with potatoes. I’d never seen the appeal, but some people were fans. “Shepherd’s pie isn’t a common casserole in Utah.” The most popular casserole was the one Betty Turner had received: a version of funeral potatoes. It usually consisted of potatoes with copious amounts of cheese and butter, topped with a variety of odd items from bread crumbs to potato chips, or my dad’s favorite: Cheetos.

  “It’s not,” Delia exclaimed! “That’s why I was so excited to try it.”

  All of these women getting casseroles dropped off and eating them willy nilly was making me nervous for Branson’s widow community. They were risk takers for sure.

  “Did you like the casserole?” I asked.

  “I did. And there’s plenty left over if you want some!”

  I smiled. “No thanks,” I said, trying to be polite and not insinuate that a person anonymously gifting food shouldn’t be trusted. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch and don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

  She gave me a thousand watt smile. “Isn’t that special! Well thanks for stopping by. I admit, when I heard about Betty’s casserole, I was a little jealous. Now I’m so excited to have one of my own!”

  I smiled at her. “Let’s get a pic of you and the casserole for the Tribune.”

  I snapped some photos, finished writing down some notes and quotes, and checked my watch. If I hurried, I’d be right on time for my lunch with Annie. I said good-bye and then left to meet my friend.

  I walked into the Mexican restaurant and Annie was already sitting in a booth. Unlike a previous visit I’d had there, this was not the corner booth, and it didn’t contain both Drake and Hawke, so I felt pretty safe that this particular lunch wouldn’t end up on The Ladies “stalk Kate” social media pages, but I could never be sure.

  Annie waved, her jet black hair tinted with a dark blue looked stunning as I slid into the booth across from her. “Hey! Your hair looks great” I said, genuinely happy to see her. It wasn’t easy to find accepting friends with an open mind in a place like Branson. I was grateful I had her in my life.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I decided to try something new.”

  Mormons were discouraged from dyeing their hair “unnatural colors.” Annie was Mormon, but she wasn’t afraid to push the limits and I loved that about her. “Did you get pushback for the color at church?”

  “Not yet,” she said with a wicked little grin. “But I just colored it so we’ll see what happens on Sunday.”

  I laughed.

  “How’s your day?” she asked, taking a sip of her water.

  “A little hectic, but that’s pretty normal,” I answered.

  “I haven’t heard any crazy stories on the scanner lately so your mom must not be the one keeping you busy.”

  I gave her a look. “My mom’s always keeping me busy, but not today,” I paused, and added, “yet.” Then I told her about the pumpkin penis bones and we both laughed until we were in tears.

  Our server came over and took our order. As she walked away, Annie’s expression turned curious.

  “What’s that look for?” I asked.

  She grinned like she had a secret. “I’ve heard some things…”

  I raised a brow. “That sounds ominous.” Frankly, I wasn’t surprised. I was the subject of most of the posts on The Ladies secret Facebook page, a fact I knew only because Ella had let it slip, and then Hawke had confirmed it. I still wasn’t sure how Hawke had gotten access. I’d tried to sneak into the group so I could keep track of the fake life of lies The Ladies were building for me, but I’d been denied under every name I tried. Hawke was a wizard though—and probably a mercenary, I wasn’t sure—so he had access to all kinds of magic that I didn’t.

  “The rumor going around is that Drake spent the night at your house last month.”

  I almost choked on the red cream soda our server had dropped off. “What?” I asked through my coughs.

  “Someone saw his truck parked at your house late at night and people started talking.”

  Oh good grief. I rolled my eyes. Drake and his dumb giant yellow Hummer that looked like a school bus on steroids. It wasn’t very stealthy, and I’d told him so. Repeatedly. “I can think of two times that might have happened. The first was during the cookie debacle. After I left your house that night, I got home and ate more cookies, and then I apparently called Drake and invited him over. I have no recollection of the cookie eating, or invitation. It seems when I eat a lot of pot-laced cookies, I get horny and have temporary memory loss.”

  Our server brought our food and it smelled heavenly. I was glad they were fast so I didn’t have time to fill up on tortilla chips and their delicious salsa.

  “Blackouts are fun,” Annie said, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she cut into her food. “Did Drake come over when you called him?”

  I swallowed a bite of cheesy goodness before answering, “He did. He thought I sounded strange on the phone. And he told me he only stayed long enough to make sure I was fast asleep. He even tucked me in.”

  She raised her eyebrows at that. “Is that all he did?”

  I nodded. “The sexy lingerie and robe I’d apparently put on for him were still firmly in place when I woke up. He’s not the womanizer everyone thinks he is. He just has women throwing themselves at him all the time. It seems I was one of them that night, but he would never take advantage of a female who wasn’t an active, and more than willing, participant. He left after I’d fallen asleep, and he locked the front door on the way out.”

