Bad to the Bones(57)
What else did Bellamy expect? He was a man, a rough and tough tattoo artist, and now officially a biker. Bikers especially didn’t run down the street with a hard-on after women who had rejected them. Bikers definitely didn’t let it be known they gave a shit about anything.
So after his initial shock—who would’ve bet on Bellamy even coming into town, much less his studio?—Knoxie pulled himself together. He really couldn’t go on feeling Misty’s tits and grinding against her crotch. He got off the ink bed and went to the cooler to pour himself a water.
“Who was that?” Misty asked casually. “Your old lady?”
“I don’t have an old lady.” He must’ve felt the need to talk about it though, because he added, “That was the cult chick we saved from death.” That was no big secret in the community. People knew the bikers had saved some homeless people on that mesa. It was giving the club a leg up in town opinion and probably helping propel Mann Montana to a win in the mayoral race. People knew the judge and councilman had been poisoned by the whackos, driving them to certain wins, too.
It was kind of a given that the poor guy who had hitched his wagon to Bihari’s cart in the councilman race was regretting it now. As Knoxie had predicted, journalists were saying the only votes he’d get would be within the walls of Bihari. The Bum Steer had, for the first time in its existence, been packed to overflowing with lookie-loos feeling bold, wanting to hang out in a biker environment, to see and be seen. Bobo Segrist and every other Bare Boner hoped it wouldn’t last.
“Oh, was that her? I heard about that. I hope we didn’t traumatize her with our behavior. They do some weird sexual stuff up there, don’t they?”
Knoxie scared himself with the intensity of rage he felt toward Misty. Just because she dared to criticize where Bellamy came from, the protective demon came out in him. “A lot of girls have been victimized by those whackamoles. Our not-so-secret goal is to run them out of town. They’re not contributing a damned thing to the community.”
“Yes,” said Misty, “a few showed up last month at Triple Exposure looking for work.”
“What?” Knoxie did a spit take, spraying the woman with a fine mist of water. “What the f*ck? Women? As actors?”
Misty wiped off her neck with her palm. “Right. Of course Mel didn’t hire them—he’s not that desperate—but we sort of wondered why these girls would be wandering around looking for work like that. I thought everything was self-contained up there. I know I’ve seen them selling dream catchers and peanut butter, but…a cum factory?”
Knoxie was livid with rage—at Bihari in general, at Bellamy for keeping him at arm’s distance, and of course at the guru of perversion himself, Swami Shakti. “They must be getting even more desperate than usual, especially since their tax exempt status was revoked. So you brought your drawing for that back piece your client wanted?”
Knoxie did want to look at Misty’s proposed drawing, but the truth of the matter was, he no longer felt like getting up on her. He would convince Bellamy he was the only man for her. He just needed to be patient. Bellamy had been through a lot. It was assholish of him to expect her to immediately jump into a close knit relationship with him. It was also ridiculous when she was literally just discovering herself. Maybe she wouldn’t even turn out to be right for Knoxie, once she got all the scattered pieces of herself put back together. Maybe he wouldn’t even like her.
But he doubted it.
“So there you are, Mr. Stranger!” called Adrian, breezing into the studio with plastic bags bulging with supplies. “And if it isn’t Misty Day, straight from my favorite blockbusters, ‘Womb Raider’ and ‘Assablanca.’”
Misty was up for Adrian’s snide challenge. She followed him into the supply room. “My personal favorite is ‘Sex Busters.’ I aint’ afraid of no ho!”
If Adrian thought it was funny, he wasn’t showing any signs of it. The serious piercer began putting away boxes of rubber corks, oral rinses, and needles. “Now I have the answer to my question, where has Knoxie been the past week? Why, just having a bit of giblet pie in my ink studio.” This last part was delivered with a piercing glare. “You know how unsanitary it is having a hot roll with cream in a sanitary environment like this, Knoxie. Isn’t that what Triple Exposure Studios are for? For spreading germs willy nilly, heedless of which open wound they’re going to slap up against?”
Knoxie finally got a word in edgewise. “We weren’t exactly doing a little bush patrol right here in public, Adrian. Right, Misty?”
“Right.” Misty knew of Adrian’s fondness for colorful euphemisms for the work they used to do at Triple Exposure. “He wasn’t exactly parking his yacht in Hair Harbor.”
Twirling around, Adrian jammed his hands onto his bony hips. “Well, it’s none of my business what you do as long as you don’t spread letch water and bull gravy all over my flash rack.”
Knoxie held out a soothing hand. “We’ll try to keep the Oil of Man off of the work stations. Listen, I’ve just been super busy. I was down at the border for a few days, but now I’m back. There aren’t any vortex or acupressure conferences in town, so I doubt I missed much.”
Adrian compressed his lips. “If The Bare Bones work is going to take this much of your time away from our studio, maybe I will be better off with Misty as a partner.” He looked at the shapely woman. “But only if you change your name. What’s your real name, anyway?”