Inked Caffeine

By Monique Duclos

I was just your typical Starbucks barista without an interesting bone in my body. I liked to keep my head down and do my best to cruise through life uninterrupted, although my bright red hair made it almost impossible. Things took an interesting turn when I met Jimmy, an artist from the tattoo parlour down the street. Living and working in Hollywood, California, I met a lot of intriguing characters, but no one as intriguing as him. He brought a new light to my life that I didn't know I had, let alone one that I needed.

My past wasn't a great one, but I got out and made a new life for myself. And now, it felt like my future was looking better with Jimmy in it. I felt like life was finally worth living, until... everywhere you looked, something was on fire. The screaming was enough to make you go deaf and the scent of blood made you gag. My body was screaming in pain and I couldn't stop choking on all the smoke in the air. My lungs felt tight, and when I looked up, I couldn't decide if it was snowing or raining ashes. People were firing guns chaotically and I had never run so fast in my entire life. Jimmy jumped up to the roof of a parked car and I was quick to follow, bending over to catch my breath.

"Now where?" I panted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Aug 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228854166

Book preview

Inked Caffeine

Monique Duclos

Inked Caffeine

Copyright © 2021 by Monique Duclos

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-5417-3 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-5418-0 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-5416-6 (eBook)

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

It is only a matter of time. I wasn’t expecting to go quite like this, but I guess being tortured makes the most sense. As I slowly spun in circles upside down, I stared down at my blood in the sand. So much was pouring from all my new wounds that the sand had stopped absorbing, and instead, the blood was puddling on the surface. There was nothing I could do but hang here, and no matter how many times I ran the options through my mind, the likelihood of me getting out of this was thin. The options didn’t look very good. And even though there were three of them sitting there, watching me twirl and occasionally spit the blood out of my filling mouth, I was alone. I was alone, and nobody knew where I was. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know how to get here. Trying to glance at my feet, my cheeks were too swollen and I could only just make out the chain wrapped around my ankles. Closing my swollen eyes, I thought back to my apartment and how life was easier back then. But that’s always the case, isn’t it? You always think back to the beginning when it’s the end. And this was most definitely the end. I was just waiting for my body to lose enough blood so that I could pass out. At least if I was unconscious, I wouldn’t feel any more pain.

Opening my swollen eyes once more, I whimpered and almost sighed as I watched one of them walk toward me. He had an array of tools all spread out in front of him; he had been using most of them on me all night.

Ple—please, I croaked, spitting blood off to the side.

I wasn’t sure why I kept pleading. I knew he wasn’t going to stop, but it was worth a try. Maybe it is just human nature to beg for your life in times like these. This time, he had a nail gun in his hand, and I did my best to flail in the chains to get away, but it was no good. There was nowhere I could go. My hands cuffed uncomfortably behind my back, I simply swung back and forth.

Oh, just fucking stop it, would’ya? he snapped, grabbing my shoulder and holding me still.

Pressing the gun against my side, he pressed firmly against the trigger and shot into my skin. My screaming echoed throughout the skeleton building but only until I started coughing and choking on my own blood. This is it.

Chapter 1

June 2016

Hollywood

Los Angeles, California

The city was quite disgusting in the summertime. The air got thick with heat and the smog made it hard to breathe. Thankfully, I worked indoors fulltime and got to hide away in an air-conditioned building.

Y’know, I have to ask . . . and I know you probably get this a lot . . . an older woman said as she rummaged through her purse for her money. Is that your natural hair colour? she asked, sliding a ten-dollar bill on the counter.

I forced a laugh, opening the cash register and picking out her change. Yes, I smiled, handing her the proper amount.

Her eyes widened. Wow! That’s incredible! So . . . vibrant! she laughed, placing her change back in her purse.

Turning my back to her, I quickly made her coffee, added a smiley face beside her name on the cup, then handed it over across the counter.

Have a good day, I smiled.

You as well! Thank you, she smiled back, slowly turning around and leaving.

I stood by until she walked out, then sighed, shoulders sinking. Walking back into the kitchen, Angela, the store manager, was sitting down outside with the fire exit door open, smoking a cigarette.

Was that Gloria? she asked, smoke coming out of her nose as she spoke.

I nodded, rubbing my face with my hands.

