“I'm Violet,” I said, and after a confirming nod from Alice, he let me through.
“And you are?” the speaker asked with a confused smile.
“I'm Violet from Wicked Ink,” I mumbled and really hoped he wouldn't shove the mike in my face. Which he of course did.
“Violet from Wicked Ink, since everyone is wondering—how old are you?” Which I figured was the most uninteresting question he could've asked me.
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen?” He pointed at Alice's arm. “And already this good.” He then handed me a piece of paper and a small trophy. “Here's your prize. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again if you're already this brilliant.”
“Thank you,” I muttered and tried to get off stage, but apparently I had to go to the back and wait there. Alice smiled at me.
“Sorry, couldn't help myself. It's so good.”
“No,” I shook my head. “It's okay, I'm just... I'm not good with crowds looking at me.”
“Need to practice, girl,” Alice said and squeezed my shoulders. “Think you'll be on stage again.”
Someone handed me a Coke, and I took a few sips while trying to figure out when they'd let me leave. Once all the winners in the different categories were announced, the jury came backstage. I knew them all. Or not
knew
, but I knew who they were, and they all shook hands with me. Which was pretty cool.
“Who's your trainer?” Rudy, a guy I'd admired for years, asked me.
“Sami.”
“Should've known,” he said with a smile and shook his head. “That fucker always had an eye for talent. You're in good hands, girl.”
“I know.”
“How long have you been inking?”
“Three years.”
“I'll come and talk to you and Sami tomorrow.” He nodded towards my trophy. “Put it on your table. It'll draw customers.”
When I got back to our table, Sami gave me a big hug. “So proud of you, kiddo.”
I called Dad the second I walked into the hotel room, and that's when what'd happened really hit me, and I started to cry.
“Baby, what's wrong?”
“I won second prize!” I manged to snivel.
“Then why are you crying? Fuck, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
“I'm happy, Dad!”
“So fucking proud of you girl. What was the ink?”
I tried to describe it, but eventually I said I'd show him pictures when I came home the next day, and he promised to pick me up. Once I'd hung up, I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
I'd won second prize for best small color of the day.
That was just so beyond anything I'd imagined. The fact that it was for a tattoo that was all my own—my design, my coloring, and my work—it made it even more amazing.
-o0o-
Bear laughed as Vi came running towards him at the airport. She'd been gone for just over a week, but her first win ever seemed to make her face glow. He caught her and lifted her up.
“My baby girl!”
“I won!”
“I know,” he said and kissed her cheek. “You told me when you called, but I'm proud as fuck, Katze.”
He put her down and gave Sami a hug.
“Heard you won as well,” he said.
“Yeah, but I felt like a fucking dad when JB won,” he smiled and
looked
like a proud dad when he said it. “It was a great tattoo. She earned that win.”
Sami took off to take a cab home, and Bear took Vi to the clubhouse. Mitch was the first who met her.
“How's my future sister-in-law?”
“Good!” She gave him a hug.
“Any chance I can convince you to switch brothers, since he's locked up and everything?”
“Unless you want me to beat the shit outta you, you shut the fuck up,” Bear said and pushed Mitch away from Vi.
It was all a joke, he knew it. Mitch would rather cut off his arm than hit on his brother's girl. There were few people Mitch looked up to, but Mac was one of them. He honestly didn't think Mac understood how much.
“Can I talk to you, Mitch?” Vi asked. “It's about taxes and... other things I don't understand. I was hoping you could help me.”
“Sure, I'll help you.”
Bear turned to Vi. “Mel's in the kitchen. We need to have a talk to Mitch, then he's all yours.”
Mitch'd asked for some time in the Chapel with them. He'd spent the six months all over the fucking country talking to one treasurer after another. Initially, it was to wrap his head around the transfers and bookkeeping of the club, but then because he'd come up with a smarter and safer way to do the books. And while setting up the new system he'd found some discrepancies.
That was the exact word he used when the three of them sat by the table in the chapel twenty minutes later.
“Say what?” Brick barked.
“Some irregularities.”
“I fucking know what discrepancies means!” Brick almost roared, not being happy about his son obviously thinking he was an idiot. “What I'm asking is what the fuck you've found?”
