Tattoo

Peter Hanks just gets released from Prison.....because of a tattoo!

It was finally here. I looked around one last time. The whole room was so chilly; I wasn’t really talking about the weather. This room bore twelve years of chilling memories. At one point, I left it thinking I would never return. But I was back before I could say the last word.

Greg patted my shoulders. I just shrugged and smiled.

“Peter Hanks!” yelled the warden as he looked through a list on the clipboard.

I gave Greg one last shove. His eyes looked distant but he managed a smile.

“Someday buddy!” he managed to say as he fought off the first tear I had ever seen in his eyes. I stared for a while, afraid to hug, afraid to let go, afraid to say goodbye.

I trudged out nonchalantly, oblivious of the fact that this was supposed to be my happiest day. As I stepped out, I scraped my right arm against the sharp edges of the gate.

“Ouch!”

“You have to watch where you are going man” scolded the warden as he adjusted his gun; making sure it was in full view.

I froze staring at my arm as the blood oozed. Not that I was new to this, but It had cut right through my tattoo; the very one that kept me in this very room for twelve agonising years; the same scratch!

It was a cold night as biting wisps of wind sent many to their fireplaces. Of course I could not afford that luxury at the moment. Especially when it was apparent Cindy could die in a flash. Old Dog asked me to meet him in the alley. Just one quick job and I could afford Cindy’s surgery bills. It was the only thing that kept me walking fast through the cold this night aside the barking of dogs across the street.

Three hours passed and he was nowhere to be found. My fingers were numb now; numb from the cold. The mitten lady had promised me one next week and my poor fingers just had to wait till then. I was getting impatient now because I had to be by Cindy. After a while, I turned to leave.

“Hey homeboy!” whispered Old Dog as he appeared from behind some drums packed to a corner in the alley.

“Had to be sure you were not with the police” he continued as he walked towards me in a cowering manner. “Follow me!”

We moved on to a very secluded area where we entered the old theatre building. Until that day, I thought that building had been shut down. There was a stout guy at the backdoor who asked for a password which Old Dog supplied. We were allowed into what seems to be the attic of the building with old theatre machines.

Within minutes, I had been told what to do. I had to deliver a parcel to Old Stefano downtown for a $1000 reward.

“That’s it?” I asked looking very startled.

I quickly left the building looking back to be sure I wasn’t followed. I knew this had to be hard drugs. Since most of those guys were on the police wanted list, they employed couriers who had no police records to do these jobs. However, being new to the whole scheme, every step closer to the main city sent shivers down my spine. What if…?

“Hands up” said the sergeant as he handcuffed my left arm to the metal bar in the clinic.

“Your last cell fight?” he quizzed as he brought out the first aid kit to dress up my wounds.

“The razor gate. I didn’t see it” I said, squinting my eyes as the alcohol seeped into the wounds. “Can’t believe this is over.

“Well I’ve seen many like you express these sentiments and soon return” he said as he looked one last time at the wound. “Hope you don’t!”

But then he held my right arm intently, “you are the tattoo guy?”

I smiled at his quizzing look as I rubbed my sore arm. “Yeah!”

He released my left arm from the bar and both arms were handcuffed together.

My tattoo had indeed made me popular!

That night as I held on tightly to the parcel for Mr Stefano, I kept thinking to myself what my wife was going through all that time. She had been in excruciating pain as the paramedics whisked her away. I just hoped the drugs they gave her did take her pain away. All I kept saying was Cindy, Cindy, Cindy. I noticed an old woman pass by and look at me with cold blue eyes. I turned away and just kept mumbling “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy”. Those words kept me going. I heard drunken shouts from a pub nearby. The Bears had a game tonight. I was even in my jersey so I could meet the guys over beer as we watched. But Cindy’s pain changed everything.

As I turned unto the corner that led to the infamous Klux Street, I heard a shot. Then I saw this guy running away with the police after him. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to encounter a policeman whilst holding Stefano’s parcel, so I turned to use an alternate route. Another guy in a Bears jersey from nowhere bumped into me. We both fell but he quickly stood up as I caught a glimpse of him.

“Run!” he yelled as he continued running. And run I did. Two blocks on, I felt warm liquid run down my right arm. I then realised I got injured during the fall. I rolled up my sleeves to get a better view and (as I later regretted) never rolled it back. The wound looked funny though; it went right through my heart-shaped tattoo. It was like a strike of thunder through a heart. Maybe, it was some divine sign of how I felt.

“Peter Hanks!”

As they called out our names, we filed to collect our belongings from the counter. I walked towards the dressing room. I could not wait to finally be out of those orange uniforms.

“You the tattoo guy isn’t it? You are Peter Hanks!” whispered a pale-looking red-head who also headed for the dressing closest to the one I intended to use.

