“About five years.”
Shit. Then he might not know who the hell this guy was either.
“But I worked there from the time I was eighteen and an apprentice.”
Eureka.
“Cool. So how long were you there altogether?”
“Fifteen years, all told. Bought it about ten years in, sold it to Toby about fifteen years ago.”
Thirty years ago. Interesting. The timing was right. I pulled the photo safely ensconced in its plastic bag out of my pocket. “Do you recognize this work?”
He pulled the photo out of the envelope and his eyes lit up. “Recognize it? That’s my work. One of my finest designs, if I do say so myself.”
My heart raced. “Did anybody else in the shop do that particular design?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Most artists don’t use other artist’s designs, unless someone comes in wanting that particular tattoo and the originating artist isn’t available. Kind of a professional courtesy. But I left copies of my work with Toby at his request, in case someone came in looking for something I was known for. It was part of our deal.”
That explained why Toby had the photo. “Do you remember the guy in this photo?”
“That was a long time ago, man. Lots of people loved that design. I used it a lot.”
“Did they all have it done on their forearm like this?”
He shook his head. “Most of them had it on their shoulder or lower back. Some on the upper arm. I’m trying to recollect…”
The waitress came by and took an order for another drink for each of us. Bob ordered another plate of rings.
“There was one guy who wanted it on his forearm. That might’ve been the first time I did this particular design. But then I think there was one other guy who wanted it on the forearm because the picture showed it that way. Obviously. Then there might have been another, too.”
And maybe another. Was I wasting my time here? “Do you remember the names of any of the guys who had it done on the forearm?”
“Man, I wish I could help you. But it was a damn long time ago.”
“Have you come across this design anytime else in your career?”
“This exact design? Nope, can’t say that I have. I do keep it in my own portfolio, as well as the one I left with Toby. But the phoenix seems to have died out. They were real popular some twenty-thirty years ago. Got a new life a while back, with the Harry Potter craze. But since then, not much.”
I took out a Benji and slid it across the table to him. “Does this help you remember?”
He swallowed the drink of beer he’d taken and let out a raucous laugh. “I wish it did. But I’m an honest man, Steel.”
“Keep it,” I said. “I appreciate your time, Bob. If you remember anything, please call me.”
“I sure wish I did, because I could handle a few more Franklins thrown my way. I’ll think on it, but at the moment I sure as hell don’t remember much. I spent a lot of those early years stoned.”
I was pretty sure he was stoned now, considering how he was inhaling those onion rings.
I sent another hundred his way as I finished my second Jameson. “To jog your memory a bit.”
Bob fingered the Benji and laughed. “I’ll do my best. Stop by my shop anytime if you change your mind about the tat. I’ll be happy to hook you up.”
I chuckled. “Not in this lifetime.”
“How’d you come across that tat anyway? Just looking through Toby’s books? That doesn’t make a lot of sense if you had no interest in getting tatted yourself.”
“It’s a tattoo my—” The word “girlfriend” sat on the edge of my lips, threatening to eject itself of its own volition. But Jade wasn’t my girlfriend. And if I was honest, girlfriend didn’t begin to describe what Jade was to me. She was so much more…my everything, my soul. I cleared my throat. “A friend had. Or was going to get. She won’t be getting it now.”
“Why not? Great tat for a chick. Makes a nice tramp stamp on the back. I remember doing a lot of those.”
“She won’t be getting this one. Or any tat if I have anything to say about it.”
“What do you got against tats, boy?”
Invisible spiders crept up my neck and onto my scalp. My ire rose. “Don’t call me boy.”
“Hey, meant no disrespect. But seriously, why don’t you like tats?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Why are you so interested in that particular tat? Or should I say, why are you so interested in the person who has that particular tat?”
I pulled one more Benji out of my wallet and slid it across the table and into Bob’s meaty hands. “Don’t ever ask me that again. Just contact me if you remember anything about who you tatted that on.”