Kurt Vonnegut Tattoo Novels & Stories

she murmured. “Yeah?” “Why do you have, like... seven tattoos and none of them are food-related? You own a restaurant, Mr. Velluto Rosso. Where’s the little pasta noodle?” I grinned, “You want me to get a tattoo of spaghetti?” “Obviously. A single meatball with, like, storm clouds behind it.” I barked a laugh. “Or a fancy cursive quote. ‘Live. Laugh. Lasagna.’” “Oh my fucking God.”

And I was surprised to learn that he also had a tattoo, because no photo showed it. It was the head of a lion at the top of his forearm, whose design was of black and bluish tones, so that it stood out perfectly on his Caucasian skin. Flynn said he still had plans to get more tattoos, but, like me, he had a formed and irreducible opinion about needles: A pain that could be avoided if it was not caused by a vaccine.

But the way Knives looked at me, you would think he just won the jackpot. “Sweetheart,” he groaned, his whiskey voice making me shiver in delight. “Your wish is my command...” He stood and, without hesitating, he took off his T-shirt. And for once, I didn’t look away, but instead, I took in everything he had to offer. His tattoos were gorgeous. Most of them were skulls, knives, and motorcycles, but I also liked the angles and the roses. They all melted together and perfectly led from one act to the next, telling the story of a boy who became an MC VP. And of course, the centerpiece was the snarling wolf and the moon, with the name of his club.

“I’m here for a tattoo.” He leaned back, arms folding across his broad chest. The motion made the fabric of his shirt strain. “You? A tattoo?” He laughed, low and cruel. “Let me guess. Tiny heart on your wrist? Or maybe a quote about ‘strength’ in some flowery script so everyone knows how deep you are.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the design. “Lower back. Crescent moon with vines. I have the reference.”

I’m starting to think I need medical intervention. “The tattoo’s almost done,” Knox says, giving me that knowing smile that means he can read every dirty thought crossing my face. “Want to see it?” I get up slowly, my legs still a little unsteady, and walk over to where he’s lying. When I’m close enough to see his back clearly, I stop short. Spread across the entire width of his back, rendered in bold black ink, is a large bunny. Complete with long ears and everything. This isn’t what I expected at all.

“You know what we can do?” He shook his head, “No Cathy, no.” She came closer and whispered something into his ear. He considered her idea for a moment but refused to show it. If there was any indication that he was interested, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. She had a knack for convincing people into doing things. Donovan sat in a tattoo parlor chair, his left hand extended. The tattoo artist carefully inked his father’s name, “Davis,” onto his skin. It was a symbolic gesture, a permanent reminder of the bond he shared with his father and the values he had instilled in him.

I sent a few to Venus although she hasn't responded yet. I looked across the room and smiled as I watched Jupiter wince in pain. The tattoo artist was inking his left arm and I'm assuming that the design was a lot bigger than the ones I have on my wrist. He refused to tell me what it is since it's supposed to be a surprise, as he said. Half an hour later, he waved at me and flashed a thumbs up, to let me know that the tattoo is done. I dropped the book and excitedly sauntered towards them so I can have a look on his little surprise.

“Yep, although it don’t seem like something you’d pick, cuz.” “It ain’t.” Colt grimaced. “This is what you get when you leave the choice in the hands of a smartass tattoo artist. Indy thought it’d be hilarious tattooin’ a horse on me when my name is Colt. That woman is seriously warped from havin’ so many holes pierced in her head.” His gruff attitude belied his oddly affectionate tone. “I’d love to have her design one for me one day when I can afford it. But you can be damn sure I ain’t gonna let her tattoo a car chassis on me.”

"Yeah, have it?" Skoteinó chuckled and removed his white smiley mask that revealed the tattoos on his face. The tattoo that attracts Raverine the most is the official insignia of Die Dark — a smiling skull with a bloody fang. The tattoos were all over his dark-toned face. He also had piercings on his nose and lip — a typical look of an outlaw.

I was thankful for the mask protecting my identity. “I asked if you had any tattoos?” She repeated. “Yes,” Her gaze darted to me. “Can you recommend a tattoo artist?” “You're staring at him,” I said with a smirk, though she couldn't see with the mask covering my face. “You do your own tattoos?” Her surprise had me smiling and I nodded. There were a lot of things I could do, and tattoos were the least impressive of them. Most of the tattoos Dimitri and Lorenzo had were done by me when we were still living on the streets in Kansas after our father ordered his right-hand man to have us killed.