Silly Rabbit, Tattoos are for Real Guys

Here is an excerpt from "Buskers on the Half Shell"

Doodles of the Devil or Graffiti of the Soul
1430 HOURS—OLD TOWN
There were only three tattoo parlors in the Palms. You would
think there would be more. After all, on an island four miles long
and two miles wide there have been over two hundred restaurant
licenses issued by the city.
We started at Southernmost Tattoos on Front Street. In the
Isle of Palms. Southernmost is a common name; there’s Southernmost
Café, Southernmost Insurance, Southernmost Pest Control,
Southernmost Shells, Southernmost Swimwear, Southernmost
Brewery, Southernmost Federal Credit Union, Southernmost Foot
and Ankle Specialist, Southernmost Reservations (which obviously
takes reservations for Southernmost Motel), Southernmost Hotel,
and the Southernmost Guest House. There’s Southernmost
Seventh Day Adventists Church, Southernmost Sign Service,
Southernmost BJs, Southernmost Texaco, Southernmost General
Contractor, Southernmost Hair and Nail Salon, Southernmost
Internet, Southernmost Jewelry, Southernmost Mortgage, Southernmost
Sailing and Southernmost Scrub Club for the times when
you just have to be dirty. One rainy night I even met the southBUSKERS
ON THE HALF SHELL 107
ernmost panhandler on a bench down by the waterfront.
Viki parked in a handicapped spot across from the tattoo parlor.
There are advantages to being a cop, even a suspended cop. A
red neon sign in the bottom of the window blinked, alternating
between “Tattoo” and “Painless Piercing.” In the upper right-hand
corner, under the words “High Colonic,” a blue neon flashed,
out-of-synch, “High Calypso.” John Denver flashed in my brain.
But I rejected the image.
We walked in and Sarge Too growled at a little brass bell tinkling
behind the door. The main room was set up like a doctor’s
reception area, with expensive teak chairs.
“Be right with you,” came from a back room with an African
print sheet across the doorway.
“Just one more liter.”
“I told you, you’ve had your limit.”
“I’ve only had five.”
We heard the sharp smack of a butt cheek being slapped. Hard.
“Five liters is more than I give anyone.”
“What I need is just another half.”
“What is it about ‘no’ you don’t understand? Now, I’ve got
another customer. I want you to lie still, keep that sphincter tight,
and let the aloe cleanse and soothe.”
A small-boned, platinum-blond young man with a great tan,
wearing fuchsia short-shorts and a black muscle tee, walked into
the reception area wiping his hands on an American-flag beach
towel.
“I’m sorry. We don’t do couples.”
Viki said, “We’re here about a police matter.”
“Then you’ll have to wait. I’ve got a regular on the business
end.”
I asked, “How long will you be?”
“Ten minutes. Then I’ve got a break before our afternoon rush
starts.”
108 Theophilous Thorne-Bush
Viki said, “You get a rush of people in the afternoon for
colonics?”
“During the day it’s mainly flavored colonics.”
I said, “Flavored?”
Blondie said, “I invented the flavored colonic.”
I said, “When you say high colonic you mean it.”
“How droll. You don’t know how many times I hear that in a
day. Couldn’t you at least try to be original?”
Viki had a sour look, “People can taste stuff you put up their
butts?”
“Certainly they can, when it’s Caribbean cinnamon with just
a touch of ginger, or a tart lemon zester with just a dash of DMSO,
or a double-ubble jalapeno. It’s why I call it, High Calypso.”
I said, “Ubble’s not a word.”
“It is if you invent it.”
“Then it’s a made-up word. Not a Funk and Wagnall’s Scrabble
kind of word.”
He didn’t answer.
I couldn’t resist, “The tide’s high. Shouldn’t you be getting
back?”
He looked at his watch, “It’s like I’ve had my head up my butt
all day.”
As the young man rushed back to his enema bag, Viki whispered,
“Better his than mine.”
The thought of any colonic, much less a flavored colonic, made
my sphincter whimper.
We waited while he pulled the plug on mister big colon. I
thought I recognized the voice of the customer but he slipped out
the back way. Apparently a high colonic is not the thing you want
to come right out and give a testimonial for while you’re still under
its spell. Besides, what would you say? “Great day for a big
gulp.”? “I enjoyed the amusing flavor of a double-caffeinated,
chocolate-mocha flush.”? “Thanks. Now I feel all good inside.”?
BUSKERS ON THE HALF SHELL 109
Damien introduced himself and offered us some iced tea. He
had Lipton or his own homemade cinnamon tea. We sat in the
reception area drinking our Lipton.
“Nice dog. This week we have a special on doggie-liver enemas.
Of course, not usually shepherds. I’d need help for you know
who.”
Viki looked at me, “I think we could handle him.”
Damien said, “He looks like the analytic type.”
Viki said, “Well, you got the ‘anal’ part.”
Damien continued, “I find that once they’re on the warm tasty
end, they calm right down.”
I interrupted, “You get much call for dog enemas?”
“Usually it’s Chinese pugs, chihuahuas and the occasional
sharpei. We have this one client who calls up and says, ‘Miss Bug,
his pug, has a plug.’ Isn’t that just cutesy pie?”
Viki didn’t answer and I had to work at keeping a straight
face.
Damien continued, “We get all sorts. We get the uptight highsphinctered
crowd afraid of colon cancer. We get the tourist whose
family is out shopping and he just wants to take a load off. We
even get Chief Padrone in on hot, humid afternoons when he
wants to cool down. Oh, and in the Palms, don’t forget date nights.”
