Rydell stood there, Samsonite dangling, and watched him go.
Then something rattled beside him. The hardware on Chevette Washingtons leather jacket. Come on she said, dont wanna hang around back in here.
You see that? Rydell asked, gesturing with his suitcase.
You hang around back in here, youll see worse than that she said.
Rydell looked back at the Patriot. Hed locked it and left the key under the drivers seat, because he hadnt wanted to make it look too easy, but hed forgotten about that back window. Hed never been in the position before of actively wanting a car to be stolen.
26. Colored people
You sure somebodyll take that? he asked her.
We dont get out of here, theyll take us with it. She started walking. Rydell followed. There was stuff painted on the brick walls as high as anyone could reach, but it didnt look like any language hed ever seen, except maybe the way they wrote cuss-words in a printed cartoon.
Theyd just rounded the corner, onto the sidewalk, when Rydell heard the Patriots engine start to rev. It gave him goosebumps, like something in a ghost story, because there hadnt been anybody back in there at all, and now he couldnt see the skateboard man anywhere.
Look at the ground Chevette Washington said. Dont look up when they go by or theyll kill us
Rydell concentrated on the toes of his black SWATs. You hang out with car-thieves much?
Just walk. Dont talk. Dont look.
He heard the Patriot wheel out of the alley and draw up beside them, pacing them. His toes were making little squelching noises, each time he took a step, and what if the last thing you knew before you died was just some pathetic discomfort like that, like your shoes were soaked and your socks were wet, and you werent ever going to get to change them?
Rydell heard the Patriot take off, the driver fighting the unfamiliar American shift-pattern. He started to look up.
Dont she said.
Those friends of yours or what?
Alley pirates, Lowell calls em.
Whos Lowell?
You saw him in Dissidents.
That bar?
Not a bar. A chill.
Serves alcohol Rydell said.
A chill. Where you hang.
You who?
This Lowell, he hang there?
Yeah.
You too?
No she said, angry.
He your friend, Lowell? Your boyfriend?
You said you werent a cop. You talk like one.
Im not he said. You can ask em.
Hes just somebody I used to know she said. Fine.
She looked at the Samsonite. You got a gun or something, in there?
Dry socks. Underwear.
She looked up at him. I dont get you.
Dont have to he said. We just walking, or you maybe know somewhere to go? Like off this street?
We want to look at some flash she said to the fat man. He had a couple of things through each nipple, looked like Yale locks. Kind of pulled him down, there, and Rydell just couldnt look at them. Had on some kind of baggy white pants with the crotch down about where the knees shouldve been, and this little blue velvet vest all embroidered with gold. He was big and soft and fat and covered with tattoos.
Rydells uncle, the one whod gone to Africa with the army and hadnt come back, had had a couple of tattoos. The best one went right across his back, this big swirly dragon with horns and sort of a goofy grin. Hed gotten that one in Korea, eight colors and it had all been done by a computer. Hed told Rydell how the computer had mapped his back and showed him exactly what it was going to look like when it was done. Then he had to lie down on this table while this robot put the tattoo on. Rydell had imagined a robot kind of like a vacuumcleaner, but with twisty chrome arms had needles on the end. But his uncle said it was more like being fed through a dot-matrix printer, and hed had to go back eight times, one time for each color. It was a great dragon, though, and lots brighter than the tattoos on his uncles arms, which were American eagles and a Harley trademark. When his uncle worked out in the backyard with Rydells set of Sears weights, Rydell would watch the dragon ripple.
This fat bald guy with the weights through his nipples had tattoos everywhere except his hands and his head. Looked like he was wearing a suit of them. They were all different, no American eagles or Harley trademarks either, and they sort of ran together. They made Rydell feel kind of dizzy, so he looked up at the walls, which were covered with more tattoos, like samples for you to pick from.
Youve been here before the man said.
Yeah Chevette Washington said, with Lowell. You remember Lowell?
The fat man shrugged.
My friend and I she said, we wanna pick something out
I havent seen your friend before the fat man said, perfectly nice about it but Rydell could hear the question in his voice. He was looking at Rydells suitcase.
Its okay she said. He knows Lowell. Hes a Land boy, too.
You bridge people the fat man said, like he liked bridge people. That storm was just terrible, wasnt it? I hope it didnt do you people too much damage We had a client last month brought in a wide-angle Cibachrome he wanted done as a back-piece. Your whole suspension span and everything on it. Beautiful shot but he wanted it inked just that size, and he just wasnt broad enough He looked up at Rydell. Wouldve fit, on your friend here
Couldnt he get it? she asked, and Rydell caught that instinct to keep people talking, keep them involved.
Were a full-service shop here at Colored People the fat man said. Lloyd put it on a graphics engine, rotated it thirty degrees, heightened the perspective, and its gorgeous. Now, were you interested in seeing some flash for yourself, or for your big friend here?
Uh, actually Chevette said, were looking for something for both of us. Like, uh, matching, you know?
The fat man smiled. Thats romantic
Rydell looked at her.
Just come this way. The fat man sort of jingled when he walked, and it made Rydell wince. May I bring you some complimentary tea?
Coffee? Rydell asked hopefully.
Im sorry the fat man said, but Butch left at twelve and I dont know how to operate the machine. But I can bring you some nice tea.
Yeah Chevette said, urging Rydell along with little elbow-jabs, tea.
The fat man took them down a hallway and into a little room with a couple of wallscreens and a leather sofa. Ill just get your tea he said, and shuffled out, jingling.
Whyd you say that, about matching tattoos? Rydell was looking around the room. Clean. Blank walls. Soft light but no shadows.
Because hell leave us alone while were trying to pick one, and cause itll take us so long to make up our minds.
Rydell put his Samsonite down and sat on the couch. So we can stay here?
Yeah, as long as we keep calling up flash.
Whats that?
She picked up a little remote and turned one of the wallscreens on. Started blipping through menus. Hi-rez close-ups of tattooed skin. The fat man came back with a couple of big rough mugs of steaming tea on a little tray. Yours is green he said to Chevette Washington, and yours is Mormon he said to Rydell, because you did ask for coffee
Oh, thanks Rydell said, taking the mug he was offered.
Now you two take plenty of time the fat man said, and you want anything, just call. He went out, tray tucked under his arm, and closed the door behind him.
Mormon? Rydell sniffed at the tea. It didnt smell much of anything.