Vic Vaughn is Vicious by J.A. Huss

CHAPTER ONE - VIC

“I’m just about there. Hold still for just a few more minutes.”

Bobby is lying face down on my studio chair, his back raw, and red, and seeping blood because I’ve been inking him up all night. But this back piece is finally done.

I’ve been working on Bobby’s back for the better part of three years. And it’s gorgeous. Patriotic pin-up girls, Old Glory waving in the wind, and stars and stripes everywhere you look. I sigh. “It’s so fucking good, dude. You’re gonna love it.”

“Why do I care?” Bobby’s voice is a little muffled. “I mean, the back piece is the dumbest fucking tattoo ever. I’ll never even see it.”

“But we will.”

“Like I’m trying to impress you dumb fucks.”

I laugh. He’s right, though. I haven’t seen my back piece in so long, I barely remember what’s on there. “The ladies love them, Bobby. That’s why we get them.”

He chuckles, lifts his head a little to side-eye me. “Works, right?”

“Every fucking time.”

There are lots of women out there who hate tattoos. Wouldn’t be caught dead with guys like us. And that’s fine. We’re not looking for those girls. Guys like Bobby and me, we’re looking for the other kind of girl. They wear cut-off shorts and go braless under their skull tank tops. They own black leather jackets with lots of zippers and have seventy-two pairs of leather boots in their closets. They like cheap beer, expensive shots, and vacations on a beach.

And these girls, they come from everywhere. Even if Sick Boyz Inc wasn’t semi-famous for various reasons, they would still just… appear. Like fucking magic.

“So who are you seeing these days, Vic?”

“Me?” I nearly guffaw. “After that last one? Fuckin’ hell no. I needed a break after her crazy ass.”

That’s the other thing about the girls who like guys like us. Most of them are… let’s just call them strong-willed.

Hell, who am I kidding? Most of them are batshit fucking crazy.

But so are we. Take Bobby here. He’s been my friend since we were seven. We were inseparable as kids. Did everything together. All my formative years were spent with Bobby. We did all the firsts together as kids. All the bases with girls were covered over the summer after sixth grade. We got in our first fistfight together, we got drunk together for the first time, we got arrested together for the first time, hell, we even tattooed each other up for the first time. He lucked out on that end. I was always going to grow up to be this guy right here. But I got stuck with a shitty scorpion on my lower leg. It’s ugly as fuck, and even though I’ve recolored it a couple times and added some filler, I never covered it up. A fucking badge of friendship is what that tattoo is.

We still do some shit together. We have a little side business going up in the mountains that makes us some fast, easy cash. But that’s only an occasional gig. We don’t hang out nearly as much as we used to because he fell in love back in his twenties, so he’s already got the old lady and the kids while I’m still a bachelor.

“OK.” I push back from the chair and my rolling stool hits the counter. “I’m done. I’m sure it will need touchups, but let’s give it a month.” Bobby slowly gets up out of the chair, groaning, his back creaking and cracking. “Damn, dude, you’re getting old.”

He takes a moment, still bent over, then slowly straightens up and lets out a breath. “I’ve been in that chair since eleven o’clock last night. What do you expect?”

“Shit, is it morning?”

Bobby holds up his wrist so I can see his watch. “Time for church, Vic.”

“Fuck. And it’s Sunday too?”

He laughs at me. “You’re so dumb. Why do you even go?”

“I don’t. Not usually. But my fucking sister, man. She’s always on me about goddamn church.”

Bobby gets a dreamy look in his eyes. “Fuuuuuck. Ron the Bomb. I have not seen your sister in years.” Then he points at me. “You’re going to Hell for that goddamn church remark.”

“Fuck Hell.” I take my tray of ink and needles over to the sink and start throwing shit away. “And don’t even start thinking about my sister. She’s been off the market for over a decade.”

“Yeah. Fucking Spencer. You still hate him?”

“Spencer?” I let out a long breath. Because that dude is nothing but baggage. “He’s… whatever.”

“He hook you up with free bikes?”

My brother-in-law owns a legit famous bike shop just down College Avenue from Sick Boyz. His custom bikes go for about a hundred and fifty grand these days. Hell, my sister Veronica will build a bike every now and then, and hers go for even more than that. Which is stupid. Ronnie’s not a bad bike builder, but she’s nothing special. She inks up the paint all custom, though. That’s what people are really buying when they get a Shrike Bike. The art. And maybe Spencer and I have had our moments of hate, but those bikes really are beautiful and I respect him artistically. My family might look like just another bunch of tattooed asshole bikers on the outside, but we are artists first and foremost.

Still. “Uh… no,” I tell Bobby. “I can build my own fucking bikes, thank you.”

Bobby shoots me a look. “He never gave you a bike? Why do I have this memory of him giving you a bike one year?”

“Oh. That fucking thing,” I say. “The dragon sidecar. So my pops can roll my gramps around town.”