I turned to Viki, “Personally I like to wash the car before a big
date.”
Viki said, “We’re not here about colonics. We need to ask
about a tattoo.”
“I do lots of tattoos. It’s a late night thing. I get ladies and the
more refined gentlemen. I’m into the small artistic tattoos—ladybugs,
lover’s names, stuff like that. They know my needle is sterile,
my place is always clean and no matter whose body part, I
don’t get too personal.”
I unfolded my picture of the repeating tattoo pattern from
the frozen arm, “Ever seen this tattoo?”
110 Theophilous Thorne-Bush
“You’re not much of an artist.”
“Do you recognize the tattoo?”
“It’s runic.”
“Runic?”
“A rune is a symbol, like an Old Norse letter. I’ve got a book
that shows the runes.”
Damien pulled down a cracked leather-bound book and turned
to an appendix of runic symbols.
Down the page from our symbol, was a rune that stood for
victory. If you crossed two victory runes, you clearly got a Swastika.
“So this tattoo has a meaning?”
“My mother says that tattoos are the graffiti of the soul. Sometimes
it’s even hidden from the tattoo wearer. Tattoos always have
reasons. Even sailor’s travelogues have meaning.”
Viki said, “What does this rune mean?”
“I’m not sure. Once upon a time I was a communications
major and I can tell you that symbols are the most powerful communication
tools.”
“Have you ever tattooed this rune?”
“I don’t get much call for runes. I’m not a rune kind of guy.
You might go see Rat.”
111
Chapter Twenty-One
Silly Rabbit, Tattoos are for Real Guys
1530 HOURS—RAT’S TATS
Rat’s building was formerly a three-chair barbershop. I thought,
as we entered, there might still be some original hair on the floor
just for authenticity. Rat kept the barber pole, the big mirror, and
two old chairs, but the third chair, the one in the middle, had
been replaced with a gray, form-fitting dental chair.
Apparently, most people at Rat’s stand and watch the process
or wait outside, sitting on the crude brick steps or astride their
Harleys. There were three custom-painted, chromed-out Harleys
parked in front and I was sure any of the three cost more than I
made last year.
Rat was tattooing a woman’s back. The lady, and I use the
term loosely, was naked, face down on the dental chair, with her
face turned away from the front door. Rat sat astride her legs,
steadying himself on her derriere, concentrating on the finishing
touches of an elaborate fire-breathing-dragon tattoo on her lower
back, with script below that read: “I’m Easy.”
Rat looked up as we entered and glanced at us in the old barbershop
mirror. Then he went back to his work.
112 Theophilous Thorne-Bush
Viki said, “Are you Rat?”
“Rat’s Tats. Who wants to know?”
I said, “We hear you do the hottest tattoos in the Palms.”
Rat stopped and took a long look in the mirror at Sergeant
Viki. “You must be looking for some kind of police tat. Maybe a
little permanent badge number over crossed 38’s? Or maybe a
bullet for every perp you’ve popped?”
Viki said, “We want something a little more exotic.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Take off your shirt.”
I started to unbutton my shirt.
Rat said, “I wasn’t talking to you, limp dick.”
Viki started to unbutton her shirt slowly, “We were thinking
about runes.”
The woman got up on her elbows and looked in the mirror so
she could watch Viki. From the side view, her breasts were so large
and tight she must have a plastic surgeon with a big shoehorn.
The breast I could see had been transformed into a giant red rose
by someone’s tattoo gun.
Rat said, “Runes? You want runes?”
Viki took off her shirt and stood there in her bra. The scarring
from Doctor Woo’s shotgun blast and her five hours of surgery
had improved but it wasn’t pretty. Scars don’t bother me.
“A specific rune.”
Rat said, “Honey, could you pop those babies.”
Viki undid the front of her brassiere.
Rat winked, “Nice norts.”
Silently, I agreed.
“Turn around.”
Viki turned her back to Rat.
“That’s quite a scar.”
“Line of duty.”
Rat said, “I got mine in Nam. I didn’t know there were Odinists
this far south.”
BUSKERS ON THE HALF SHELL 113
I opened my mouth and it just came out, “We’re thinking of
starting the Southernmost chapter.”
“You want to look at the runes in my book or you just want
rune of the day?”
I pulled my picture out and stepped forward, “I was thinking
of getting an annular tattoo.”
Rat swiveled his upper body to face us for the first time, and
took a long look at the tattoo. He turned back and focused on his
dragon. “You know, I do frat tats,” he raised his eyebrows and
looked back at Viki in the mirror, “great tit tats, lat tats, bat tats. I
can even do you a cat-in-the-hat tat. But, I won’t do that tat.”
“I thought you said you did runes?”
“Best in the southeast.”
“I’ll pay extra.”
“You got references?”
“References to get a tattoo?”
“You can’t just wear any tat. It’s like bikes. I think you’re probably
a Kawasaki kind of guy.”
Viki buttoned her shirt front, “You don’t think Doc could
handle a Harley?”
Rat stopped working. “Tats have meaning and that tat just
has more power than I think your little Doc can handle.”
“But you do this tat?”
“Honey, come back when you’re ready for a tat. Thursday is
lady’s day.”
I got more assertive, “What about my tat?”
Rat said, “I don’t think I could satisfy you. If you’ll excuse me,
this is one big ass I’m ridin’ and I’ve got a lot more work.”