He learned his trade the hard way. Six and a half years in the state pen with nothing to do. No rehab no work no nothing. He wasn't a reader. Wasn't a thinker or he might have gone all the way crazy.
So all he had was his own body and ink from a ball point pen and a broken needle. He had no skill at first. It took years before he came up with anything he was proud of. His first effort, on the palm of his hand, was a small swastika. It wasn't even symmetrical. Ugliest thing he ever did.
By the time they let him out he was covered with some of the finest prison tat around.
Head of a suffering Christ with a barb wire crown on his left bicep that was true art, but it was his Harley Davidson made him famous. It was drawn from the point of view of something lying under the front wheel. People wanted one just like it.
He worked at a place called Rose Tattoo and he made a lot of money for a while. He did a fine crucifixion right down the back of a woman named Doris. She said it was Christ got her off drugs and she went to church four times a week. He fell in love with her.
When they closed the place down he ran out of money quick. He and Doris were living in his van.
Doris said the Lord will provide, but he took his sweet time.
One morning he woke up and sat for a moment stretching and rubbing his eyes. They were in a 711 parking lot.
``You want some coffee hon?''
Doris didn't answer. She was lying quite still staring at his Jesus tattoo, the faintly knowing smile, the starburst tear on his cheek.
``He spoke,'' she said.
``Who?''
``He!''
``What? This?'' he poked at his left bicep.
``He spoke. A number. 57632.''
``What the hell does that mean?''
``Maybe its a lottery number.''
They bought a ticket and won twenty seven dollars. At least they could eat something besides truck stop nachos.
A few days later the tattoo spoke to Doris again. This time they won two hundred dollars. She put it in the collection plate at church. All of it.
``Its my tattoo,'' he said, ``its my tattoo on my body so from now on I get half. You give your half to the church if you want, but I keep my half. OK?''
Doris didn't say.
Next time they won two hundred thousand on the tri state. He took his half and Doris walked away from him to try a new life.
After that he'd look hard at his tattoo every morning and listen very carefully.
He never heard a thing.