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"By the sound of it, he had it coming."
Sheila fell silent, unsure what to say. As much as she agreed that Star's father had deserved a beating, she didn't feel good about the incident. She didn't like knowing how easily she could've kept going.
Spotting the tattoo parlor, she pulled over. It was a small, unpretentious building with an elaborate dragon mural painted on the side. The sign above the door read "Drake's Den."
Finn took a deep breath, his hand absentmindedly playing with the compass necklace hidden beneath his shirt. "Let's hope Drake can give us some answers."
They stepped into the parlor, where they were greeted by the faint smell of antiseptic and ink. The walls were covered with an assortment of knickknacks: baseball memorabilia, band posters, and an impressive collection of framed original tattoo designs.
Behind the counter, a man was engrossed in a sketchbook, his fingers covered in multicolored stains. He was wearing a long-sleeved chambray shirt unbuttoned in the front to display a plume of chest hair.
“Vincent Drake?” Sheila asked tentatively.
The man looked up from his sketchbook, his brown eyes narrowing as he studied them both. "That's me. What can I do for you?"
Sheila pulled out a picture of the suspect from the hospital. “I’m trying to locate this man,” she said, showing Drake the photograph. “He appears to have a dog tattoo on his left wrist, and I was told it resembled your work.”
Something flickered in Drake’s eyes—surprise? Recognition? Then it was gone.
He rubbed his goatee as he studied the picture. “Yes, that does look like my handiwork. What's this about?" He glanced between the two of them, suspicion creeping into his gaze.
"We'd like to ask him a few questions," Finn replied lightly. "Any information you could give us would be helpful."
Drake eyed them for a moment longer before sighing heavily and putting down his sketchbook. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his tattooed arms over his chest. "Okay," he began slowly. "His name's Derek. Derek Hall. Wasn't the talkative type. Didn't say much about himself, just wanted the tattoo and paid in cash."
Sheila glanced at Finn, whose eyes reflected her own sense of hope.
"Derek Hall," she echoed, making a mental note of the name. "Did he mention anything at all? His place of work, or where he resides?"
Drake shrugged, his gaze returning to his sketchbook. "Nah, like I said, he wasn't the chatty type. Came in, got his tattoo, then left."
There was a pause as Sheila and Finn exchanged glances again. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something. They now had a name, even if they had no address or occupation. It was a start, a point from which they could begin their investigation in earnest.
Still…there was something odd about the way Drake was behaving, as if he knew more than he was letting on. As if he could hardly wait for them to leave.
"Thank you for your help," Finn said. He pulled out his business card and extended it to Drake. "If you remember anything else, no matter how insignificant it may seem, please give me a call."
Drake took the card, glancing at it before nodding once. "If he comes back here, I'll let you know." He smiled tightly.
Sheila smiled back. What is he hiding? she thought.
As she and Finn made their way to the door, Sheila’s wandering eyes fell on a weathered baseball sitting on a shelf. That gave her an idea.
“Whose signature is on this?” she asked, picking up the baseball.
Drake glanced over, pulling his attention away from his sketchbook once more. "Huh? Oh, that. A guy you’ve probably never heard of, played for the Colorado Rockies. Not much of a career, but I’m friends with his kid, so there’s that."
Sheila turned the baseball in her hands, studying the faded signature. "You ever play?”
“Me? Just as a kid. Outfielder, mostly. But it’s been ages since—”
Before he could finish, Sheila turned and tossed the ball to him, high and to his left. Instinctively, he reached up with his left hand, catching the ball before it could crash through the window of the door behind him.
“Shit, man!” he exclaimed. “What are you trying to do?”
Sheila glanced at Finn, whose knowing look told her that he too had seen the tattoo on Drake’s wrist.
“You were the one at the hospital, weren’t you?” Sheila asked, moving toward Drake. “The one asking for—demanding to see—Diana Morales. Why’d you tell us Derek Hall was the one with the tattoo?”
