I'm exhausted and hungry when my tenth client of the day leaves. Her tattoo is perfect, despite the way I feel. I've been jittery all damn day thanks to Uta's darkening mood as his mother's appointment looms on tomorrow's horizon. No matter how often I tell him that it will be all right, he acts like I'm on death row, a dead man walking.

I take a mystery Ramune out of the shared fridge and pop open the lid; effervescent soda spills down my wrist before I can bring the bottle to my mouth and catch the initial foam. I've lucked out and gotten a kiwi-flavored one, but Kenta, another one of the artists, thinks it is funny to remove all the labels from the bottles, so that he can watch our faces as we taste the more unique flavors.

Aya takes the money from the client, sets her next appointment, and wishes her a good night. I slump on the couch across from my bench and try to think of an excuse I can give Riko for not cleaning the section we share. There aren't any good ones, so I begin the process of gathering and tidying.

I have the last of the needles in the autoclave, ready for sanitizing, when I hear the doorbell chime as someone goes in, or out the door. Hopefully, it isn't Riko yet; I don't want to explain the mess I still haven't finished cleaning.

I grab a broom, and head back out to the main area; if it is her, she'll see I'm still working and haven't left her in a lurch. But it isn't her. Two women speak to Aya and Yuu, the night manager, at the front desk. One is tall and thin, her light hair is split into two braids that meet up at a bun held high on her head. Her posture is ramrod straight and her tone – although I can't hear her words over the music and occasional curses of the clients still being worked on – is efficient and clipped.

Her companion is shorter than me, and has dark hair that is as unruly as the other's is orderly. When I hear the voice, air fails to come into my lungs for a moment as I recognize him – not her – and then my blood feels like it's supercharged below my skin.

I ball my hands into fists, reminding myself that I've faced down an entire meeting of the Clowns and walked away; this one Dove – no matter how much I hate him – isn't scarier than a group of hungry Ghouls.

Yuu makes a 'come here' gesture to me. I keep the broom in my hand, trying to look casual. "Boss, I've shot ten tats today…" I begin as if I think these are just another set of clients.

"I know, this isn't about that."

Suzuya wanders off, looking at the wall of pictures of our client's best tattoos. He bites at the red 'X' stitched into his lower lip, in a gesture very much like Uta. I shake my head; he's nothing like Uta.

"Oh?" I say, bringing my attention back to Yuu and the woman – I'm not sure of her name, she wasn't at the auction raid, or at least, I didn't see her from my secure position.

"They have questions about a tattoo you might have done."

"Everyone we've spoken to says that it had to come out of this parlor," she says, not bothering to introduce herself, so I allow her to think I'm ignorant.

"Which tat?"

She hands me a photograph of a dragon head design that I did for one of the Clowns last year. I don't remember her name, but I can picture the mask she wears. It was the inspiration for the design I inked onto her shoulder. The picture is blurry and in black and white, most likely lifted from a CCTV camera. Suzuya has reached the section on the wall of fame right before mine – the dragon is but one of the designs that I advertise, and in another few seconds, he'll find it.

"Yeah, I did this one, must have been a year or more ago," I say, handing it back to her. "Now, I'm not keen on duplicating designs, so if you want a run-of-the-mill Pikachu, or an exact copy of that dragon, I'm not your guy. But, if you like that one, we can set up a consultation appointment and we'll personalize it to your individual tastes."

"I'm not interested –" she says.

"How much does a consultation appointment cost?" Suzuya asks, appearing at my elbow, and looking up at me with his creepy eyes; they bounce oddly, not quite in sync. It's a disturbing effect.

"It depends on how long it takes and how detailed the final design becomes," I answer, smiling. It's easy to smile, despite what he did, as I visualize tattooing Uta's name on the bastard's eyeballs. It calms me.

"Suzuya, you can discuss that later, right now we need to know everything you can tell us about the owner of this tattoo," she says.

"It was a while ago," I say, "but let's see what I have in my book." I head to the bench, and my portfolio.

Tamotsu is working on a full sleeve at the next station, and I put the two of them away from him so they won't interfere with his work. The woman's eyes are constantly drawn over my shoulder; her face is blank, making it impossible to tell if she's attracted to it, or repelled.

In a few minutes, Uta is due to arrive so that we can head to :Re for a late dinner. He's never tardy and if I don't get them out of here soon… My text alert squawks, and as I type in my passcode, Suzuya plucks the phone from my hand.