What a nutbag, she added, laughing and shaking her head.

Gloria was one of our recurring customers. She was in her late eighties; a short, plump old lady who had short term memory loss. She always ordered a tall decaf with cream and had the same comment on my hair every single day; her polite blue eyes gawking in awe. At first, it was annoying. When I first met her, I thought it was some sort of joke. Then I found out that it was an actual medical illness and it instantly stopped pissing me off. I was used to it now. My hair is a vibrant crimson red and it was not only Gloria who asked me if it was my natural colour or not; I got asked daily.

It was from my mom’s gene pool since my dad’s hair was blonde. But nobody knew that because nobody knew my parents. I never talked about them. I hadn’t seen them since I moved out, but that didn’t really phase me since I didn’t really get along with them when I was living at home. I always preferred to be left alone anyway. Plus, they had my older brother, Aaron, to obsess over. He was a spitting image of my dad, personality and all. He succeeded in school and was on his way to get his law degree.

I never applied for secondary education because of the turn my life took. I never had time, let alone the money. I moved out in the middle of grade twelve and found a cheap little apartment in Hollywood. It was nothing special, but it was home. Working at Starbucks wasn’t so bad either. At first, it was just something to keep me busy during the summer, but once I graduated high school, I stayed and I’d been here for six years now. Sad, I know, but it helped pay the bills.

Hey, so I gotta leave to go pick up Jason from school. You good to shut this place down? Angela asked, tossing her cigarette and stepping on it.

I nodded. Yeah, no problem.

Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thanks, Dallas! she smiled, grabbing her purse and kicking the door closed behind her.

I sighed and sat down, resting my chin in the palm of my hand. Closing time was just around the corner, so I started cleaning tabletops, tucking in chairs and began to clean all the machines. I removed the remaining food from their displays and packed them away in a take-out box for the group of homeless people I passed every day on my walk home. Nine o’clock came around and the final customer left. After I told them to have a good night, I cleaned their table, tucked their chair in and then started flicking off lights. Yawning, I walked into the kitchen to lock the back door and then grabbed my keys, walked out the front door and locked it behind me.

I worked at the corner of Vine Street and Melrose Avenue. Starbucks was on Vine and my apartment was just up the street, so I didn’t have that far of a walk. Five minutes max. I wasn’t that far from Santa Monica Boulevard and with the constant volume of tourists, my area was actually pretty safe to be around. Although, looking at the outside of my apartment, you’d think otherwise. It was nothing fancy, and the elevator didn’t work, but it got the job done. And I mean, sometimes the building would lose hot water and I would have to hold off showering for a few days, but I guess you get what you pay for, and I didn’t have a lot to pay with. It took a while to ignore the constant echoing of sirens from further into the city and the never-ending honking from the depths of traffic on the interstate, but other than that, it was a soothing place to be at night.

Ey, Dallas! a man greeted.

Smiling as I approached him, I stopped outside of a pharmacy’s parking lot that he called home and sighed, staring at the newest tarp addition to his tent.

Hey, Rufus. I thought you were going to one of the shelters I told you about? I asked.

He laughed awkwardly and shook his head, sitting cross-legged on a flattened piece of cardboard.

Nah. Can’t be bothered. I’ve been livin’ here for months. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, he explained.

Rolling my eyes, I continued to smile. There was something wrong. He sat in his own urine daily and he smelt awful. I’m not sure when he last bathed.

It’s June and it’s only going to get hotter, I mumbled.

That’s fine! I’ll sweat off all my fat! he laughed.

I forced a laugh and rolled my eyes once more. He didn’t have any fat to spare.

Oh well. Where’s everyone else? I asked.

Normally, there were other people here.

He shrugged. Ditched me for the 7-Eleven on Highland, he explained.

I frowned. Well, sucks to be them, I said, handing over the take-out box of cookies and muffins. Rufus took it gladly and started laughing.

Sucks to be them! he repeated, opening the box and shoving a muffin in his mouth in its entirety. Thank you very much! he grinned, crumbs falling out as he spoke.

I laughed. My pleasure. Have a good night, Rufus, I said, continuing my walk to my apartment.

Rufus was a nice guy. Like he said, he’d been ‘living’ outside of the same pharmacy for months now. I wasn’t sure about his story or his situation, but he was perfectly content with where he was. I had been giving him Starbucks leftovers for as long as I’d known him.

