Liam: Branded Brothers (9 page)

He raised his eyebrows and flipped a glass in his hand. “Cranberry
vodka?”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” she replied.

“Didn’t stop you yesterday.”

“Water.” She set her purse on the counter and sighed. “I’m
here because I can’t say no. I’m a sucker for people who need my help.”

“I said the magic word, huh? Help?” Liam filled the glass
with water and slid it to her. “That’s the word that will make you do
anything?”

She cocked her head at him and grabbed the glass of water. “You’re
pushing it, just like your dad did.”

He pressed his hands against the counter. “Let’s call him
Jack. Dad is a little too close for me right now.”

“Got it. So, you done with your bounty run or whatever you
call it?”

“Yeah, my day job was done at six this morning when I
brought in a naked fifty-year-old junkie coming off a bender to the police
station.” He shook his head. “My job never stops surprising me, one wrinkly
ball at a time.”

“Didn’t need that visual,” she replied, waving her hand in
front of her face.. “Tell me, what’s the lead on your brothers?”

“Well, I don’t exactly have a solid lead,” he started,
running a hand through his hair. “It’s more like an idea.”

“You called me because you have an idea?” She took a gulp of
water. It didn’t sound like he needed her help. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, I figured you could help me with my idea,” he said,
flashing a bright smile. “I said the magic word again.”

“Jesus, maybe I
am
going to need a drink,” she joked,
returning his smile. She couldn’t help falling into playful banter with him. It
was so easy. So comfortable. It was nothing like she shared with Rex. He was so
serious and driven all the time. He didn’t have time for flattering her
anymore. “Let’s hear it. What’s your idea?”

“I already searched for Brody and Ronan Murphy. I also
searched for Davis, but I didn’t have any luck. There was one Brody Murphy in
Illinois and apparently he’s not my brother because he’s fifty-two. They
obviously have different last names.”

“And maybe first names if the adoptive parents decided to
change those as well.”

“And maybe first names,” he agreed, nodding his head. “See,
that’s why I asked for your help. I didn’t think of that one. Anyway, Jack had
a tattoo on his chest just like mine, which leads me to believe that my two
brothers have the same tattoo.”

“I would say that’s a pretty safe assumption.”

“I think we should go to the tattoo parlors in the city and
ask around,” he said, specifically leaving out the part about Rich tipping him
off. He didn’t want to scare Charla off with the idea his brother might be an
ex-convict. “There might be a chance that one of them got it touched up or
maybe one of the artists remembered the tattoo. Some of those guys are freaks
like that. They come across something that sticks in their head. I want to
start at Color Box just outside Blackwell. My old friend Frankie owns it.”

“How do you know they’re even in Blackwell? Who’s to say
they’re not in California or New York or Florida or Wisconsin? They could be
anywhere.”

“I don’t, but I have to start somewhere, don’t I? Plus, Jack
was only thirty minutes away. There’s a shot he kept the other two close as
well.”

“What about your adoptive parents? Did you ask them about
it?” Charla asked. “They could at least tell you what agency you came from.”

“I wish. They’re both dead,” he replied.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t - ” Charla started, instinctively
reaching her hand out to him. She covered his, feeling the warmth of his skin
crawl onto hers. Comforting other people was second nature to her.

“Don’t be sorry. They were old,” he replied, grabbing her
hand to hold it. “But I can be sad if it means you’ll do more than hold my
hand.”

“Jackass,” Charla said, letting go of his hand.

“Tattoo parlor?”

“Tattoo parlor.”

“I’ll drive.” Liam shot her a wicked grin that made both her
heart flutter and head spin with regret.

***

Liam held the door open as Charla
ducked under his arm and into the Color Box. The smell of antiseptic and
sterility surrounded her. It was a smell she was comfortable with after her
clinical experiences in school. While most people were revolted by the smell of
hospitals, she found it refreshing. It meant people were getting the help they
needed.

“Can I help you?” A woman with brunette pin curls and
painted cherry lipstick popped up from behind the counter. Tattoos lined both
sides of her neck and ran down her arms. On her face was a single star near her
eye. But the tattoos weren’t what struck Charla. It was the woman’s body. She looked
like Betty Boop. Huge boobs, a teeny waist, and curves to knock someone out.
She wore a body hugging dress that matched her lipstick. Her lips curled into
smile after she passed over Charla and then saw Liam. “Oh hey, Murph. What’s
up?”