  “And the second time his truck was recently at your house?” she asked.

  “He came over to check on me after the shoot out last month because he was in Salt Lake when the incident occurred. He brought me chocolate covered espresso beans from my favorite coffee shop and told me we should date. Again. This time, he almost convinced me.”

  “Almost?”

  I nodded, and played with the straw in my glass.

  “Have you been one of his active and willing participants?” she asked, point blank.

  “No,” I said. I didn’t add the “not yet” part of the sentence that continued in my head.

  She eyed me for several seconds. “Do you want to be?”

  I pressed my lips together. “That’s a complicated question.”

  She took a bite of her food before pressing on, “Is Hawke as complicated?”
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  I sighed at that. “He might be even more complicated.”

  Annie pushed her brows together like she was confused. I didn’t blame her. If I were standing on the outside looking in at a woman with two of the most eligible bachelors in the state interested in her, I’d also be befuddled at the woman’s lack of decision making skills. “What are the issues with them both?” she asked.

  I took a couple of bites of food and used the time to collect my thoughts before responding. “Hawke’s job is dangerous. I’m still not even exactly sure what it is, but I think he might be a mercenary and I’m not sure how I feel about that, or the fact that his work constantly puts him in danger.” A feral part of me that I didn’t even know existed until recently got a little turned on by the fact that Hawke could kill people with his bare hands, and likely had—more than once. “Plus, he’s gone a lot for his job, and his schedule is chaotic. I never know when he’s going to be in town and when he won’t be. Add to that the fact that he can’t really talk about what he does and all of those things would make a relationship with him problematic. Not being able to share things with your partner makes it difficult to build and maintain a bond.”

  Annie considered all of that for a few minutes. “And what about Drake?”

  I sighed. “Drake is every girl’s high school fantasy. He was definitely one of mine. It was easy to keep him at arms-length when I thought he was an egotistical, womanizing, patriarchal asshat. Now I know he’s not. But he’s also a Mormon—which complicates things because we don’t even come close to sharing the same beliefs and we both have vastly different ideas of what is right and wrong. Plus, he’s a politician in a state that expects him to act a certain way, and be with a certain type of girl. I would not excel at being arm candy. Arm candy isn’t supposed to have opinions or ask questions—I’m paid to ask questions for my job! I also have a metric ton of opinions that would not play well in the Utah political arena. And I’d cause quite a fuss when I showed up next to him in my “Feminist is my second favorite F-Word” shirt.”

  “People here would think ‘F-Word’ stood for ‘family’ or ‘faith’.”

  I laughed. “That’s probably true.”

  “Have you talked to Drake about all this?”

  I moved my head from side-to-side in a wishy washy gesture. “A little. He says he doesn’t give a damn what my religion is, or what people think. But his work as a politician is literally to care what people think. He still practices law and could go back to doing it full time—and he told me he would—but I think he has aspirations to move higher in the political spectrum and I worry he’d resent me in the future for affecting that. So despite what he says, I still feel like our religious differences and our jobs would make a relationship problematic. And,” I paused, realizing a hesitation I didn’t even know I’d had until right then. “What if he doesn’t live up to my fantasies?”

  Annie’s eyes sparkled as her lips tipped up. “Or…what if he’s better than them?”

  Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d never considered that a relationship with Drake might work, and not only work, but be even better than I’d ever imagined—because I had a pretty damn good imagination. I’d given weight to every con, but hadn’t let myself consider the possible pros. I felt like I’d blown a romance fuse and couldn’t even really process it. “I don’t think I’m ready to consider that question, or the answers.” If he was better than the fantasy I’d constructed around him, I had no hope. And so far, he’d been better than anything I’d ever dreamed. If he was even better with his clothes off, I was in real trouble.

  She laughed. “So you care for them both?”

  “Yes.” I admitted it like I’d just eaten something raw and slimy. “It seems I’ve caught feelings. I wish there was a vaccine for that.”

  “It would solve a lot of problems,” Annie agreed, taking one last bite.

  Our server brought our checks and boxes for our leftovers.

  “I have to get back to work,” I said, trying not to splash enchilada sauce all over the place as I transferred my food from my plate to the box. “But I’m so glad we did this! We need to do it more often. And next time, I want to hear all about what’s going on with you and Rich.” It drove me nuts when people only talked about themselves. Conversational narcissists were real, and I made a point not to be around them—or be one of them.

  “I was far more interested in what was going on with you this time around, but we definitely need to get together more,” she said. “And if anything happens with your love life, you better text or call me immediately.”

  I laughed. “The Ladies will probably report it before I do.”

  “True, but they’re liars and can’t be trusted.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with that.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was six-thirty. I’d arrived at the library park fifteen minutes early to ensure I didn’t miss out on the superheroes. I was waiting patiently on a bench by the tennis courts and scrolling through my emails to get some work out of the way.

