“I don’t think so,” Mike said, suddenly looking worried. He glanced at his customer. “That’s the way you wanted it, right?”

“You got it.”

“Whew. You scared me for a sec, Dolly.”

Mike finally looked at Duckworth. “What can I do ya for?” He moved the magnifying goggles up to his hairline.

“I want to show you something,” Duckworth said, getting out his phone. He tapped the screen and brought up the picture he’d taken of Gaffney. “Do you know this man?”

Mike studied it for three seconds. “Nope.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure. Dolly, you recognize that dude?”

Dolores gave the picture a long look, pursed her lips, and said, “Can’t say that I do.”

“I have another picture,” Duckworth said. He brought up the picture of Gaffney’s back, then held the phone in Mike’s direction.

“Jesus, what am I looking at?” He slid the magnifying glasses back down, studied the shot, then raised them again.

“What the fuck is that?” he asked.

“That’s someone’s idea of a tattoo,” the detective said. “Recognize the handiwork?”

“Are you kidding me? That’s a goddamn abortion you got there. May I?” He was asking to hold the phone to get a better look. He set the tattoo gun down and, using thumb and forefinger, blew up the image to examine the details. “Is this for real? Someone actually got this tattoo?”

“Lemme see?” said Dolly. Mike handed her the phone. “Whoa. This guy should definitely get his money back.”

The guy in the chair wanted a peek, too. “Man, please don’t do that to me.”

Duckworth took his phone back and asked his question again, in a slightly different way. “You any idea who might have done this?”

Mike had his own question. “Why would someone get a tatt like that?”

“It wasn’t voluntary,” Duckworth said.

Mike’s eyes went wide. “Someone did that without his permission?”

“That’s fuckin’ crazy,” Dolly said.

“How could someone sit still that long and let someone do that to him?” Mike wanted to know.

Duckworth felt he’d told them enough already. “So you don’t know whose work this might be?”

“I’d say a four-year-old did it,” Mike said. “That’s how bad it is. This is not the work of a professional. This is amateur night.”

“Do a lot of amateurs do tattoo work?”

“They sure as hell shouldn’t,” Mike said.

“You ever lend out your equipment?” Duckworth asked, nodding at the tattoo gun in Mike’s hand.

“God, no way. I’d never—” He stopped himself mid-sentence.

“What?”

“Dolly, when did we have that thing?”

“Thing?”

“That night someone got in here?”

Dolly thought. “That was, like, two weeks ago? I think.”

“You had a break-in?” Duckworth asked.

Mike shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Not exactly. We each thought the other person had locked up, and the back door got left open one night. At first we didn’t think anything had been stolen, but a couple days later I noticed one of the guns and some other stuff was missing. Figured it happened that night.”