“I think there's money missing.”
“And when you say 'missing?'” Bear asked. “Because I think both me and your dad had a hunch that was what you meant when you said there were discrepancies.”
“I think someone is skimming some of the transfers.”
“Skimming,” Brick sighed.
“It means...”
“Fucks sake, I know what fucking skimming is!” And now Brick was yelling. “You might be smart, but that doesn't mean everyone in your presence is an idiot.”
“Sorry, just... you know.”
“Shut up while you still have an unbroken nose,” Bear laughed. “Do you know who and how?”
“No, not yet. But I know it's not from this club and it's not Englewood, and I know how they've done it.”
“When did you notice it?”
“I started to suspect it about a month ago. Some things looked odd, and then I compared what we'd sent—”
“Skip to the good parts,” Brick interrupted him.
“It's not us or Englewood. I thought I'd talk to their treasurer in Englewood, Duke, he's good. He could help me figure out exactly who it is.”
“Go there. Figure it out,” Bear said. “I'll call Englewood now, you wait here.”
“Actually,” Bear said to Brick, “Vi wanted to talk him. She's waiting outside.”
“I'll go and find her,” Mitch said and stood up. “Let me know what Englewood say and where you two land on this.”
“Good work,” Brick said to his son. “I might not look happy at the moment, but good work. Really. We'll take care of this, just go up to Englewood and find out who's doing it.”
Mitch nodded.
Bear knew they wouldn't get much further, and all they could do for now was wait while Mitch and Duke found out who was doing it. They might know what 'discrepancies' and 'skimming' were, but they couldn't help him with the traces.
He waited while Brick talked to the guys up in Englewood, and he noticed Vi talking to Mitch. She was starting to make a lot of money and needed help with how to figure out her taxes. He'd suggested asking Mitch, and even told her to ask him to do the books for her. It wouldn't be hard for him, and he'd do it for peanuts.
He found her an hour later in the office, where she was tattooing the leather seat of a bar stool. She looked up at him, and when he pointed at the chair without saying anything, she shrugged.
“It was Wolf's idea.”
He walked over and took a look. It was the Marauder's mark, and having it tattooed on the chair was brilliant.
“Gonna do the rest of them?”
“Thought I'd try to do different types, but all Marauders stuff. Think it'll look cool.”
“Tattooed chairs at a biker club. It's not cool, Katze, it's fucking perfect.” He sat down to watch her work. “If you ever get tired of inking, you could probably get a business going doing that for clubs.”
“Nah!” She shook her head. “It's not the same.”
She really seemed okay. She missed Mac, he knew she did, but at the same time he couldn't help thinking it might not have been an entirely bad thing he got that prison sentence.
The conventions and her traveling around with Sami had helped Vi grow. If Mac'd been around, she wouldn't have done them with the intensity she had now. If the latest one, with the win, was any indication of her future, she could make a name for herself. In general, he was really fucking proud about how she'd handled it all. She'd grown a lot. Matured.
When she was done with the chair, she started to clean up her things, carefully packed them away, and they went home. He was surprised when April met them in the hallway. He'd had no idea she'd be there, but he was happy to see her. He liked when she surprised him.
“I made a dinner to celebrate Violet!” she said with a big smile and gave Vi a hug. “I've told everyone at work I know someone who's won a prize at a tattoo convention. Not sure they were as impressed as I was, though.”
“This is great!” Vi laughed. “Thank you.”
Bear gave her a kiss and leaned his forehead to hers. “Thank you.”
Fucking hell, he loved this woman!
-o0o-
The first six months inside had been a steep learning curve for Mac, and he was glad he had members with him who'd done time before. People might think they knew shit about being inside because they'd seen some prison movies, but it was nothing like that.
When they arrived, they were tested for everything,
everything,
and he'd informed Vi he was clean at her first visit. Her only response was that he fucking better be, since they'd never used a condom.
The ingenuity among the inmates blew him away, and Bull was a fucking MacGyver when it came to creating weapons. The man could do a shank out of pretty much anything. It wasn't just with the common things, like toothbrushes or razor blades—he did one with a magazine! The way that man could come up with weapons scared Mac a bit, but he was glad to have him on his side.
