Blackwork
It was quiet in the tattoo studio. Sam was doing some small job but Mark was not busy. Only annoyed. And angry with himself. To lose so much money in such a stupid way. He trusted that guy and here he was, fooled and robbed. The annoyance was only growing with the time-going and he could not help it.
“Mark, you are such a good friend.” That sucker son of a mother wrote on his Facebook. Mark thought it was genuine. And he gave him the deposit for an imaginary flat without even viewing it, just by looking at some appealing pictures, too appealing now thinking retrospectively.
“I don’t have an appointment. Can you do this on my shoulder.” The unpretentious visitor took a picture of a Chinese character from his inner pocket. That was the guy. The guy his friend recommended. The brutal debt collector.
“Let’s go there, it is more private.” Suggested Mark and led the visitor to the back of the studio.
“Can we talk here?” the newcomer looked tough as nail. Dark skin. Dark clothes. Serious gaze under thick, overcasting eyebrows. The muscles.
“I think you know what happened. It is a small sum, but it burns me that I was fooled like an idiot.”
“Trust me, when I finished with that pal, he’ll regret he ever met you.”
“I was told you can break his kneecaps.”
“Sure. And not only. You’ll get your money back. So he disappeared?”
“I still have his phone number but he deleted his Facebook profile.”
“Full name?”
“Yes.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. That doesn’t look like a common customer.”
Mark turned around.
On the doorstep was wobbling old, very old lady.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Do you know where I live?”
“No, I am sorry.”
“Oh. Can I seat here for a while, till I remember?” her smiling eyes were almost childish, considering that she was smiling in her predicament. Big, rounded nose and wrinkles, wrinkles, she must have been in her eighties.
“Dementia.” Whispered his dark companion and turned her back on her.
“Sure.”
Sadly, she reminded him of his grandmother. She was a warm, loving woman that was always telling fantastic stories. He missed her. Small, peculiar gestures, the way she talked, her fragility, the memory of her emerged vivid and hurtful in his mind.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“Oh, how sweet of you. Forgive me for saying so, but you look like something bad had happened to you.”
Suddenly, he thought it was not that bad.
“Oh, I just lost a little bit of money to a fraudster, that’s all.”
“What was that agency, ActionFirst, Action Fraud? They could not help you?”
Typical. She probably could not tell him her name to save her life, but she knew Action Fraud.
“Useless bunch.”
“You lost much?”
“Well, enough to be grumpy about it.”
The wrinkles on the fluffy face doubled as she smiled.
“Have you ever heard of the sale of the Eiffel Tower? It is perhaps the most unbelievable fraud in recorded history. If a man can do that, what is it to run away with a few quits from a nice guy like yourself.”
“Somebody managed to sell the bloody Eiffel Tower?”
“Victor Lustig.”
“Who on earth bought the Eiffel tower from that Victor?”
“Scrap dealers. He convinced them the maintenance of the tower was beyond the government abilities and the scrap dealers were more than happy to fill his suitcase with money, with which he fled to Vienna.”
“And lived happily ever after?”
“Lustig was arrested in the U.S and died at Alcatraz prison, of pneumonia.”
“Swift justice.”
“Your fraudster will spend the money easy come easy gone and then will sleep under the bridges, trust me.”
Mark never thought about it that way. The guy was indeed struggling. Unless he has an endless supply of trustful acquaintances, he was going down.
“You live here? In this town.”
“Yes, but I am confused.”
“Let me make a phone call.”
He also posted a quick SOS post on the chit chat page of the town. The blue eyes of the lady were following him relentlessly with some all-knowing expression on her face and he felt he started to sweat.
“It is not worth it.”
“What?”
“To poison yourself for the sake of money.”
“Can’t be helped though, right?”
The debt collector started to lose patience but kept silent. Mark was looking at the lady, small, helpless and smiling, like she knew his deepest thoughts. Just now the anger loosened his grip. Yes, he lost a week work worth of money. So what? Let’s get involved with dark strangers and into criminal deeds. For a moment of pompous self-satisfaction when he would feel the power. Actually, the complete powerlessness, of the institutions, of the police, drove him to this temporary state of insanity. He was Jack the lad, not a gang member to be. What were the matters in life that mattered? What has he learned from his parents, from his grandparents? Patience, hard work, help others, protect the vulnerable. Be and let the others be, well in the case, be a snake in your shirt, but still…
The ambulance arrival interrupted his string of thoughts. The paramedics surrounded the little woman.
“Thank you and goodbye.”
“Thank you and hope to see you again. Come someday again for a cup of tea.”
The debt collector was looking at him derisively.
“I am a busy man. Do we have a deal or not?”
“Look, man, I changed my mind.”
“I thought you would. The white hair, the blue eyes, it was like one of the virtues entered your shop.”
“Nice analogy.”
“I read a lot about art.”
“You don’t say. I’ll tell you what, choose a tattoo and you’ll have it.”
The guy left laughing.
“I will tattoo the Temperance, with your face as a model. Might save my life one day.”
Well, not the most respectful remark, but well deserved. Mark closed the door behind the dark man like he could close the door to his dark impulses with that simple gesture.