THE LACONIC
FALL 2024
STUDENT “BEST OF” SHORT STORY CONTEST
WINNER
Selected by the staff and editors of The Laconic
MICHAEL ALBANESE
The Numbers
People come in with some strange requests now and then but mostly it’s pretty regular. A lot of children’s names with a birthdate. Some matching sweetheart tattoos. A lot of touch-up work.
But the one I’ll never forget was this dude that came in a couple summers ago. This straight-edge type suburban dude. In a suit, like he just came from the office. He looked nervous as hell about something, pacing around and sweating. At first, I thought he was sick or having some kind of freak-out or something.
He hands me this scrap of paper with a bunch of numbers scribbled on it and asks me, can I do this? I say, sure, and ask him what kind of font he wants, but he looks at me like he doesn’t know what the heck I’m talking about.
“Oh,” he says. “Doesn’t matter. Whatever’s easy.”
Strange, but, you know, none of my business as long as his money’s green. So, he follows me back and I start setting up and ask him where he wants it. And again, there’s that look like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“Oh. How about here?” he says, pointing to his upper arm.
So, he rolls up his sleeve and gets in the chair and I get to work. And he’s just staring at the ceiling as I do my thing. Doesn’t even flinch when I put the needle to him. So, just making conversation, I say, “These the winning numbers you got here, buddy?” And he all of a sudden snaps out of his trance. “What?” he says, sweating bullets again and staring at me like I’m a ghost. “No, no. Just a number I don’t want to forget.”
So, I says, “Ok,” and decide to just finish up the work. And it’s just a bunch of numbers so it doesn’t take me more than an hour or so to finish. And he pays cash which, you know, is fine with me and then he’s on his way without another word.
Except when he walks out and I can still see him through the glass, right out there on the sidewalk, he pulls that scrap of paper out and burns it. Just pulls out a cigarette lighter and burns it between his fingers and, like, flicks the ashes down and steps on them. Then just walks away up the street.
Funny thing is it was only a couple months later that the Powerball got up to, like, a hundred million and the guy who won it was from someplace real nearby. On the news he had his hand up over his face to block the camera like he didn’t want to be recognized. But hell if it wasn’t that very same guy that was in here that day acting all strange while I tattooed those numbers on him.
Weird, right?
Anyway. I’m just about done here. This is looking real nice, by the way. You said you’re paying cash, right?