CHAPTER NINE
Travis McGinty is lying face down in a basement in North inner city Dublin with four pairs of hands holding him down. Two to restrain his arms, one each side, and two to stretch out the skin between his shoulder blades. He's grimacing in pain, biting on a filthy looking rag that might have been white once a very long time ago. The little Asian man behind him is very, very focused and holding up what looks like a wooden stake, ready to push it into Travis's back. Smoking seems to be obligatory for everybody in the room, except for Travis himself.
"OK Travis, fucking pussy." The little man says. "You fucking ask for this you gonna get it. You know what gonna happen right now? Don't you? Fucking piece of shit, Irish white trash. What they call you? Tracksuit knacker? Is that it?" Knacker was a hard word for him to pronounce.
Travis struggled to turn his head and grunted as best he could through the rag. The little man raised the stake a shade higher and gave a throaty, smoke congested cackle.
"Pussy."
Travis closed his eyes and waited for the pain to begin.
"Fucking pussy."
Despite the contempt of the little man, Travis was more than able for this kind of torture and had undergone it many times in the past. He knew it was the pain that counted. The little Asian man's name was Ajarn and he was Cambodian by birth, Thai by ethnicity. Travis may have been the best tattoo artist in Ireland, if not all of Western Europe, but he didn't come close to the skill of this man, at least not when it came to ritual Sak Yant; sacred skin art, Thai style. Ajarn was one of the best there was and while he handled his mai sak and khem sak, the bamboo and metal ritual tattoo sticks, as though he were about to commit murder with them, the designs were as perfect and fine as medieval calligraphy. He could cause less pain but he knew that Travis would need more for this Yant to be effective. It would take hours of work and would be exhausting for everyone, but the power unleashed would surpass anything that raw vengeance alone could accomplish. This wasn't work that Ajarn undertook lightly. Only that Travis was his close friend and colleague, because his need was so great and out of respect for Travis’ skill as an artist would he perform this ritual. No amount of money could have induced him to carry this out for idle curiosity or vanity. He had often been asked for his services by the wealthy, powerful and famous. Rock stars and movie stars had come looking for him. Business people, politicians, Mafia. Some had even gotten what they wanted in the end, if they were determined enough. But they had never gotten it from him or from anyone nearly as good as he was. Empty scrawls and letters punctured into their soft, vain flesh by lazy, fat monks willing to sell their souls for a few dollars. Ajarn's art was too powerful and precious to be wasted like this. Moving to Ireland had been an effective strategy for a long time. No-one thought to look for him there and if they did it was usually not a place on the top of anyone's list for tattoo holidays. Most people wanted photographs of beaded sweat on brown skin and slow turning ceiling fans in Bangkok, Phnom Penh or Vientiane. A dingy back room in Dublin was a bucket of cold water for most people and a cloak of invisibility for the rest.
When the work was finally done the assistants released Travis' arms and let them fall to the ground. The skin on his back was raised, swollen and raw. They left him to recover.
Betsy was sitting outside, dozing uncomfortably on a plastic patio chair in the hallway. One of the assistants poked his head outside.
"Mae Betsy?" She raised her head. Mae is a term of respect for the mother of friends and relatives in Thai.
"Yes?"
"You take him now. He done."
"OK. Thank you. How was it?"
"Very good. Strong ritual. He very powerful now, but need to use quickly or lose the power."
Ajarn stepped into the hall.
"He strong guy but pretty wasted. Might have put other guy in hospital. Not him though. Travis like old Thai warrior. This guy legend."
Betsy wasn't smiling.
"So what's the catch Ajarn?" Tattoos weren't really her thing but she understood enough to know that although they usually worked, there was always a sting in the tail. The saying 'be careful what you wish for' was never more apt than for ‘tattoo witchcraft' as she liked to call it.
"You very wise woman Betsy, but no catch this time. Just one condition. Here you take look, you see yourself."
Betsy entered the tattoo room and squinted in the dim light. Her son's back was still stinging red with the edges of his new art screaming out pain. Surrounded by Khmer lettering was a small but intricate picture of an event. The desired event. An event so important that it was worth a permanent mark on the skin, first to assure success, second to commemorate once it had taken place.
"I don't understand Ajarn. What's going on here?"
"This guy here? He Sammy the Shark."
"Yeah I get that and this is Rocco and this is the Yant, but who's that? That isn't Travis."
"You very smart lady Mae Betsy. You dead right. Only one way for Travis to make this happen. He go himself he dead man. Might as well forget about skin, forget about justice, forget about revenge. Say hello to stinking real world where bad guy rule. You know? Maybe better that way, to tell you the truth."