“The guys in my cell told me your story” he continued, extending a hand. I took his hand in his and smiled.

“Boy, ain’t I famous!” I joked as I withdrew my hand. I left without saying another word into the dressing room. As I unfolded my clothes, I stared at my Bears shirt. It still had the blood stains from the night. But most importantly, it rigged of the pain that night brought me.

I finally got to the door of Mr Stefano. It was a fast and smooth transaction; I got my money and just as I walked out…

“Freeze! Put your hands behind your back and walk forward!”

My mind was racing fast as I obeyed their orders. It was sickening to know I had just been nabbed for my first job. I didn’t need to lie because I was right in front of Stefano’s block; I totally surrendered!

“You have to follow us downtown” said the officer as he handcuffed and pushed me into the patrol vehicle. So many questions raced through my mind throughout the drive. Should I just confess since I was just a courier? How about Cindy? Denying would only lead to hours of interrogation and drills. I had to bail out and rush to her side.

“I admit to the crime ok, I needed money. My wife is dying at the hospital. You have to understand” I said leaning toward the interrogator.

“Well that gives you no reason to break the law young man.” He said peering at me through the corners of his glasses.

“You don’t understand man, I need this money. It’s my first time!” I said as tears welled up in my tired eyes. “You would do the same man. I love my wife”

“Yeah” he said looking uninterested in my tears. “I love my wife too! That’s why I need to get back to her now” he said standing up with a smirk of relief. “Glad you confessed that quickly. Boys, lock him up!”.

“You okay in there man?” called out the red-head in the adjacent cubicle.

I quickly put on my shirt and walked out. “Yeah!”

“Man, I’m getting one of those as soon as I walk out” he said pointing to my tattoo.

I rolled down the sleeves and walked on to submit the uniforms. As I passed by the helpdesk, I looked out towards the stairs that led to the condemned cells. I clearly remember how shocked I was the day I walked down those cells. I remembered the last strike of the mallet as the judge read out my sentence. I remember the tears I fought as I heard those words. “You are thereby sentenced to death by lethal injection!”. How could a simple hard drug courier service lead to a death sentence?

“Your honour, the accused pleads guilty as charged” read out the state defendant as he took a step forward.

I looked around to see if there was any other accused person in the courtroom. The state prosecutor just read out a murder charge and my lawyer had just indicated that I plead guilty. I was startled. I waited till our eyes met, and then I blurted my confusion.

“Look young man, your interrogation was recorded. You pleaded guilty!”

“To murder? I did not kill anybody!” I screamed drawing attention to both of us.

That began a series of court meetings that saw me slowly rising to fame as the tattoo guy. Apparently, I was arrested that night for the murder of a shop clerk. An unspecified amount of money was also missing. The Prosecutor had three evidences; blood stains of the victim on my shirt, my confession and a witness account. The only living witness ; the shop keeper, described a tattoo on the arm of the murderer who wore a Bears shirt. This tattoo was heart-shaped with a strike through it!

I handed in the uniforms and signed all the due papers. I looked out the window to a teeming crowd of reporters eager to take the first shot of a free man. But then I looked back at how all these people criticised me during the trial, how none had faith in me; except Cindy. I remember her tears as I was led away and the same tears the day of my execution. She had fought all she could with the best lawyers affordable to prove my innocence. Now, she just allowed fate to be the judge.

On the fateful Friday of my execution, my lawyers sent in an appeal because there was a new witness. The old lady from that night called for my lawyers on her deathbed; incidentally, I was on mine too. She had been silent all this while because she was also wanted by the police. Her account of where and when she saw me was in the nick of time! Coupled with my arguments and the conflicting description of the assailant by the shop keeper, my lawyers proved a case in court. I was released and duly compensated.

As I walked towards the door, I saw a gentleman being shoved in. I recognised him from that dreadful night as the gentleman who knocked me down. As they dragged him, I looked intently at his arm; it had a heart-shaped tattoo with a cupid arrow; right through it.

Simply elated, I opened the prison door. Cindy run up and hugged me. I kissed her passionately for what seemed eternity.

A reporter drew closer to me and asked. “Sir, can you sum up how you are feeling in three words?”

“Three words? No, just one” I said as I gazed into the clear brown eyes of Cindy.

“Freedom!”

Author's Note

It's an old piece....supposed to border on the theme freedom.....do you think I have potentials?

Reviews

[Chris]

Tell your story the same way you would want to hear one. Dialogue needs to be as real as next door. You've told a story - it could be better told, make it real for the reader - he/she doesn't have to turn the page to continue unless they want to.

[Rhema Glover]

Thanks Chris! Noted!