Ink
Work in progress, 1st Chapter
Los Angeles. Under the obsidian night a glow hovered over the city like the thin membrane of a cell, and at the nucleus of it all the neon noir city. Ellison was standing on a balcony of the Chateau Marmont. He’d never seen the city from this angle before, he’d always seen the white castle on the hill as he drove down Sunset, but he’d never had the occasion to come to the hotel before.
“Detective Ellison?”
“Yeah.”
‘This is a weird one.” The medical examiner said.
“Great.” I said, exhaling the cigarette smoke from my lungs but it sounded more like a sigh, as he flicked the cigarette over the edge of the balcony.
The suite looked like it was right out of a 1930’s movie, then again, the place has been around that long, and the city has become a set for itself. Ellison had heard all the infamous stories and history of the hotel, John Belushi od’ing in one of the bungalows, Jim Morrison falling of a second-floor balcony, and further back in its history, Howard Hughes renting the room above the pool so he could spy on cavorting starlets frolicking in the pool. The M.E. led me to the bedroom, the first thing I noticed about the room, was its whiteness, not sterility or starkness, the room felt warm, more of a cream color. Taking up most of the room was the bed which carried the cool whiteness in its sheets and covers. On that white background was a crimson red spreading across those sheets forming a halo around the naked body of a dead woman.
“How’d she die?”
“Strangulation.” The M.E. said.
“What’s weird about that?”
“Look at the tattoos.” She pointed to several tattoos over the woman’s body, but what he really noticed was what looked like a very large and symmetrical abrasion on the front of the woman’s thigh.
“What about the tattoos?”
“They’re all by different artists. I can practically tell you this woman’s lifestory through these tattoos.”
“Names and addresses are welcome.”
“Not literally, more like a general outline. See this tattoo on her breast?” She said, pointing.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s low quality, see the overabundance of blue to hide mistakes and what colors there are, are dull and faded looking. I would bet she got that tattoo in her hometown from wherever she came from; the artist was probably self-taught and didn’t have any formal training just natural ability. Then there’s this one.” She said pointing to a tattoo that was obviously of a higher quality.
“Ok, what about it?”
“This one is a big jump in quality, almost quantum, you can see the colors are more vibrant, the craftmanship is also a huge leap, I would say this artist had art school training before going on to tattoos. You’ll probably be able to find this artist at one of the higher end tattoo parlors in Hollywood.”
“What about this large symmetrical abrasion?” I asked.
“By the size and shape of it and where it is, I would say it’s another tattoo.”
“You mean she was killed for the tattoo?”
“And if the progression of tattoos on the body is any indication, the quality of that may be higher still and I’d be willing to bet that artist is so exclusive you can only find him by word of mouth.”
“How many tattoos do you have?”
She smiled. “You’re a pretty good detective, I’d say you have a real sicko out there. All you need to find out who’s the artist of the missing tattoo.”
Jim Cherry is the author of The Lion Communique and The Doors Examined. Check out Jymsbooks for information on more of my books or to join my monthly newsletter!