Chapter 4: Art School Tricks

4

Everyone in the room moved at once. Old Hank and I tried to make a run for the door, but we were pinned to the ground. Deadman Quinn swaggered over, picked up the scissors from the floor, and tapped each of my fingers. “If I say cut one, you cut one. Which one? Have you decided?”

Rough hands twisted my arms behind my back, my cheek pressed to the carpet, the smell of old beer and dust filling my nose. I heard Hank cursing and pleading somewhere above me.

My arms were twisted behind my back, my face pressed to the carpet—I couldn’t move. Old Hank was also pinned down, shouting, “Mr. Quinn, please let him go, he’s just a kid. If you cut off his finger, he’s finished—he’s a college grad!”

His voice cracked with real fear. Suddenly, my degree felt useless—paper thin against this.

“College grad? Hahaha…” Deadman Quinn laughed exaggeratedly. “Oh, I’m so scared, I’m most afraid of college grads… Enough nonsense. Have you decided? No? Fine, I’ll choose for you. So you can still hold a fork, I’ll cut your pinky. See how kind I am.”

He cackled, his face inches from mine, the reek of cigarettes and sweat overwhelming.

Deadman Quinn straightened my pinky, pressed the cold scissors to it, and I felt a stabbing pain even before he started. In desperation, I shouted, “Mr. Quinn, your tattoo is wrong!”

It was a desperate Hail Mary. Anything to buy a second more.

Deadman Quinn paused. “What?”

His grip loosened just a hair. I seized the chance.

I was talking fast, desperate. Please let this work. Please. “The tattoo on your arm is an archangel from a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. It’s supposed to be binding sinners and sending them to hell. So he shouldn’t be holding a steel club, but a chain.”

My words tumbled out, shaky but insistent. I clung to the one thing I knew: art trivia. A college education had to be good for something, right?

Deadman Quinn looked at me, then at his tattoo. “You’re saying he’s holding the wrong thing?”

He looked suspicious, but curious enough to pause.

“Yes, it’s wrong. You can check if you don’t believe me.”

My voice steadied. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me.

“Bobby, look it up online. Bosch’s… what painting?”

He barked the order, and Bobby started typing, fingers clattering on the keyboard.

I called out, “The Last Judgment.”

I tried to project calm, but my heart was pounding so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.

“Right, The Last Judgment. Hurry up and check, see what’s up.” He looked at me again. “Let me tell you, if you’re lying to me, I’ll cut your pinky too.”

The room was dead silent except for the hum of the computer fan.

Bobby searched on the computer for a while, then shouted, “Mr. Quinn, found it! Look, just like your tattoo… Hey, he really is holding a chain.”

A low murmur went up around the room. I felt the pressure on my arms ease.

Old Hank and I were let go, and we exchanged a glance, both still shaken.

We scrambled to our feet, relief and terror mixing in equal measure.

Deadman Quinn looked at the computer screen, then at his tattoo, studied it for a while, then suddenly slapped the table and cursed, “Damn, cheap work. I knew tattooing a stick was easier than a chain. Now I’m going to be embarrassed.”

His voice was full of a weird, wounded pride.

I said, “Mr. Quinn, if you don’t say anything, no one will know.”

I tried to sound reassuring, keeping my voice as even as possible.

“How do you know?”

He eyed me, still suspicious.

“I majored in art—fine arts at college.”

My hands were still shaking, but I managed a half-smile.

“Oh, really a college grad.”

He grunted, grudgingly impressed.

Old Hank laughed, “Yes, Mr. Quinn, I told you, he’s a real talent in our company.”

Hank’s voice was higher than usual, nervous energy spilling over.

“Damn, ran into a scholar. Forget it, I’ll let you go today. I’ll have to get this tattoo fixed, or I’ll be a laughingstock.” He nodded at Bobby. “Go check the back room, see if there’s a wallet with a pendant.”

He flicked his hand in dismissal, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.