"Hey!" I protest.

"It's from 'Beloved,'" he reads. "It says 'You're late. What's up?" That means Uta is outside, watching what's going on. He's likely trying to decide whether or not to put on his mask and come inside.

"May I have my phone back, please?" I ask, hand out.

"I'm running behind fifteen minutes," he says, typing the message into my phone. "Would you write out the number or use the numeral?" He asks.

"Numeral."

"Ok, done," he says, then continues to look through my phone. He won't find anything damming.

I turn to the mythical creatures section in my book and after flipping through a dozen photographs, I find the one they're interested in. "Here it is," I say, pulling the photograph out of the sleeve. On the back I have notes, but they're incomplete. "I did this last June. I think it was a woman, but I'm not positive. Whoever it was paid cash."

The woman's eyes open a little wider and I turn in time to see Tamotsu change needles on his gun. She takes a deep breath and turns back to me. "A name?"

"No clue, when they pay cash… we just figure they're Yakuza. Like I said, I don't even remember for sure it was a girl. I'm sorry I'm not more help. They're not… dead are they?"

"No," the woman retorts, clipped and precise. "She's a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Did you do any other tattoos for her? That night, before, or since?"

"Not me. If she was a regular, I'd remember her."

"Look, Mado!" Suzuya shows her something on my phone, he's animated and excited. So, that's her, the daughter of the one who killed Himani's parents, herself the victor of last summer's riots, known as the Butcher of Ward Five. She killed sixteen members of the Clowns that day, and although I didn't know any of them personally, I remember the look on Uta's face when he heard the news. Yes, I'd gladly hurt this woman to reverse a single one of Uta's tears.

She looks, then takes the phone, and studies whatever it is closer. "This doesn't look similar at all. Why are you showing me this?" Her face turns bright pink, starting at her neck and rising upward.

"Do you do piercings, too?" He snatches the phone out of her hands, fixing his attention on me.

"I do, but not as often. What did you find that made you so excited?"

He flashes the display at me, showing off a photograph of Uta's tattooed thigh and pierced genitals.

"Oh, yes, that's a painful piercing. It's difficult as well, depending on your pain tolerance. Are you considering something like that?"

"No, but I want something extreme. If you're not afraid to –"

She grabs the phone. "How does he even pee?" She asks, speaking of the gleaming large-gauge Prince Albert piercing that weighs down the head of his thick cock. "Never mind, that's not relevant."

"That's my boyfriend," I say, "the one you're keeping me from meeting, but he's never complained of any complications," I say, liking the way this image in particular has made her uncomfortable. In the photo she can only see a partial view; she'd probably faint if she could see the ladder of rings climbing the front of his scrotum.

"Back to the matter at hand," Mado coughs, handing me the phone. "If you think of anything regarding the identity of this woman, or if she comes into the shop again, we'd like you to contact us immediately." She gives me her card, which says Special Ghoul Investigator Akira Mado and has her email and phone number.

"Give me a couple of those as well," Yuu says, appearing as our conversation begins to wrap up.

"Here's mine," I give her one of my colorful business cards and write the number fifty on the back, near my name. "If you bring that back with you, I'll give you a discount on your first tattoo with me."

"Thank you, but I have trypanophobia," she replies, but keeps the card.

"I want a consultation appointment with him," Suzuya tells Aya.

"Make it the last one of my day," I call to her. I'll have to cancel or rearrange any Ghoul appointments I have around his, so it will be better to only inconvenience one appointment, instead of two, but no matter how much he scares and angers me, I won't give up the opportunity to inflict as much pain on him as possible. I'm not a fighter, but if there is one thing I've learned in my time as a tattoo artist, and Uta's lover, it is how to inflict pain.

"I look forward to working with you…" I tell the little prick, as I turn the appointment book so I can see his name, "…Suzuya, I'll see you next week."

He's out the door before I'm done speaking. Mado sighs and follows him.

"I'll finish tidying up your station, Clive," Yuu offers. I nod and grab my bag before heading out the door. Mado and Suzuya get into a blue sedan across the street and pull away. I search the area, but don't see anyone suspicious, except for Yomo, who's sitting alone at the bench near the bus stop. I get in line with a half a dozen university students and wait for the bus.