Patrick D’Orio, who was known as “Ink’d” on the street, wandered through Westside and his old hunting grounds. He had been to Canada, to the Desert, and was now headed to Monster Island, a place that most heroes feared to tread.
The old gang he was running with wasn’t in its normal place. In fact, the neighborhood had been cleaned up, He picked a place, and tried the front door. It was open. He shook his head, and went in the hallway, to the apartment at the rear of the building. He knocked on the door.
The door opened a crack, as far as the chain would allow. The person looked out nervously, and then there was a smile. “Pat!” she yelled, slammed shut the door. He heard the chain get pulled away, and then the door swung wide. “Patrick!” she cried, and threw her bulk around Ink’d.
“Ma,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“Come inside, come inside, I’m making some sauce for the girls in the reading group. Want any spaghetti? I might have some meatballs…”
“Sure, Ma, if it’s not–”
“Of course it’s not a bother, not for you.”Although his mother was a puny little Irishwoman, she had gained the Italian temperament through osmosis from his father. You didn’t argue with the woman once she had her mind set.
“You’re finally out.”
“No,” he said, and he smiled as his mother turned around. “I broke out with a buncha buddies.”
She stood with her hand on her hip. “Patrick…”
“It’s okay, Ma. I’m not doing anything wrong.” He leaned back on the chair he sat in. “I’ve been doin’ good things.”
“Like?”
“Stopping bank robberies. Going after real villains.”
She tossed a few meatballs in the sauce. “How do you do it?”
“I have false papers, saying I’m a hero. Nobody looks too close.”
His mother shook her head. “I don’t want you to end up like Natalie.”
Natalie, his sister, had powers too. Her powers made her dense as a rock, and almost as unkillable. She was working for some consigliere in the Purple Gang on the upper west side.
“I ain’ gonna do that kinda stuff any more, ma,” he said carefully. “In fact, I was going to try and get Natalie out of there.”
She snorted. “I tried, your father tried, Linc tried while he was in Afghanistan.” Lincoln was her last boyfriend. “She dumped us all.”
“I haven’t tried,” he said. His mother went silent, stirring the simmering sauce with the meatballs in it. “What?”
“They might make you an offer, Pat.”
“An offer I can’t refuse? Come on, that only happens in movies.”
“Once they know what you can do…”
“I’m not gonna tell them.”
“Natalie might.”
He tilted his head and smiled gently at his mother. “Ma. Trust me.”
She sighed, and drained the spaghetti. “They’re powerful people.”
“They won’t hurt you.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She spooned out the meatballs and sauce. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Pat.” She served him the spaghetti.
“If it means coming back to a meal like this, I won’t.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ink’d “asked” around. The consigliere who was pimping out his sister was not too far from the New Purple Gang in upper west side. If he thought of it that way, he got furious, and all the tattoos itched painfully. He needed to calm down, to go in there without any threatening motions, and to just talk to the man. And then talk to his sister.
He found out that the man owned one of Nick’s Nacks, and worked out of the back room there. Ink’d reputation had preceded him, because when he opened the door, the wiry kid behind the counter thumbed to the back.
Ink’d walked to the back room, tattoos roiling under his skin. He stopped at the back door and knocked.
“Enter,” came a voice, and Ink’d opened the door.
Two goons stood there, and he had to walk between them. He stepped forward and one goon slammed shut the door.
“Oliver, don’t be so rough with the door, or with the person,” said a man at a table. Three men were around him. “Do you play poker, mister?”
“Yeah,” Ink’d said.
The consigliere waved his cigar at one of the men, who vacated his seat. He started to take his winnings but the consigliere stopped him. “No, let this man play with your money, because I’m sure he doesn’t have any for himself.”
Ink’d took the seat. “What are we playing?”
“Simple Texas Hold ‘Em.”
Ink’d hated Texas Hold ‘Em. He played a few hands, winning and losing, nothing major, while the consigliere babbled on about things. Finally he turned to Ink’d. “You’ve been asking the boys about me. Specifically Two-Ton Natalie.”
“I wanna see her,” he said.
“What if she doesn’t want to see you, Mister…”
“Ink’d.”
The man put a cigar in his mouth. Three men leaned over to light it. Ink’d moved out of the way, holding his cards close to his chest. The man didn’t seem the least bit unnerved by three people holding lights to his cigar. He took one, puffed on the stogie to get it going. “Now, Ink’d. Two-Ton is very happy where she is, doing work for me. She’s got a nice place, I take care of her. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Not being a criminal.”
The consigliere laughed. “Why, I’m a legitimate business man–”
Ink’d put out his hand, and three small men jumped out of a tattoo on his arm. They grew bigger, nondescript but only as men, and they took up the entire table. They were weightless, not toppling it over.
The goons drew their pistols, aiming them at the creatures – and through them, their own boss.
“Put those down, you assholes!” the boss yelled, getting up, toppling the table. Ink’d was already up, and a knife was in his hand. He moved fast, getting behind the consigliere and holding the knife to his throat. “Succubus Club. Tonight. Eight o’ clock. Bring her.”
He threw down something – a gas pellet, that filled the room with smoke, and he got out of the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ink’d spent his last bit of cash on a good pair of black leather pants and a shirt that covered his tats. He wore simple Irish hat that was popular these days, and found that was good enough to get in the Succubus Club.
He was early, but so were the Purple Gang. Obviously looking for a bald guy with tats, he didn’t match their description so he was easily passed over. He got himself a beer and sat down in the corner to wait.
Natalie had always been a big girl, who wore sweats and jeans or t-shirts to cover her size. Broad shoulders, large breasts, a slim waist and thick hips and thighs, she was the quintessential “brick house”. When he saw her walk in, he blinked.
She wore a dress that flattered her large upper torso, dipping low into her chest. Her back was bare all the way down to her butt. She wore a mini-skirt and heels. He had never seen her look as beautiful as she did that moment.
This is what a life of crime would bring her, he thought, I’m never going to get her to leave it.
She looked around the club as Ink’d sunk deeper into the shadows. Then she started to walk around, taking in the club, looking at people sitting on the lower ends and up in the balconies. Ink’d moved, watching who was following her, and not her. It wouldn’t be a good place to confront her, and he could see right now, that she was living the good life as a criminal.
He left the club without being accosted. He threw his hat in the trash nearby and stripped the shirt off as well.
If it had to be, then he would have to take her in himself someday.