Finally getting to my floor, I unlocked my front door and was greeted by my little grey kitten, Poppy.

Hi, cuteness, I smiled, tossing my keys on the kitchen counter and bending down to scratch the top of her head.

She was already purring. I had found her one night on my walk home from work. She had been placed in a cardboard box in an alleyway and I was pretty quick to claim her as my own.

Want some dinner? I asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a new can of wet cat food. She was meowing and weaving in between my legs as I opened the can. I plopped the meat in her bowl, then poured myself a quick bowl of cereal. It wasn’t late, but I was tired and knew I had to open shop in the morning. I quickly ate my Cheerios in front of the TV before heading off to bed.

Every day was kind of the same at Starbucks. We had a lot of the same recurring customers and the odd random that came in, but overall, it was just the same boring, fake smiling shit. I made fresh food every morning for the display up front and brewed almost five fresh pots of coffee, all before opening. I turned on all the machines so they could warm up, and then Angela walked in the back door, yawning.

Morning! I called out from up front.

Yup . . . she mumbled, dropping her purse and walking out to meet me. How was your night? she asked, leaning against the counter and rubbing her tired eyes.

It was fine. Nothing special, I mumbled.

"Jason had another detention yesterday . . . she said in a very monotone voice. The principal is talking about enrolling him in summer school," she sighed.

I frowned, walking around her to the front door and flicking on the neon open sign.

What’s up with him? What’s he doing? I asked, walking back and sitting down in the kitchen.

She followed. He’s being bullied by a bunch of other kids, so he gets physical. He punched this other kid in the stomach . . . she explained, opening the fire exit door and lighting a cigarette. I dunno. I don’t know what I’m going to do with him, she added.

Just then, we both got distracted by the bell going off at the front door and we both exchanged looks.

Wow. Someone’s early, I said, laughing a bit, then standing to go greet them.

We’d only been open for a minute or two.

He looked my age, maybe a bit older, and had black messy hair. His shirt was black, his pants were black with holes in them, and he was wearing black and white converse. Both of his arms were covered in tattoos, as well as his hands and even one side of his neck. He also had a nose ring on the right side, and his left eyebrow was pierced. I was never one to judge a book by its cover because I’ve been judged my whole life because of my hair, but I was still intimidated. I arched a brow, staring at his tattooed body up and down, then made eye contact and forced a smile.

Good morning, I greeted. What can I get you?

Jesus Christ, lookit that hair! he laughed. Just a black coffee, please.

Of course, I thought to myself. A new victim of my hair. That was the most obnoxious reaction ever, so I smiled and tried my best not to roll my eyes.

Heh, yeah. I get that a lot. What size did you want?

Uh, I dunno. I’ll have a large? he said as a question and I huffed.

I could feel Angela watching us from the kitchen. I pressed the necessary buttons on the register, but just as I was about to tell him the amount he owed, he slapped the exact amount down on the counter. I stared at the money and blinked, a little shocked at how fast he was. This seemed like his first time ordering coffee . . . ever. Taking the money and placing it in the register, I grabbed my marker and smiled back at him.

Name? I asked and he frowned, looking around at the empty room. Instantly feeling like a fool, I ducked my head and laughed. Sorry. Force of habit. I realize there’s nobody else here, I quickly added.

He laughed. It’s Jim— he mumbled, suddenly looking embarrassed and cutting himself off.

Jim? I repeated, grabbing his cup and popping the lid off the marker.

James! he added, and it made me jump.

Having already written down the letter J, I glanced up at him and laughed.

James . . . I repeated, hesitant to add the A in case he changed his mind.

Jimmy. My name’s Jimmy. Nobody calls me James, he said, suddenly sighing loudly.

I huffed and glanced down at his cup, deciding to write Jimmy James. Turning my back to him, I made his boring black coffee, then turned back around to hand it to him over the counter.

Here’ya go, Jimmy James, I laughed.

He stared at the name and threw his head back laughing.

No . . . not what I meant. But I’ll take it, he laughed.

Leaning back against the counter behind me, I stared at his hand holding his cup and saw that he had a word tattooed across his knuckles. I tried tilting my head to the side to see what it said, but he had already taken a step back to leave.

