“Tell me what?”
“When I first step into the cage, I instantly notice certain things.”
“Like fighting is similar to art. Please.”
“Fighting is an art, Pen. I notice whether he’s a lefty or a righty. I notice which leg he puts his weight on. I notice if he’s strong in the thighs, or strong in the calves.”
“How can you even tell that?”
“The way he stands. Is he putting his weight on the balls of his feet – which suggests calf strength, which means he can change direction quickly – or does he rest more on his heels? That suggests he’s got upper-leg strength. He can push, bully, kick.”
“You notice all of that, huh?”
“Fucking right I do. I notice if he watches my eyes, or if he watches my fists. I notice if he inhales through his mouth, or through his nose.”
“What’s your point, Pierce? The intricacies of fighting technique are boring.” I flash him a quick smile.
He grins. “My point is that this is what I do. I notice it. So, if tattooing is what you do – or what you want to do – then you’ll notice it, for sure. So, don’t lie to me. Tell me what you thought of my tattoos.”
I hold my breath, leave him hanging. He’s got this small smile, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I relent. “The wolf on your shoulder is detailed, intricate. It’s not a stencil, but a personal design. The ears are slightly out of line – I’m talking perspective here. The eyes may be a little close to each other, but I’m guessing that effect fades the closer you get. The shading on the fur is imperfect; with wolf’s fur, or any animal, really, you can definitely achieve more depth and volume with better technique.” I pause, look into his bright eyes. “Did you design it?”
He laughs. “I did.”
“You should have let your artist make some corrections.”
“She tried to,” Pierce says.
“But you didn’t want her to?”
“No.”
“And the serpent on your chest and stomach… that looked like it started out as a snake, but turned into a dragon.”
“Yeah.”
“That was also too poor to be a design from an artist. You drew that, too?”
Pierce is wearing a broad smile. “Hell yes, I did.”
“Well, no offense, but you’re not very good. Also, the perspective is off once the body of the serpent starts to turn into that of a dragon. You’re style changes, too. It’s inconsistent. The snake is quite realistic, with scales visible, and the dragon is more symbolic, artistic, with only hints of shape and texture. Why the snake-dragon?”
“Got bitten once.”
I recoil a little. That’s not something you hear every day. “Where?”
“I was backpacking through Indonesia one summer. It was a king cobra. I had a fever dream where the snake turned into a dragon.”
“I meant on your body.”
“My thigh. Too fucking close to my balls, I’ll tell you that.”
I move swiftly on. “The ram and owl you have on your knees are actually really good,” I say. “I’m guessing those were pro designs.”
“They were.”
“No story behind them?”
“No. They don’t all have meaning.”
“They should,” I say. “In my opinion.”
“Not a good attitude for an aspiring tattoo artist.”
“Ha!”
“You’ve got a good eye, then, considering you were ten meters away from me. I mean, if you can tell the quality of a tattoo on my skin at that distance.”
I shrug. “Like you said: We artists notice these things.”
“Fucking right we do.”
“I also saw that you’ve also got an incomplete tattoo. I’m guessing it extends from your pubic region down to your thigh.”
“Inside thigh,” he says, patting his left leg.
“I couldn’t figure out what it was.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you what it is. I’m sure that’ll eat you up.”
I wave it off. “I really don’t care what it is. So, why a wolf on your shoulder? You didn’t tell me about that one.”
For a moment, the expression on his face changes. But then the same smug self-satisfaction returns. I’m positive I’ve just witnessed a momentary break in the façade. Maybe it is an act, after all…
“The wolf was my father’s favorite animal.”
I swallow. “And?” I ask gently.
“He died when I was young.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. Walked into that one…
“It’s not a big deal,” he says.