“Hey, Frankie,” Liam replied, holding out his arms to her.
She clicked toward him in five-inch spikes and nuzzled her head into his chest.

This was Frankie?
Charla looked down at her
bunched-up striped cotton tank top and jean shorts. She pulled the top down and
straightened her shorts, wishing she would have opted for something a little
sexier like Jill had suggested. If this was one of Liam’s old friends, then she
didn’t even want to see a picture of his ex-wife.

Charla cleared her throat and held out her hand. “I’m
Charla.”

Frankie disengaged from Liam reluctantly and turned slowly
toward her. She looked her over before she said, “Liam, you brought some virgin
skin in?”

Charla opened her mouth about to defend herself when Liam
smiled and spoke instead.

“I know it’s your favorite kind,” he replied. “But we’re
here for something else.”

“Ah, come on,” Frankie said, finally reaching out to shake
Charla’s hand. She flashed a bright smile and shook her hand with an aggressive
warmth like they were long lost friends getting reacquainted. “You know I love
to pop tattoo cherries.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “Not today.”

“Please,” Frankie said in a voice as sweet as honey to
Charla. There was something about Frankie that made Charla actually
want
to have her proverbial cherry popped. She could only imagine the things this
woman convinced men to do in bed.

“Well, maybe,” Charla said. “I’ve always kind of wanted one
on my pelvis. You know somewhere that wasn’t too exposed.”

Frankie reached down and popped open the button of Charla’s
jean shorts and tugged them down an inch before Charla could protest. She ran
her long red fingernail across her skin, sending a shiver down Charla’s legs.
“Right here. It would be perfect.”

“Exactly,” Charla whispered. Frankie’s nail was right where
Charla had considered getting a footprint tattoo for the last couple years, but
any time she had mentioned it to Rex, he had gone on a tangent about the lack
of sterility in tattoo parlors and the permanency of ink. He considered himself
the voice of reason. She wondered if his voice of reason had any thoughts when
he was in bed with the blonde.

Liam cleared his throat and folded his arms across his
chest. “Ladies.”

“Oh, you’re such a buzz-kill, Liam,” Frankie said, pulling
her finger away from Charla’s skin. She tugged up Charla’s shorts and buttoned
them. “What do you need?”

“I need to talk to someone about this.” Liam pulled his
shirt down to expose the tattoo on his heart.

“What about it? It looks like you just got it redone.
By
someone else
,” Frankie said, moving closer to inspect the tattoo. “You
should have come to me.”

“Well, you know…” Liam’s voice trailed off.

“Looks good, I guess.” Frankie jumped in.

“I’m looking for someone who has this tattoo,” he said,
still holding his shirt down.

“It’s the Celtic symbol for family,” Frankie replied. “I’ve
seen it a few times before, it’s not that unusual. I’ve seen it on both Irish
and non-Irish. Men and women.”

“I’m looking for two men who have it in the same exact spot,
right over the heart,” he said. “Just like mine. They’d be old tattoos. They
would need retouching, if they had it redone of course.”

Frankie let out a small sigh and crossed her arms over her
chest, making her boobs bigger than Charla thought possible. Just another tiny
squeeze and the girls would bust out for sure. She looked at Liam, expecting
him to be ogling her, but his face was pinched in concentration on hers.

“Think, Frankie,” he said quietly.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Frankie said, closing her eyes. She
popped them open after a few seconds. “I’ve got nothing. I can’t remember
anyone having it on their chest, not on their heart anyway. We can ask Max.
He’s the only other person here today.”

“MAX!” Frankie’s ear-piercing scream erupted through the
shop.

“Her husband.” Liam plugged his ears and smiled.

A bald man twice the size of Liam appeared in the door. His
whole body was covered in tattoos, except for his head. It was like his head
belonged to someone else, utterly and completely untouched like holy ground. “Frankie,
how many times do I have to tell -”

“Max, Liam’s here.”

Max’s eyes lit up and a wide grin spread across his face
when he caught sight of Liam.

