As Ignatius put the key into the lock, the door swung open with no effort from himself. He knew it had been locked before he left. "Not a good sign," he muttered under his breath. Last time that had happened he'd ended up in hospital for a two days recovering from a beating he'd received from an unknown gang of men. Ignatius still didn't know what that was about but it had made him wary yet not scared. Just ready for anything. He stood still and assessed the situation.
Ignatius fisted the key ready to fight whoever came at him. The shop was not in a pleasant area of town. Tattoo parlors rarely ever were. Other then the odd yuppy looking for a thrill by doing something forbidden, most of his clientele had lived life and had no delusions or pretensions about it. Ink to them was a way of life. It meant something. It distinguished them as different from other people.
Ignatius scanned the store. Nothing looked different. He sniffed the air. Perfume. Thick, rich and sexy. His last female client had been Paula. Perfume didn't last that long. "Come out and I won't hurt you."
"How do I know that?" responded a female voice.
"I don't hurt women." Ignatius looked toward where the sound was coming from. Whoever she was she was hiding behind the front counter.
"How do I know that?" she repeated.
Good point. She didn't. "You don't." But he did. Ignatius would never touch a woman in anger. "You can't hide all night. I know you're behind the counter."
"What do you plan to do?"
"Depends what I find." Ignatius was streetwise enough to know if this was a working girl off the street trying to avoid her pimp, she would no doubt be armed with some weapon to fend off her handler and any other amorous client.
"I could easily kick your ass."
That made Ignatius laugh. He was six foot four and muscle-bound. If she was seven foot tall and built like a brick shithouse than maybe she could. But then people with muscles rarely wore perfume. "How do you figure that?"
"I have powers."
"Oh yeah, what sort?"
"Heavenly."