Picture Perfect

Johnny had gotten up at his usual time of 3 am. It started with insomnia and resulted in a drug addiction. Painkillers to be exact, but he would take anything handed to him. His pain killer addiction started the way most do, with an injury to the back, about two and a half years ago. Spending three months on his back and Johnny had gone a little crazy. He started drawing these dark pictures, sketches mainly, pencil and charcoal.

            Unfortunately Johnny’s addiction had led to Cookie’s, his girlfriend of five years, addiction, and together they spiraled down. Johnny’s family looked down upon him and Cookie, and frankly disowned them. However, out of the instability of their minds, together they had huge imaginations. They created a tattoo shop; the tattoos were terrific, but the shop was disorderly. They were up at all hours of the night creating new pieces, working on new clients, the whole time popping painkillers and snorting cocaine. Most of the time the couple would get doped up and end up tattooing themselves or each other.  They were unprofessional to say the least, and spent most of their money on drugs, but the creativity they had did deserve recognition. Cookie decorated the place with pictures she had taken from all over the town. She took pictures of their two dogs, pictures of tattoos, picture of piercings, anything that Cookie thought was worth her time. Her favorite picture though, was of a run over rat. She had zoomed in on the rat so it took the whole lens, with only a little gravel in the background. She took it in black and white, but the blood was still apparent. She blew the picture up and hung it in the “back room” of the tattoo parlor in a huge golden frame.

They opened up shop in Huntsville, the town they were both raised in and grew up in. It was a pretty trashy town, or at least that’s what people who lived outside Huntsville said. There was crime there, naturally, but mostly drugs and trailer parks.

Berrel and Craig had wanted tattoos for months now. Berrel had made more money in the last 3 months than he had in his whole life. As a matter of fact, his desire for a tattoo is what spurred his fascination with drug dealing. It was easy money, easy work. In his neighborhood, the drugs were already taken care of; you don’t step on another drug dealer’s feet, and no one will step on yours. So, Berrel decided to take business elsewhere. He had Craig doing the dirty work for him, knew how to work business.

Craig, or as Berrel called him C-Boi, was a nineteen year old boy with a sixty-seven year olds record. Craig was stupid, but smart at what he did. He committed crimes on the daily, but knew how to get away. He knew how to work the system, which helped him in some cases, and disadvantaged him in others. See, Craig was the type of guy who you either hated, or loved; and he was both of these things. He had enemies, but didn’t necessarily like it. Craig carried a gun on him at all times, ever since his brother was shot. He carried it in between his pants and boxer tops. He was trigger happy to say the least, and treasured his gun over most people in his life.

Craig took orders from Berrel when it came to business though. He couldn’t come up with the deal itself, he was just the pusher, the middle-man. He handed the drugs to the client in a handshake (they didn’t do deals bigger than Craig’s hand), and took the money in the same swap.

Berrel had the idea to begin business in Huntsville, a close by town of Memphis, when he had heard it was full of trailer trash and druggies and thought no better of a place to profit. (See, Berrel was a thinker. He saw things a certain way, and worked until they were so. If someone got in his way, they were one stupid son of a bitch. He was a thinker, but a thinker with an ego problem.)

They drove in Craig’s ’01 dark green Lexus, about an hour and forty-five minute drive. They were going to Huntsville to check the location, the police intervention, and to look for prospective customers. Upon driving around, in the first half an hour in town, Berrel spotted a tattoo parlor he thought looked legit. They parked in the gas station across the street, Craig filled up his tank, and Berrel wondered over to check out the parlor. He checked the parlor’s hours and looked inside. He figured he’d find others, maybe cheaper ones, but it did catch his eye this particular parlor. He liked the sign outside and the way the parlor was decorated on the inside. There was a large picture in the back on the parlor which looked like some sort of dead animal, weird white people shit he thought, but kinda liked it. First day in town and Berrel and Craig had a good feeling about this new place. It was rumored the cops were corrupt, which in their case, helped all the more. When doing dirty things, dirty cops are the way to go. Good cops just do their job, and a little too well, if you ask one of those boys.

Next day in town, Berrel and Craig decided to check out the parlor. Craig, once again, was left out until last minute when he was told to drive. Berrel directed him to where he had seen the shop. Walking in, the shop seemed empty, well besides the two tattoo artists. There were pictures of dogs, tattoos, and of themselves, everywhere in the place.

            “Hi, what can I do for ya today?” a tattooed man said.

“We lookin to get some tats,” Berrel said.

“Alright, you got anything in mind?”

“Yea,” Berrel said as he looked around the shop.

“I’m Johnny, this is Cookie, why don’t we sit down and make a few sketches huh?”

“Aight.”

“And your name was?” Johnny asked.

“I’m Berrel and this Craig. I was lookin to get my ma’s name on my arm, right here”, lifting up his white T-shirt, Berrel pointed to the spot right under his shoulder cap.

“Okay, I could do that for you. And what about you, Craig was it? What are you lookin for?”

