“Of course. Thanks for talking to me.”
“No problem. And listen.” He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice, as if imparting a great secret. “You know this Keri girl, right? If you can think of some way I can help her, you just let me know.”
“I’ll … bear that in mind.”
“Good. And listen. I understand you have to do some investigatin’. You got your client and a trial and all that. So don’t think it means you’re gonna wake up with your feet in concrete or anything, okay?”
Gee, thanks …
“But if I ever find out you’ve been doing anything more, like maybe buttin’ into my business or sayin’ things that could damage me or my family—” He put his hands on both of Ben’s shoulders and squeezed. Tightly. “Let me give you a news flash. The mob hasn’t changed that much.”
24
TO CALL THIS JOINT a closet would be to give it too much credit, Kirk mused, as he stared across the five-feet expanse at his host, who was soaking his feet in a porcelain pan, clamping a transparent gas mask to his mouth, and inhaling like a vacuum cleaner.
How did he end up in this dive? THE BODY BEAUTIFUL, the tiny sign on the front door said, although it was so small he missed it the first three times he passed by. It was easy to miss things this late at night, especially once you got away from the glittery bright lights of The Stroll’s main drag. Just as well—most people would want to miss this place, even the dark denizens of The Stroll. This shop was something else again. Something much more … extreme. Part innovating, part revolting.
“Wanna shot?” the man in the stained T-shirt said, holding out the gas mask.
Kirk shook his head.
“Your loss. Does me a world of good.”
“What is that, opium or something?”
“Oxygen,” the man said, drawing it deep down into his lungs. “Ozone, actually. Straight from the tank. Nothing better for you.”
“Can’t you get oxygen just from air?”
“Not like this, sonny.” He was a big man, burly, with long gangly legs and arms that seemed twice the length they should be. He had long blond hair that he swept straight back over the top of his head. His face was long and haggard, with deep crevices where cheeks should be and eyes set so far back they seemed to be on a different dimensional plane. “The air’s tainted, son. Has been for years. You need a shot of the pure stuff to really get your heart going. Take a few whiffs of this every now and again and you’ll be a better man for it, I guarantee.”
An interesting proposition, Kirk thought, but the man did not exactly strike him as the picture of health. Fairly cadaverous, actually. “I got the word from the bouncer at the Rainbow Boutique about you. Said you handled the body piercings.”
The man nodded, still sucking. “Piercings ’R’ Us, that’s what they call my place on The Stroll. I was going to put that on my sign, but I was afraid I might get sued or something.”
A distinct possibility, Kirk reasoned. “What kind of piercings do you do?”
“Oh, I’ve done it all, pal. You name it; I’ve been there.”
“Such as?”
“I can pierce anything you want pierced. Ears. Nose. Lips. Tongue. Navel. Nipples. I’ve even done a few genitalia jobs, not that I really enjoy them.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell ya a secret, bud. Most people who get their ding-dongs pierced live to regret it. After the initial rush wears off.”
Kirk shifted uncomfortably. “That sounds like it might be… uncomfortable.”
“Aw, hell, son—they’re all uncomfortable. Comfort lovers need not apply.”
“Which one hurts worst?”
The blond man pressed a hand against his forehead and rolled his eyes. “Aw, Jesus H. Christ. Not another one.” He shook his head from side to side. “Look, son, if you’re just lookin’ to get yourself hurt, go down to The Stroll and start a fight with a pimp or something. He’ll take care of you but good.”
“Been there,” Kirk replied. “Done that.”
“Huh. Wondered about that scar across your forehead.” He put down the gas mask. “Okay, how about going back to that Rainbow tattoo parlor? I understand the old man in the back never washes his needles.”
“Done that, too,” Kirk said. “Wanna see it?”
“Thanks, I’d just as soon not.”
“Good,” Kirk said. “I’d just as soon not show it.”
“I don’t know why I always get the pain freaks. Jesus, doesn’t anybody want a piercing just to look good anymore?”
“If I wanted to look good,” Kirk grunted, “I’d go to Dillard’s and buy a suit.”
“Fine, fine. So what do you want?”
“Anything. Everything.”
He sighed. “I can see this is going to be a challenge. Let me get my stuff.” He turned slightly and opened a desk drawer. “Got my scalpel, my stiletto, my sterilizer, maybe an ice pack—oh wait, no. You like pain.”
Kirk gave him a faint smile.
The blond man withdrew a syringe from the drawer. “Damn. Almost forgot my injection.”
Kirk raised an eyebrow. “More ozone?”
“Don’t be stupid. Human growth hormone.” While Kirk watched, the man lifted his shirt and injected himself in the stomach.
Kirk winced. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not enough to turn you on.” He held out the syringe. “Wanna hit?”
“No thanks.”
“S’good for what ails ya.”
“I thought that was just for midgets and stuff.”
“That’s what the doctors say. What do they know? Builds strong bones; keeps you together. Staves off the body rot that wears us all down.”
“And this is according to…?”
“It’s a well-known fact. Human growth hormone and vitamin cocktails. Like mother’s milk. Take them every day and you’ll never get old.”
“So you say,” Kirk said. “Forgive me for pointing this out, but—you got old.”
The man winked. “Only on the outside. Can’t do a thing about the flesh. But inside, I’m as young as ever.”
Kirk remained unconvinced. If he was as young as ever, why was he in this dingy room, sitting in a broken chair, soaking his feet?
“I’ve got some B-12 here, if you want to give that a try.”
“Thanks, I already ate. Could we possibly get back to the piercing?”
“Right, right.” He waved toward the small table beside him. “I’ve got everything ready. Just give me five more minutes to soak my feet.”
Kirk cast his eyes downward toward the porcelain pan. The water had a faint yellowish tint. His feet must’ve been in there for a good long time, because they were all shriveled and raisiny.
“Mind if I ask what that is?” Kirk asked.
“Course not. Urine.”
“Excuse me?”
“My urine, to be specific. Very healthy.”
Kirk stared at him. “You’re soaking in your own piss?”
“One of the most natural substances in the world. Why would God give it to us if it wasn’t good for you?”
“I don’t think—”
“You know, Gandhi used to drink his.”
Kirk felt his stomach twinge, and it wasn’t because of his tattoo. “Look, I didn’t come here for health recommendations. Could we please get on with the piercing?”
“Fine. Here it comes, fast and painful. Just the way you like it.”
“Good.”
“Unless … maybe you’d like to try something really different.”
“Like … what?”
“Well, you know, body piercing is really yesterday’s fad. So commonplace it’s trendy. Passé, some would say. Like tattooing, ten years ago.”
“So what’s hot now?”
“Mutilation.”
Kirk knew this would probably be a good time to get up and leave, but for some reason, he didn’t.
“Why settle for a mere needle when you can mess your body up with a knife?”