Cheers, he said, raising the coffee up, then grabbing a handful of sugar packets.

My eyes widened and I had to hold back my laughter.

Ha! D’you want some coffee with your sugar? I asked.

He shoved the packets of sugar in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders, smiling.

Not sure what I’m in the mood for yet. Have a good day! he cheered, then left.

I watched him walk down the street past the windows to my left and quickly looked away when he stared back. Heading back into the kitchen, I shoved my thumb over my shoulder and frowned.

Did you see how many sugars he took? I asked Angie, and she nodded with a laugh.

The lunch rush came, then ended just as quickly, and suddenly Angie and I were head over heels with dishes.

I’m surprised that guy actually came in, she said, breaking our silence.

I looked at her as I was drying a group of spoons by hand since the two dishwashers were full.

Who? I asked.

That guy. This morning, she said.

Oh, we’re back to talking about that, I laughed, why do you say that?

Because. I always see him standing at the door or by the windows, staring inside. But then he always walks away. I think he works at the tattoo parlour at the end of the street . . .

That would make sense. Did you see his arms? They’re both covered! But that’s kinda creepy, no? He just stands outside and stares?

Yeah, like he’s not totally sure if he wants to come in or not.

We both started laughing.

He’s probably like . . . a serial killer or something . . .

It’s okay. You were polite and made him a coffee. He won’t kill you, Angie said, smiling.

I rolled my eyes. But did you see how many packets of sugar he took? Like, why bother ordering a black coffee?

"Well, he probably doesn’t want to order a quintuple coffee . . . I know I’d be embarrassed," she laughed.

I snorted and shook my head. So strange . . .

For the past week, the mysterious sugar addict came in at the same time every morning and would always order his large black coffee and then grab a handful of sugar packets before leaving. He also always had exact change. I eventually got used to this routine, as I did with every regular customer, and thought it would be funny if I had the coffee ready and made before he even walked through the door. The cup always read ‘Jimmy James.’ Friday, he walked in three minutes after six, like he did every day, and I had his large black placed on the counter and a little pile of sugar packets placed beside it in a little pyramid. I stayed hidden in the kitchen. He walked in and slowed down, staring at his coffee and arched his brow. Leaning over the counter, he tried to look back into the kitchen and sighed.

Oi! Firehead! he called out.

I was originally smiling, but frowned at the nickname and walked out. Firehead? Really? I asked, standing across from him behind the counter and crossing my arms.

He smirked and shrugged. Got your attention.

"Anything would have gotten my attention. I work here," I stated, narrowing my eyes at him and smiling.

He did the same in return, then looked down at the sugar pyramid and laughed.

Har har, he said, placing the change on the counter.

I was grinning and took the money, placing it in the register.

"I know, I’m hilarious. But seriously, dude. Try something new for once! Have you even looked at our menu?" I asked.

I heard Angie walk in from the back and could see her face appear in my peripheral but chose to ignore her.

Not really . . . I mean, I don’t want to waste money on something that’s going to be too sugary and disgusting, he mumbled, shoving the sugar in his pocket and taking his coffee.

I snorted. "Yeah, because you hate sugar!"

He narrowed his eyes, still smirking. Right. So, you stalking me or something? You know how many sugars I take now? he asked.

I was still smiling. Well, you’ve come in every single day this week at the exact same time and have ordered the exact same thing . . . so yeah, I took note. I mean, I don’t know if I got the sugar amount right. Somewhere between four and eight, I smirked and he started laughing. Aren’t you glad, though? Lookit this VIP service! I grinned, throwing my arms in the air enthusiastically.

He huffed, slowly taking a few steps backwards. Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll order something completely random and throw you off, he said.

I raised my brows and laughed. Alright then. You do that, and I’ll see you tomorrow at 6:03 a.m.

Dude, seriously? he laughed, opening the door and walking out.

YOU CALLED ME FIREHEAD! I yelled in return.

I watched him laugh and walk off, shaking his head as he passed the windows. Suddenly, I was being shaken. I turned around and grabbed Angie’s hands off my shoulders and squeezed her palms.

What, whaaaat?! I yelled.

"You made him laugh!" she yelled back, laughing herself.