“I’m still not sure, man, I gotta think about it some mo,” Craig said in his cold way.

“Alright, that’s fine, you just let us know when you have a idea or a picture. Now I gotta tell you guys, tats these days aren’t cheap, and prices depend on how big you want the piece to be.”

“Money ain’t a issue, sir,” Berrel interjected, almost boasting. Man, I ain’t tryna be noisy or nothin but I noticed you got some pills on your desk, if you need some, I got em.”

“What kinda pills you got”? Johnny inquired, hooked instantly when he heard “pills”. Johnny and Cookie were decent people, good people actually, they just had bad habits. It’s habits though that will take you down; control your life, control your day. Inevitably, with their bad habits came bad judgment.

In the last three months they started doing work for drugs, cut out the money and just exchange tattoo for drugs. It made sense when you thought about it, just not the type of business a couple in their mid-thirties should be getting into.

So the deal was cut, 2 bars of Xanax and $200 dollars for three tattoos; two on Berrel, one for Craig. The date was set, the time and the place. It was to be a simple transaction. between two mutual parties. Berell and Craig arrived already loaded. They offered some Xanax pills to Johnny and Cookie right off the bat; it was drug dealer etiquette.

Johnny started with Berrel’s tattoo. He wanted “Mary” on his right upper arm, just below is shoulder. Mary was Berrel’s mother, the only person who Berrel would think twice about getting over on. The tattoos were in dark black ink, in a “Lucida” font with Johnny’s added touch. Berrel had a lot of muscle on his upper right arm, and the tattoo almost made his arm look complete. In between Berrel’s and Craig’s tattoos, Johnny needed a break. He and Cookie went outside for a cigarette. Berrel and Craig stayed in the parlor and inspected Berrel’s fresh tattoo. Outside of the parlor, in the empty parking lot, Cookie whispered to Johnny about taking another line of coke. They finished they’re cigarettes and went inside for an upper. Berrel and Craig had taken quite a good amount of Xanax pills. Tattoos were rumored to hurt. And when they offered to take a line of cocaine with Johnny and Cookie, they thought why not. Next was Craig’s tattoo. The sketch was drawn for “Mob Front”. He wanted it across his collarbone. So Johnny began work. Half way through his piece, he couldn’t keep his hand steady, or so Craig thought. He got a little paranoid from now and then, well shit, you probably would too, seeing the stuff he’d seen in his lifetime.

“Man you fucked up the ‘R!,’ Craig yelled.

“What are you talking about, the ‘R’ looks like all the rest of the letters,” Johnny said, a little offended, but mainly confused.

“Nah man, you fucked it up!”

“Alright, what do you want me to do to fix it, or how do you want it to look different?” he said in a belittling way.

“Man…I dunno…you the fuckin did it, u fix it.”

With that, Cookie interjected.

“Excusse me, honey, my boyfriendd here doesn’t “fuck up”… okay? You’re tattoo..it is exactly how it looksss in thee ssketch”, she had a little trouble getting her words straight after her latest dosage.

“Nah, he fucked up my tat.” Craig whipped out his gun. He’d had enough of this shit. His tattoo was messed up, and there was no way he was going to let this druggie get over on him.

“Yo, gimme back tha bars, and the two hunnid and we call it even.” He said, holding he gun straight out in front of him.

Berrel didn’t think the tat was even that fucked up, but he didn’t mind getting his money and pills back. He could use those pills for the next costumer.

“Okay, chill out dude, we can figure this out, but this gun business isn’t necessary,” Johnny was too high for this. He couldn’t remember what had happened five minutes ago if someone were to ask him. He thought the tattoo looked good, hell, he thought it looked great. What the fuck was this little thug talking about, fucking up his tattoo. Johnny took offense to that statement. He never fucked up, not anymore.

“Show me where you put the shit at”, Craig said signaling his gun to Cookie.

“Whaat are you mean? And don’t put the fuckingg thing in my facee,” she slurred out her mouth.

Craig walked over to Cookie and pushed her forcefully in the way of her desk. He had seen her put it somewhere near the desk, in one of the drawers maybe, but didn’t have time to look.

Cookie walked over to the desk, should she give up those pills? They had a deal though, those pills were hers.

Berrel was holding a needle to Johnny’s jugular vein, to keep him in place, he didn’t mind gore, actually kind of liked it.

Cookie began playing dumb, but Craig knew what she was doing. He got frustrated and slapped her across her face, causing her to fall to the ground. It would’ve been pretty easy actually, considering Cookie was already completely unbalanced. Johnny, seeing this happen, punched Berrel and ran over to help Cookie. Before he got to her, he heard a shot go off. It pierced through his stomach. Maybe went straight through. He couldn’t breathe. All he heard was yelling. Frantic yelling.

            “Fuck man, get the fucking pills,” Craig yelled.

            He could hear Cookie screaming, yelling his name, crying. His eyes were to heavy to open, and he just wanted to take a nap now. He shut his eyes, feeling a little confused as to what happened with the ‘R’, but he decided he’d think about it tomorrow.