Things are finally falling into place. Somehow, someway all the pieces are starting to look like they're building a picture I can make out. They're no longer just abstruse shards of memory, all misshapen and disarranged. Rather, they now slide into each other filling out the cracks and allowing me a glimpse into the mirror of my past.
The image reflected back at me is pretty clear. Two men spotted a few blocks away from my parents home the night my family was attacked, covered in blood attempting to hide in the suburbs. There aren't very many reasons that can explain this one away. The pipe dream of justice for everything that was stolen from me suddenly seems more conceivable. It's so close, like my fingertips keep grazing the mitigating cool of the surface but can never quite grasp the entirety of it.
I've made an appointment with Dastan's tattoo artist friend, fingers crossed this pans out and I actually get a lead I can follow back to a real life human being that will give me the answers I need. The bell above the door chimes, alerting whoever's inside to my entrance. There's a man at the counter; tall, lean, wearing black and heavily tattooed. He's even wearing black latex gloves, like the ones Emma always keeps at her house. Every inch of exposed skin on his upper body is covered in ink, he looks like one of the canvasses I used to keep up in my bedroom that Emma and I would continuously draw on. Mismatched artworks that in some unexplainable way have a strange congruence. It's beautiful. "Michael?" I inquire, putting on my best I'm a pretty, harmless little girl look.
The inside of the shop looks much like I expected. Neon signs hang against the back walls, placed between the drawings and pictures of tattoos of past customers littered over the dark surface. There are chairs that are occupied with tattoo artists busy at work, and there's a low indie song droning on in the background. The whole place smells of ink and something clean, maybe some kind of sanitizing agent.
"Just Mike," he responds affably. "You must be Kiera?" he gives me a genuine smile and I think he might be someone I'd really enjoy being friends with in another life. The kind of person you instantly like because they're just so genuine, you know those rare kinds of people.
"Yes, Dastan said you might be able to help me out with something," I hedge. I'd rather not give out too much information all at once. I hope he and Dastan don't talk often because I can't risk him bringing this conversation up to Dastan. It's far too sensitive, and I'm still not entirely sure I trust him, not after what I heard Haider say about my dad. I don't know how much of that Dastan was involved in, if anything, but I still have the inclination to keep all of this from him. Emma too, as far as I can. That one I can't really explain aside from the compulsion to keep Emma as far away from this investigation as possible. I know there's more to it but I can't seem to put my finger on exactly what it is.
"Ah, yeah." He nods, "He did mention something about a tribal animal design you were thinking about getting done?" it's not exactly a question but his voice goes up at the end like he's unsure I'm the same person who could be asking about tribal animal tattoos. I suspect there's something offensive in his uncertainty but he wouldn't be completely wrong. I actually don't have any kind of interest in tattoos beyond thinking that they look pretty on other people.
No, my sole concern here is finding the person who this tattoo belongs to. I pull the sketch from my bag and hand it over. "I was actually looking to get something similar to this done. I'd seen it on a random guy and I really liked it." It's strange how easily lying comes to me nowadays. Once, a different lifetime now, I could barely keep a straight face while lying; now it's second nature.
Mike studies the sketch for an endless moment, his face betrays nothing. Gone is the friendly smile instead he looks contemplative, stoic. It makes me wonder what he could be thinking about, I don't have to wonder long. "Are you sure this is the tattoo you want?" skepticism. That's the first thing I hear in his voice, underneath that; woven into the honeyed timbre is fear. It's loud as a siren and I'm immediately disquieted by the fact that someone as seemingly laid back as Mike is afraid of this person.
"I'm one hundred percent sure," I smile, keeping my expression intentionally innocent. My smile feels strained but it must not read that way to him because he smiles tightly back at me. "I just thought it looked really cool, interesting, you know?"
"No doubt," he nods in agreement. "But this is a very specific type of tattoo. One I'm not sure you should have." He scratches uncomfortably at his bicep. Yes, c'mon tell me what I want to know. I school my features into my most convincing look of honest confusion. He sighs, "It's a gang tattoo."
"A gang?" I gasp in fake shock, laying it on a little thick there Kiera. "What gang?" I force that note of confusion into my voice. I see his reticence to hand out that information. So, I do the one thing that works every time. I lean my elbows onto the counter, making sure he has a direct line of sight into my shirt and innocently place my hand a hairsbreadth away from his. "That sounds dangerous." My voice comes out raspy, a little breathy. I'm doing it on purpose but Mike's not even looking at my face anymore. Men. Always so predictable.
"It is, they are." He informs me distractedly. I hum a sound of agreement in the back my throat, an encouragement for him to keep talking. "They're a real nasty piece of work, call themselves The Burners." He offers. The Burners, I can work with that. Give me something else, you can do it Mikey. I flutter my lashes almost imperceptibly. "They all get an eagle tattoo, it's some kind of tradition but each one has a unique one done, the design can't be reused."
I straighten up so abruptly, Mike appears disoriented for a second. Disgust coats my tongue like the putrid aftertaste of a weekend bender. Oh, I really did want to like him, too bad he's as gross as most other men in this city. "Thanks for your help Mike, I'll just get something else." I say already halfway to the door, waving goodbye and then I duck outside. He looks lost, like the sudden change has left him reeling. Good.
Need you to check up on a gang called The Burners I text Emma as soon as I manage to wriggle my phone out of the bag at my shoulder. I navigate my way to the nearest subway on auto-pilot. She responds within seconds.
On it! She sends with a thumbs up and a smiley face. I'm not sure where she gets this information from, I know she's helped me with cases in the past too. However, I think I'd be better off not knowing. Anything specific I'm looking for?
Someone associated with the gang that has an eagle tattoo on his head. I send back followed by: Let me know what you find.
This is it, I've hit the break I need. Now all I have to do is tug at this loose thread until the entire tapestry starts to unravel. I'll figure this out even if I have to put it together piece by piece. I need to do this, not just for my family but for me. I'm done letting this dictate how I live my life, I can't keep living this way. Not being able to trust my own mind is daunting, especially when the people I rely on are lying to me too. I can't trust any of them, so I need to be able to trust me.