Bobby laughs out loud. “You fucking Vaughn people are so stupid.”

I put up my hands in surrender. “You can’t choose your family, bro.”

Bobby shoots me with his finger. “Fact, mofo. Fact.”

“Sit down there.” I point to the stool. “I gotta wrap you up before you leave.”

Bobby makes to sit down, and I go hunting for some balm in my cupboards, but the bell over the front door jingles, so I pause and look over at my studio entrance, listening for footsteps. “We’re closed!” I yell it loud and deep, so anyone who has any funny ideas about sticking around will just get the fuck out. “Come back on Tuesday!”

Bobby sits, and I start collecting all the shit he’ll need for aftercare. But the bell over the door doesn’t chime again. “Hey. Go see who that is and tell them to get the fuck out, will ya?”

Bobby salutes me as I find a roll of wrap. He gets back up, pokes his head out of my studio door, but doesn’t go tell the interloper to leave. “It’s a kid.”

I grab some gauze and start putting all my shit on a new, clean tray. “Describe said kid.”

“Small. Blonde pigtails. Cute pink dress.”

“Niece,” I say. Then I stop and shake my head, so fucking annoyed. “Fucking Ronnie does this all the time. She asks me to watch her kids when I’m busy, or drunk, or in a good mood. And I say yes, of course. And then I forget and they just show up one day and all of a sudden I gotta put on my favorite-uncle face.”

Bobby takes a seat on his stool. “That sucks. I’m crashing hard when I get home. What’s her name? She looks just like Veronica when she was little.”

I walk over to the door, peek my head out, and yep. Sure enough, there’s a fucking niece sitting on the leather couch along the back wall of the waiting room.

She looks at me—no smile, just a flat line of a pouty mouth—and we stare at each other for a long moment. She tips her chin up, pulls a notepad out of a backpack covered in flowers, and proceeds to start coloring, ignoring me.

I retreat into my studio. “OK. Don’t tell anyone this, but I don’t fucking remember her name.”

Bobby almost snorts. “What the hell are you talking about? How do you not know her name?”

“Don’t judge me. Ronnie has five girls now and they all look like that. Even the new baby looks like that.”

Bobby just stares at me for a moment. “What do you call them, then? How do you go around not knowing your nieces’ names?”

I smile and point to my brain. “See, listen. You don’t need to know their names because they’re all named after Disney princesses.” Now Bobby really does snort. “Right? So I know the tall one is Snow White. I’m pretty sure Snow White has a real name, and we call this one Rory, but I can’t reconcile these two things. And I know the baby one is called Cinderella. But the other three in the middle? Like…” I shrug. “Who keeps track of Disney princesses? Are you Mulan? Are you Pocahontas? Are you the Little Mermaid? Who are you? Why bother when I can just call them all ‘princess’ and it works?”

Bobby is looking at me like I’m the worst asshole in the history of assholes. “You are definitely going to Hell for that. So which one is this one?”

“Fuck if I know. I’ll just call her ‘princess’ and we’ll be good.”

“Dude. That’s so asshole.”

I just laugh and take my tray over to the little stand, then pull up another stool, sit, and roll myself and my shit over to Bobby. “Turn around. Let’s do this.”

He turns around and I start applying the balm to the new work on his back. “So where are the rest of them?” he asks.

“Rest of who?”

“Your nieces. If Veronica needs a babysitter, why only one?”

“She’s got six kids, Bobby. Who the hell in their right mind babysits six kids? She doles them out to different people. Snow White and Oliver are probably with Ford Aston’s kid. This one is a—”

“Hold on.” Bobby turns to look at me. “You know the boy’s name but not the girls’?”

“There’s only one boy. It’s not that hard.”

“Vic Vaughn, you are the height of assholiness right now.”

“So what? Anyway, this one’s a middle child. The other two in the middle are probably at a sleepover or something. And Cindy is probably with Ronnie because she’s fresh.” Then I pause and shrug. “I know two of them, both the princess name and the nickname, so I think that counts for something.”

“No, it doesn’t. I hope you never have kids.”

Now it’s my turn to practically snort. “Dude. I will never have kids. This town has enough Vaughns running around. There is no possible way I will have kids. Ever. I’ve nearly made it to my midlife crisis without a single fuckup. I’m very careful. And now it’s time to change the subject. Have you been out to the swap meet in Bellvue this weekend?”

“Nah. Have you?”

“Not yet. But I might stop by this afternoon. They have live music tonight. Some band from Grand Lake. And they’ve got a bike show going. Maybe that’s where Ronnie and Spencer are today? Probably took some bikes up there to show off.”

“Hmm. Well, give me a call if you go. I’m heading home after this to crash. Lilly and the kids are down at her mother’s house in the Springs so I’m gonna enjoy the silence while I can. So I might be up for it.”

“I wish I could crash. But it’s morning. And maybe I don’t know a lot about kids, but I know they don’t take naps in the morning. I need to tire her out so I can catch some z’s.”