  I heard a chirping noise and looked up to see what I can only describe as a cosplay gang making their way across the park. The squirrel was there. So was a raccoon, a fairy, and someone dressed in spandex and a cape wearing a unicorn mask that covered his eyes and forehead, complete with a horn. I imagined the cape would be cumbersome in hand fighting.

  “Hi,” I said, standing up to greet them. I wondered if they’d communicate with words, or as the characters they represented. If it was as characters, we were going to have a real problem because I didn’t speak fairy or raccoon.

  “Hi, reporter lady!”

  We were four words in and I had already identified the unicorn. My good friend, Keanu, who got his name because he reminded me of Ted from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventures, had been helpful on a couple of my investigations since I’d moved back to Branson Falls. I knew it was Keanu under the unicorn mask because of his distinctive voice and speech, and the fact that he never actually called me by my name, he always used the nickname, ‘reporter lady’. I wasn’t certain he even knew my real name. To be fair, I didn’t know his either and he would always be Keanu to me.

  “Hi,” I said to unicorn Keanu, trying not to give away the fact that I knew who he was. “Doesn’t your cape get in the way when you’re trying to fight crime?”

  He looked at me like I might not be the smartest person he’d ever encountered, and given that he was either drunk, high, or both most of the time, I kind of took offense to that. “I don’t use my hands to fight! I use my powers.”

  Ah ha. “And what are your powers?”

  “Intimidation.”

  Alrighty then. I wasn’t going to tell him I thought his powers might work selectively because with his shiny green cape and glittery blue horn mask, I was more likely to ask him to accompany me to a dance club than a crime scene.

  “This is Nut Man,” Keanu in a cape said, gesturing to the squirrel.

  “Nut Man?” I repeated, certain I’d heard wrong.

  “We’re the Vendetta League,” Nut Man informed me.

  I scribbled that bit of information down. I’d hate to get the name of their franchise wrong. “So does everyone in the Vendetta League have to be dressed as an animal?”

  Nut Man shook his very large head. “Well, they don’t have to. We’ve expanded to include anyone who wants to dress up and stop crime.”

  “Is there a name for the organization you work with?” I asked.

  Nut Man nodded and his head almost fell off. He reached up to steady it and prevent it from Godzilla-ing any stray bugs on the ground. “The Speedy Superheroes.”

  I wrote that down. “Are you the person who organized this chapter of the Speedy Superheroes?” I’d looked up several of the real superhero organizations around the country so I knew there were a lot of them the Vendetta League could be operating under.

  “I’m one of the founders.”

  “What exactly is your mission?” I�
��d read about some of the superhero organizations online and they were all similar, but I wanted to know what the Speedy Superheroes were supposed to be doing specifically.

  “To help. In any way we can.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That’s kind of a broad definition. What does it mean?”

  He gestured with his hands and the oversized squirrel paws distracted me. “We have people doing neighborhood watches in places that have had crimes. And we patrol the city, especially at night when bad things are more likely to happen. We also do charity work and visit kids in the hospital. It really perks up their spirits.”

  “How do people find you?” I asked.

  “Anyone can submit a request on the Speedy Superhero website. Needs are matched with the organization closest to the person making the request.”

  Interesting. “Do you partner with other Speedy Superhero groups? Have Superhero parties maybe?” If anyone else had been listening to my conversation, they would have thought I was making a joke, but my questions were totally serious.

  “Sometimes. There are occasionally get-togethers in bigger cities like Salt Lake. Everyone comes in costume and uses their alias.”

  That seemed like it would be hard to manage. Hundreds of people known only by costume and fake names? It could be a security and liability nightmare. “Do you personally know all of the members of the Vendetta League?”

  “By costume.”

  Okay then.

  While I liked the idea of the Speedy Superheroes in theory, its organizational structure seemed problematic. The secretive nature of the group required superheroes to stay anonymous and that could be a catalyst for all kinds of nefarious things and situations. “How do you know that the people in your group are actually working to stop crime and not performing crimes themselves?”

  Nut Man, and at least one more superhero—I think it was the fairy—gasped. “Because that would violate all of the superhero codes!”

  I wasn’t sure if codes were really that important to all of the Speedy Superhero members. A group like this that allowed for complete anonymity would be a fantastic networking tool, and hunting ground, for a full-on psychopath. I was surprised the Speedy Superheroes organization hadn’t thought of that, or the nature of playing God and judging good verses bad by their own personal barometer instead of the law. I pressed them on it. “But there are a lot of superheroes that aren’t looked on fondly by the police. Take Batman for example. He was doing things in the name of good, but he was dishing out punishment based on his own judgments of right and wrong. It undermines the entire concept of justice. That’s the debate: are these people superheroes or vigilantes? And where do you fall on that side of the argument?”