It had surprised him when he caught Bull melting chocolate, but apparently that could be used as a weapon, too. Melted chocolate, especially if had caramel, stuck to your face and burned. It was fucking insane—like napalm. Melted sugar poured down a man's throat could easily kill him.
It wasn't just the weapons. The different ideas on how make the stay more pleasurable were endless as well. There was no smoking after lights out, and he'd already seen five different designs of homemade lighters, so the guys could smoke in their cell at nights.
Then there were the prison pussies, and not only the guys who gave up their assholes for protection, but the fake ones as well. One of the smarter was a plastic bag with baby oil inside a tightly wrapped blanket. Mac was happy just with the baby oil, but Bull was big on the plastic bags and blankets. The rustling sound from Bull's fake pussy was a good indication he was jerking off, which meant Mac could avoid getting out of his bed and actually
seeing
him doing it.
Although any idea of trying to be private or shy about shit was shot out of the window the first week. People had fights, took dumps, fucked, and jerked off all over the fucking place—with no regard to who might be close by. Despite the fact he'd grown up and been a part of a biker club, it did get to him on occasions. He'd seen people fuck more than once, but there was usually at least one woman involved and in the center of the fucking. There were no women inside.
He quickly learned it was impossible to go through a sentence and always be a humble, nice guy. Bull had told him straight up he couldn't do that, and how it was important to gain respect as quickly as possible. It was better to take charge than have some huge fucking dude test you.
There were fights every day. Every single day, and most of them were never noticed by guards—those morons didn't know half of what was going on inside. A fight could be about anything, sitting at the wrong table, using the wrong shower, what program to watch on the TV, the fact that a guy was giving another guy a look. Anything!
Winning a fight was one of the best ways to get respect, and the second week inside Mac took a big guy to the 'The Paint.' The Paint was pretty much what was called 'The Ring' at the club. Just an area in a semi-hidden corner of gen pop. Mac'd beaten the shit outta him, and things calmed down around him after that.
Being a member in a club helped. People had your back from the get-go, but it was rough seeing other inmates trying to find those people, and what they gave up just to get some sense of security. But he couldn't make that his problem.
Shakedowns were a regular thing. When the guards came yelling, they had to put everything down and step out of the cell, so if you kept stuff hidden it was best to keep them hidden at all times when they weren't being used. Luckily, Bull was good at that, too. He scraped the paint off the walls in the common areas, made a hole in the wall of their cell, and covered it with fake cement and scraped off paint.
During a shakedown, the water was turned off to prevent inmates from flushing things down the toilet. On more than one occasion, the turned-off water became a warning. Someone noticed the water wasn't working, and the alarm went through the cellblock within minutes.
The lines between the skin colors was razor sharp. You could deal, talk, and make trades with latinos and blacks, but you stuck to the white guys. It was just the way it was. In that sense, going inside was like going back to the fucking fifties.
One afternoon while they were all hanging out on the yard, Johnny, one of the prison inkers, sat down next to them.
“What was the name of your Old Lady?” he asked Mac as he lit a smoke.
“Why?” Mac asked. He preferred if as few people as possible knew about Vi.
“Got my ink magazine today, some young chick named Violet Warren won some prize at a convention. Looked like your Old Lady. Purple hair and stuff.”
“Yeah, that's her.” A small, young chick with purple hair doing ink—not like he could pretend it was some other girl.
“She's good,” Johnny said. “They had a pic of the ink. It was really fucking good.”
“Yeah, she is good.”
“Has he done anything on you?”
“Sure, got a few of hers.”
“That why you wont let me ink you?”
The prison ink was sometimes impressive, and Johnny was good. Definitely one of the better. Bull'd gotten one from him as a memento. Mac had gotten away with not getting any, since he'd said his girl was an artist, and he wanted to stick to her. In general, he avoided talking about her, though. One of the reasons he'd taken so many guys up in The Paint—or just beaten the shit out of them when he caught them off guard—was comments about Vi when someone had spotted her at the visitors center. The last few months, no one had dared to mention her, and he hoped it would stay that way. On the other hand, her being a good tattoo artist could make them think about something else than her 'fine ass' and 'cock-sucker mouth' when they saw her.