I dropped her hands and walked into the kitchen.

Heh, yeah. I did. And you know how I did it? I asked.

She stared at me, genuinely curious. How?!

"I was nice! You should try it sometime!" Then I started laughing.

Her shoulders sank and she sighed. Shut up . . . she mumbled, nudging me then going back to baking muffins.

Angela Bryce was a good friend of mine. She was thirty years old with brown hair that was usually tied up in a ponytail and dark brown eyes. She only came off as intimidating because she was a small, bitter, single mom, and if it wasn’t for all the smoking, she’d probably be happier and less stressed. But once you got to know her, like I did, she was actually a lot of fun. Her son Jason definitely kept her on her toes, though. She worked and managed this Starbucks and occasionally worked at a department store in a different part of town. She had helped me out more times than I could count and was there for me the second I decided to run away from home.

We also had a part-time worker named Tiffany, but she was an ignorant seventeen-year-old who thought she was the shit and sat around obnoxiously chewing bubble gum. Very stereotypical. She had somewhat of a Valley girl accent when she spoke, usually wore her dirty blonde hair in a huge bun loosely tied on the top of her head, and her acrylic nails were trimmed to an unbelievable length. Her work schedule was all over the place, but we could always use as many helping hands as possible, even if she brought her shitty attitude with her. Either way, she had a relatively good work ethic, and Ang and I couldn’t run this place without her. It was just the three of us, and we were a tiny dysfunctional family. I loved it.

Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up earlier than normal. It was too early for anything good to be on TV and my computer was too ancient to manage anything, so I decided it wouldn’t hurt to open shop a little earlier than normal. I showered and got dressed, fed Poppy and then slowly made my way to work. The sun hadn’t even thought about rising yet, and Rufus was hidden away in his tent when I passed him. Getting to the shop, I decided to keep things closed until everything was ready for business. Flicking on the lights and turning all the coffee machines on, I walked back into the kitchen to begin baking. Sliding everything into the oven, I walked back out to the front and sat up on the counter with my legs hanging off the edge, sighing. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the remote for the radio from underneath the counter and turned on some music. There was nothing to do now but wait.

Just then, there was a knock on the front windows and it made me jump. I looked up and saw the strange sugar addict, only this time, he was in workout clothes instead of his usual all black attire. Hopping off the counter, I walked over and unlocked the front door.

Hey . . . you’re here . . . early, I mumbled suspiciously, popping my head outside and looking both ways as if this was some sort of prank.

He arched a brow and leaned back out of my way, looking to his left and right as well.

Yeah . . . what are you looking at? he asked.

Nothing, I mumbled, taking a step back. So, what’s up? Why are you here so early? It’s not even 6:00 a.m. yet . . . I stated.

He shrugged. I don’t work today and was going for a run. Saw the lights on, so I figured I’d come get my morning coffee. Plus, I threw you off, didn’t I? he asked, smirking a little bit.

I started laughing. "Yep. Y’did. Especially because I’m normally not here this early . . ."

Can I be here this early? Is that allowed? he asked.

I shrugged, turning and walking away and going back behind the counter, grabbing the remote to the radio and turning the music down a little bit.

Sure, I don’t care. I don’t open for another half hour anyways . . .

He stayed at the front door, standing awkwardly, and I laughed.

C’moooon in, I added, gesturing to the empty chairs before disappearing back into the kitchen to check on the muffins.

They still had a few minutes. Walking back out, I stood behind the counter and stared at him as he approached the counter. Today, he was wearing a dark grey sleeveless shirt which really emphasized how covered his arms were in tattoos, and knee-length shorts that showed how his entire left leg was covered in tattoos as well. Stopping at the counter, I frowned when he stuck his hand out and smiled.

I’m Jimmy, he said.

I shook his hand, laughing a little bit at the thought of ‘Jimmy James.’

Dallas, I said, continuing to shake his hand.

He nodded. Nice to meet you, he smiled, and we were still shaking hands.

My face dropped and I cleared my throat, releasing my grip and taking a step back.

So. Venti black? I asked, turning and grabbing a cup.

Not today, he said, shaking his head.

I arched a brow, the corner of my lips turning into a smile.

I’m gonna try something different today . . . lemme try that caramel latte thing . . . he said, motioning to