“Max, how the hell you doing?” Liam embraced Max in a huge
hug. “It’s been a long time.”

“A year?” Max asked.

“Two,” Liam said, pulling out of the hug. “It’s good to see
you, man.”

“You, too,” Max said. “Man, I can’t believe you’re here. You
look good, and you brought a girl with you. Good to see, man.” He clapped Liam
on the shoulder and eyed Charla.

“We’re not together,” Charla replied, deflating any sort of
macho bullshit they had going on between them. She wasn’t some damn trophy.

“Charla, this is Max, my ex-wife’s brother,” Liam said.

“Oh,” Charla replied, holding out her hand. Max took it in a
bone-crunching shake. “Still not together, though.”

“No matter. What can I help you with?” Max asked, turning
back to Liam.

“I need your help. I’m looking for someone who has the same
tattoo as mine.” Liam pointed to his chest. “You know the Celtic one. The guy
is most likely in his twenties. Irish.”

“Man, I don’t know. I’ve seen it before, but nothing I’ve
done and nothing over the heart. I had a broad in here that had that symbol
done on her wrist, but that was it,” Max replied, shaking his head.

Liam nodded his head. “You know who else we could talk to
that might know?”

“Well, there’s three more shops in town,” Max replied,
shooting a look at Frankie. “There’s a shop right next to one of Ken’s
laundromats, just to warn you. If you see that asshole, give him a shot to the
jaw, would ya?”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks, man,” Liam said, turning to go.
Charla followed, smiling one last time at Frankie who held up her hand to her
ear and mouthed
call me
. Charla nodded her head. Frankie would be just
the woman to push her over the edge to get the tattoo.

Liam stopped a few steps before the door, but didn’t turn
around. “How is she, Max?”

Charla turned to see Max rub his head with a quick flick of
his hand. “She’s good, man. Stupid, but good I guess. You know how I feel about
it all.”

“They got married, Liam,” Frankie said quietly.

“Come on, Frankie,” Max hissed. He gave her a short elbow in
the side.

“I thought you should know,” Frankie said. “I thought it’d
be better to hear it from us than someone else. They got married this past
spring.”

Liam nodded his head and clenched his fists with his back to
them, his face in deep thought. “I’m glad she’s doing good. I just want her to
be happy.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Max said. “If it’s worth anything, I can’t
stand Ken. I’d do anything to have you back as my brother-in-law.”

“Just let me know if you see anyone with that tattoo.” Liam
finally turned around.

“Or if you run into anyone by the name of Ronan,” Charla
added.

“Did you say Ronan?” Frankie asked, putting her hand on her
hip.

“Yeah,” Charla replied.

“Well, why didn’t you say you were looking for Ronan?”
Frankie asked, clicking toward them with feverish steps. “Ronan Williams just
opened a shop in Hudson.”

Charla swallowed hard at the name of her hometown. She
hadn’t been back to Hudson for two years.

“Does Ronan Williams have a tattoo like mine?” Liam asked.

“He’s covered, man. Just like me,” Max said. “Who the hell
knows what he all has. It might even be covered up or part of something else.”

“Williams doesn’t sound Irish,” Liam replied.

“He’s more Irish than you are.” Frankie laughed as she
squeezed his arm. “Which is saying a lot. The name of his place is The Lucky
Ink.”

***

“Here it is. On Pigeon Street. No
website or anything, but there’s a number.” Charla clicked the number on her
screen and pushed call.

“Don’t,” Liam said, leaning over the seat and pulling the
phone from her ear. She ended the call and held the phone in her lap, searching
his eyes for an explanation. “What are you going to say if he answers?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, trying not to focus on the fact
that Liam’s hand was melting her thigh.

“Let’s just show up,” he said as he started the engine. “You
don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”

“Why do you assume I have nothing to do?” She folded her
arms across her chest. She still had to clean the house, find a job, and locate
an apartment. All of these things were definitely higher on the priority list
than driving around to tattoo parlors in search of Liam’s brothers. But she had
to admit that none of these things were as much fun.

“You have nothing better to do because you’re still here,”
he said, revving the engine and rolling down the windows. Charla’s hair whipped
across her face, hiding the pink that flushed her cheeks.