“Vic, you really need to stop talking kids, man. This is not your thing.”

I just chuckle to myself as I apply his aftercare film. He hisses a little and we go quiet as I take my time so I don’t fuck up my amazing art. Finally, it’s all covered and he’s putting on his shirt.

I hand him his bag of aftercare goodies, then walk him up to the front counter and start ringing him up.

“Damn. They really do look like Ronnie when she was little.”

I glance up and find Bobby staring at the old family pics that line our walls. Sick Boyz has been in this downtown Fort Collins building for almost seventy years so there are currently four generations of fam up there. My gramps started the shop, then my dad took over, and then me and my brothers. Ronnie used to ink too, but she retired a while back now to be a mom. So maybe this place stops with us? Because Ronnie is the only one with kids and none of them are into drawing the way we were when we were little.

The princess is the spitting fucking image of Veronica at that age. It’s crazy weird how all those girls come out the same. This one is sprawled out on the couch now, happily coloring in her little sketchbook. That makes me pause. “Hey. When did you start drawing?”

“Who?” Bobby asks.

I nod my head to the niece. “Hey, princess?”

She looks up at me. Says nothing.

“Where’d you get that sketchbook?” It’s a nice one, but it’s old. And it’s got stickers all over it. “Did your mom give you that?” Maybe it’s one of Veronica’s old ones?

Princess nods.

“Hmm. I didn’t know you girls were into art. I thought you were all in love with those damn ponies.”

Princess says nothing.

“Where is everyone?” I ask her. “Some horse show? They getting ready for the swap meet? Aren’t you supposed to be in church this morning? I’m not taking you to church so…”

She ignores me.

“Well, she’s talkative.” Bobby chuckles. He pushes his credit card into the little reader, then sighs. “OK, Vic. Thanks a bunch, man. I know you didn’t want to spend your entire Saturday night working on me, so I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well. You brought beer, so how could I say no?”

He didn’t drink, but I did. I was pretty buzzed there for a while. But I’m an even better artist when I’m drunk than I am straight.

“I’ve known you since grade school, Vic. I know how to get you on my side. Few six-packs of the local brews does it every time.”

“Too true. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Bobby shrugs. “It was the least I can do. Hey, don’t forget to call me if you go up to Bellvue later.”

“I probably will. It’s on the way out to Veronica and Spencer’s. And if they’re up there with the bikes, I can just drop the princess off with them.”

We clap hands, and then he takes off.

I lock the door behind him. I should’ve locked it last night. Guess I was more buzzed than I realized. “Hey.” I walk over to the niece, bend down, and breathe on her. “Haaaaaaaah. Do I smell like beer?”

She just looks up at me and makes a face.

“Because I’m fucking starving. I don’t want to go home and shower before we get food. It’s Sunday and that means Gramps is having his lady friend over for breakfast and he’ll hijack the kitch all morning. We need food, don’t you think?”

“Donuts?” Finally, she speaks.

I smile at her. Because maybe I don’t really like kids, but my nieces are damn cute. “Fuck it. Why not? Sure, we can get donuts. Do you know who has the best donuts on Sundays?”

“Who?”

“I’ll show you. Let me grab some mouthwash. I can’t go in smelling like beer at this place. It’s frowned upon.”

Princess nods and I head to the break room, clean up all the empties from last night, then make my mouth minty fresh.

When I come back out, she’s put her sketchpad away and is looking at the jewelry in the front case. I walk over to her. “What are ya looking at?”

She points to a bracelet with a skull and a heart. “It’s pretty.” She sighs.

“Want it?” I walk around the case, open it up, pluck the bracelet out, and slide it across the glass at my niece.

She looks up at me with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Fuck it, right? That bracelet has been in the case for like ten months. It’s way overpriced. My ex made it. Gretchen. You remember her? Tall woman, nice tits, red hair, big mouth?”

Princess smiles. “No.”

“No? She had that fucking tattoo with… what do you call her?” I snap my fingers. “That fucking cartoon girl with the nerd glasses?”

“MiaJeena.”

“MiaJeena.” I laugh. “Yeah. That stupid cartoon. And it was huge. Oh, my God. Who puts a seven-inch MiaJeena on her tits?”

Princess makes a face.

“Right? She’s a crazy bitch. Here’s a tip for you, K? Listening?”

She nods.

“Never ask a man what his number is. It never turns out well. And if a guy ever asks you for your number, you come tell me, princess. I’ll clock him. You never let them be rude to you like that. Got it?”

She crinkles up her face. “I don’t understand. My phone number?”

“No. No, your… never mind. Forget I said that. And don’t tell your mom. In fact, let’s make a pinky swear, cool?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“You don’t tell anyone what we do today. Just our secret.”

“OK.” She smiles at me.

We do a pinky dance, then I hook the bracelet onto her wrist, close the case, and we leave through the back door.