Mr.Big Shot // Rio (Good Girls)

Chapter Two: Downright Criminal

Alexa clicked her fingers in tune to the radio, ignoring the prickling on her collarbone. Her eyes were glued to the TV, the remote dangled in her palm as she switched through channels until a riveting documentary on volcanos gave her the boredom to almost fall asleep.

my baby takes the morning train,

he works from nine to five and then

He takes another home again,

"We got an ETA?" She asked casually to the tattoo artist poised over her shoulder. A mirror lay against the wall, and her eyes trailed down the reflection, a smile quirked on her lips. "This is so badass," she whispered.

"Just workin' on a few more finishin' touches, honey." A thick southern accent laced through the sugar-sweet tone of the artist before her, heavily inked hands gently maneuvering the pen with precision Alexa had grown to admire. "You'll be outta here in no time, although you already know that. Not your first rodeo, huh?"

Alexa barely shook her head, hair sprawled behind her reclined head. "Nope." It certainly wasn't. Rio's voice echoed the same words of the artist. Not your fist radio, huh, sweetheart? "My friend has a few already, but her sister will freak when she sees it."

The artist nodded empathetically. "Aw, yeah. They be like that sometimes, don't they?" She brushed away excess ink in a final swish, the cloth soft but still feeling abrasive against the new tattoo- a python, curling around her collarbone in a 3D-like perspective. "This mean anything to you?"

She bit her lip. "It's a new chapter for me. And I do love beginnings," she said simply, dangling her legs over the edge of the chair and stretching. "Thanks again- This is amazing."

"Anything for a friend- of a friend, of a friend," the artist chuckled. "You have a good group, that's all I can see. Martha pra'tically demanded I do this- you two sound close."

"We- uh," Alexa brushed her fingers against the back of her neck, straining awkwardly. "We were. Are. It's complicated- she's a good artist, is all."

The artist stared blankly, then turned to conceal a smirk as they gathered the used supplies around them. "I bet," she snickered. "Well if there's anything I can do, just give me a call, 'kay? Anything for ol' Martha's companion."

"Ha, yeah." She plopped to her feet, shooting finger guns and a funny face to herself in the mirror as she exited to the lobby. She jumped as she was, well, jumped by her redheaded friend.

"Why are you at a tattoo parlor?" Beth's voice was scarily calm, a precarious curiosity in it. Alexa guiltily glanced up at the ceiling, stalling. This only made Beth gasp. "What is that?"

"Uhm- a tattoo."

"No, I see the snake- a bit dramatic for a kid with a Mickey Mouse bracelet. What's on your neck?" She stepped forward, prying her jaw up.

Alexa grinned sheepishly. Curling under her chin, hidden in the soft skin above her neck, was a monarch butterfly, papery wings tickling her jaw. "Just something I got in Florida. It doesn't matter."

"I severely doubt that, young lady." Beth dragged her out of the parlor, a bell announcing their exit. Alexa feebly protested, groaning as Beth shoved her into the back seat of her car.

"I'm 31, not 7! I'm not 'young lady' to anyone other than that hot barista- is he still at that Starbucks? We should totally go!" Beth turned, claws grasping the back of her headrest.

"Shush. We're going home. And you're going to explain whatever the hell you meant when you texted at midnight that we have a 'job'. Okay?" She didn't wait for an answer, not that Alexa would have answered. Beth didn't seem to understand the nuances of rhetorical questions but used them practically with every accusation.