"Who's this other person?"
"You got to find him Mae Betsy, that all I know. He will get the skin back, he will get revenge on that motherfucker Sammy."
"I don't get it. How do we find him?"
"No idea Mae Betsy, no idea. But you very wise lady, you can figure out. All I tell you is don't let Travis go there alone or a lot worse thing gonna happen to him than happened to Rocco. You got that?"
"Did you tell him this?"
"You kidding me? Travis? That boy the best white tattoo artist I ever seen, but he also pretty stupid when it come to this stuff. No wisdom. All heart, passion, violence. It never work out that stuff. I can't tell him nothing, you got to do it. You his mammy, you his Mae Mama. You can't convince him then no-one can."
"And people really pay you for this kind of advice?"
"Ha, ha. damn right Mae Betsy. Good money too. Listen, I got one more thing for you. Take good look at Yant. Take good long look. You got to recognize this guy."
"OK. If I see a god damn blue outline of a human being walking around then I'll go and tell him to kill Sammy the psychopath Shark."
"Got to love your style Mae Betsy. You bit younger I like to do you, but you too old now."
"Oh, unlucky me. If I could only turn back time."
"Take a look at the face."
Betsy peered at her exhausted son's raw, inflamed skin.
"He's got a mark on his forehead."
"Jesus Christ, you good Mae Betsy." Ajarn cackled.
"Like a crescent moon, right between the eyes."
"You got it."
Travis began to came out of his daze on floor.
"One more thing Mae Betsy."
"Yeah?"
"You can't make this guy do it. He got to want to do it himself. You got that? He got to burn like fire to go up there and do this thing."
"This just gets easier all the time."
Travis shook his head, rubbed his eyes.
"Ma? What are you doing here?"
"I call her you stupid fuck-up. Show some respect to your Mae Mama, she good lady. She got news for you so listen up good. I leave you two together now."
He left the room.
"Don't try and stop me ma. He was your grandson too, we owe him this."
"It won't work Travis."
"You wait and see. I just spent the last six hours preparing for this. Do you think Ajarn would waste his time if he didn't think I was going to go and blow that scumbag's head off?"
"You're not listening...."
"The earth will be a better place without that parasite and Ajarn knows it. He agrees with me and he's a Buddhist for Christ's sake."
"Well, that last bit is debatable Travis, but it's not the point. Have you seen your Yant yet?"
"I haven't seen it but I sure as fuck felt it."
"I've seen it."
"So you know what I mean."
"It's not what you think."
"What are you talking about? Did that little shit fuck me over again?"
"He didn't fuck you over Travis, he might just have saved your life is all."
Travis starts frantically trying to look over his shoulder to his back to see the new tattoo.
"What is it? What the fuck is it? Why doesn't that cunt have a fucking mirror in the tattoo room?"
"The Yant is beautiful Travis and we'll get Sammy the Shark alright and we'll get back the part of Rocco that piece of crap still has his filthy hands on."
"So what's the problem then?"
"Jesus Travis!" She shouts. "Stop trying to look at your own spine for Christ's sake, you can't see it. It's a Yant and it's got Sammy surrounded and Rocco revenged and protected, whole and in one piece."
"OK. I'm going then."
She physically obstructed him.
"It's not you that gets it back Travis."
"Get out of the way ma."
"Jesus. Why won't you listen? Ajarn told me that if you go yourself you'll be killed or worse and it won't benefit anything to Rocco."
"Then why did he make the Yant for me?"
"Because someone else will do the work and he's put him into the picture, for crying out loud."
Travis stopped, took a deep breath.
"Finally."
"So who is it? Who's the guy?"
"Who said it was a guy?"
"Who's the bird then?"
Betsy sighed. A long suffering sigh.
"We don't know."
"That little yellow fucker."
Betsy cut a stinging blow across her son's face.
"Enough. That man is saving your life and Rocco's soul. We do what he says. We find the person in the picture. Simple as that."
"He told you how to do that I suppose."
"Of course not. It never works that way, stop being stupid Travis."
"For fuck's sake...."
"Still wanna go up there now?"
Travis stood where he was. Fear would never have stopped him, but this? He couldn't move.
"What's the point now. The little bastard tricked me. You tricked me."
"Only because he knows what a hothead you are and no I didn't trick you, I tried to stop you coming here, remember? But you wouldn't listen to me. Just like always."
"Will he help us find the guy?"
"He already has. He made the god damn Yant didn't he?"
Travis's phone lit up with a call. He pulled it out of his pocket and the caller ID made him freeze.
"What is it?" Betsy asked.
He held the phone up and her breath froze in her teeth.
It read: Sammy the Cunt.