View From The Top.....
Chapter Thirteen: The Tattoo
How to Write: Hints on Writing
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter 4-6
Chapter Five
The Studio
Chapter Eight: The Recruit
Chapter Nine: The Letter
Chapter Ten: The Stalker
Chapter Eleven: Karina
Chapter Twelve: Madeline
Chapter Thirteen: The Tattoo
Chapter Fourteen: David
Chapter Fifteen: The First Concert
Chapter Sixteen: Margaret
Chapter Seventeen: Murder Strikes
Chapter Eighteen: Vietnam
Chapter Nineteen: Serina's Party
Chapter Twenty: Norm
Angels in the world
Chapter 22 : The Fall
Chapter Six

Chapter Thirteen: The Tattoo 


Bikies love tattoos and one thing that Flick, their leader had made sure of when he was getting tattoed, was that his tattoos were not too obvious and not too easy to remember, because he did not want to be identified by his tattoos if one day he ceased his business, where his body needed identifying. He was thoughtful like that.

Finding that falling chick at his feet had been a bonus he couldn't believe possible. His group had been watching her movements for weeks now, waiting for the right time to crowd her for a bit of a laugh, before handing her over to that creep King Karl. He was really getting bad these days.

Then, when Flick was minding his own business, in his own time too, casually meeting with his cronies for a quick beer at 'The Guardian',  she falls out of the bleeding air, and lands almost on his feet.

That Dick got to her first, and he was standing there looking like a wet shirt in a wringer, when I shoved him out of the way and started calling for someone with a mobile to get an ambulance. I never carry a mobile when I am on what I call 'my own time'. Too easy to get found and given something to do.

It was then that I noticed the Mermaid entwined with the Eagle almost shining on her upper thigh. That was the design I had created for Rosie almost twenty years ago. What was it doing on the body of this woman???

My memory went on fast recall, and spun back like the fast find to Rosie, the girl of my dreams. We had fifteen years together before she hit the bucket, and died in front of my very eyes.

I remember it so well, that coot turning the corner in the black car, and me spinning sideways because of the oil slick on the road, the bike going over the curb and sailing up in the air like Evil Kenieval Himself doing a stunt, except it was me holding the handle bars with a concentrated grimace, as I am an expert rider, and could handle everything that bike threw at me. Behind me, Rosie sat, as she always did, looking and feeling part of the bike.

We rode the slick, and we rode the curb, but we couldn't ride the car spinning round and rebounding to land on us as we rode to safety, and Rosie was the one who was trashed under the Porsche. The bike catapulted upwards, and ground to a halt with the wheels still spinning, and I was thrown across over to the playground, and that was what saved me. I was draped over the T-Bar like a wet towel.

I looked for the bike, and there right in front of me, the bike, Rosie and the Porsche burst into flames. I bowed my head and said a prayer that my girl had ended her days in such a dramatic way, and as the sirens started to sound in the distance, decided it was time to make my way to obscurity, as there was a pretty good chance they would reckon I had died in the flames too, and I had some insurance to claim and collect from the gang.

I knew I had been set up, as the oil was far too much for a casual seep, and I also knew that it was me they were after not my girl. A surge of anger ripped my body into a deep ache, and I bent over and spewed my  guts into the sand before making my way over the fence and across the school.

No-one saw me leave, and no-one even turned around. The blast of the fire was far too strong, and the smell of burning flesh followed me back into the fire fighting days, when we had to pull many a half baked body out of the hot coals.

My stomach turned again and for a moment I thought I had gone soft, but this wasn't a body I was raking out of the coals, this was my Rosie, and I had to keep running, when I wanted to be weeping my heart out over where she lay burning.

Gasping and sobbing, and limping, as one foot was not working properly, I made my way across the football fields, and over to the back where I knew Skids had a hideout.

He wasn't home but I used the tap outside to wash myself, and sat on the porch waiting for my next move.

It was only last weekend that we had got hitched, and instead of a wedding ring, we each had our special tattoo done on her thigh, and my hip, so we would be joined when we went riding.

Seeing this tattoo in the same place as Rosie's was not possible. We drew that tattoo together, and took it to the Tattoo artist on the day we wanted it done.

As the sirens started, I decided to leave, and looking again at the now very obvious tattoo, I took the action of the moment, to quietly slide away.

The Dick was still standing there wringing his hands. I was glad the ambulances were here to attend to her so we could get her later, and I lost myself in the crowd.




Read Chapter Fourteen: David

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