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NICK
Bandit Heart Tattoo is on Lafayette and Prince a few blocks north of my old apartment on Leonard Street. As I walk there from the subway early Wednesday evening, scattered images from the past two years tumble through my mind. That two-bedroom hovel was the first place that I lived when I moved to New York. I shared it with a photographer and a woman that made beautiful sculptures out of found objects that she scavenged from trash cans in the neighborhood. For a brief moment, I consider circling back to look at the old building, but then decide that my mission to find Adam is more important than rekindling fragments from my early days in the city.
When I arrive at my destination, I peer through the glass door before stepping into the narrow space lit by crisscross strands of small while bulbs suspended from the ceiling. It feels more like a coffee shop or bar than a tattoo parlor, but then I realize the front half of the long room is devoted to a collection of comfortable old sofas and lounge chairs.
“Help you?” comes a voice from somewhere in the back.
“Um…I called an hour ago,” I say. “My name’s Nick. I talked to Riley.”
A heavyset bald guy with a gray beard slides into view through a pair of black velvet curtains behind the counter at the back of the waiting area.
“I’m Riley,” he announces. “You’re Nick?”
I cross the room, moving toward him as he shuffles some paperwork on the countertop.
“Yeah,” I say when I reach him. “I’m Nick. I was wondering if you know—”
“Adam,” he interrupts. “But I’m going to tell you the same thing that I did on the phone, man. I don’t divulge the identity of my clients.”
“But he told me that you did his sleeves,” I say. “He said that you’re the best in the city.”
Riley’s mouth slides to one side and then up into a big grin. “Lots of people say that.”
I suddenly realize that the wall behind him is covered with photographs of famous faces: actors, musicians, chefs, tech guys, NFL players, and a couple of politicians. It’s like a gallery of the people that I’ve seen on TMZ or read about on Page Six.
“Why are you trying to find this dude so bad?” asks Riley. “He can’t owe you money or anything like that.”
I smile. “No. It’s not about money.”
“He steal your girlfriend?”
I shake my head.
“Boyfriend?”
“No, but…” My eyebrows are furrowed now as I try to interpret the questions. “Is he into women, too?”
When Riley laughs in response to my whispered question, I feel my face getting pink.
“Oh, fuck it,” I say after an awkward moment or two. “This was a bad idea.”
I whirl around and start toward the door. How did I think that showing up in person would convince the guy to tell me Adam’s number or address?
“Yo,” he calls. “Not so fast.”
I stop and turn slowly. “What?”
“I’ve been there, man. I know how it hurts.”
I give him a blank stare. “Been where exactly?”
“Ah, c’mon. Don’t be a twat. I’ve been in that limbo where you connect with somebody and then can’t get in touch. But I’ve got policies about protecting my clients. No numbers, no addresses, no personal information. I might joke about shit like did he steal your girlfriend or whatever, but I’m not going to actually give you his contact info. It’s too dangerous these days. People do weird shit. Like, all the time, right?”
“I’m not that guy,” I say, adding a wide smile. “I’m not dangerous or weird.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I got that from your squeaky clean vibe and prep school getup.” He motions at my khakis and polo shirt. “But I’m still not giving you Adam’s number.”
“How about which part of the Village?” I ask.
Riley frowns. “Excuse me?”
“Adam told me that he lives in the West Village,” I answer. “I know that he’s an architect. And you did his sleeves. And he’s got a place at the beach.”
When I stop rambling, he comes over, puts one fleshy hand on my shoulder and clears his throat.
“Barrow Street,” he whispers.
I feel a flicker of excitement. Then I hear the door open and the glimmer of anticipation vanishes.
“Is that where he lives?” I ask.
Riley smiles. “Time to make the donuts,” he says, nodding at two women that are walking toward us. “But you should check it out, kid.”
“Barrow Street?”
He nods. “Good luck, dude. I’ll see you later on down the road.”