Showcase: The Tattooed Man
Times Past, 1982
Love Inks
by Martin Maenza
The small city of Iryna on the western coast of Greece primarily supported itself by the shipping trade. Items like olive oil and cotton left the docks daily, bound for the larger cities and the world beyond the Mediterranean Sea.
For the men who worked along the docks, it was hard but honest labor. One man in particular, an American dressed in dark slacks and a light blue shirt, found the work invigorating or at the very least different from what he’d been doing prior to this. For him, it was chance to start over in a new place, with people who knew of his past only what he told them. A chance to start fresh again.
The day’s sun was at its pinnacle, and the temperature was rising. The American man ceased his hauling of a large crate, set it down on one side, and rolled up his sleeves. First, the right, then the left. Beneath the shirt’s material was an assortment of tattoos of all kinds. Traditional weapons like axes, knives, guns, and maces adorned his arms. Interspersed between those were nautical items like ropes, anchors and chains as well as other odd images. Abel Tarrant certainly lived up to his more infamous moniker of the Tattooed Man.
As he rested for a moment, he looked out to the boat slips down the way. There he noticed a gorgeous young woman with long dark hair wearing a sharply cut two piece bikini. She had just been helped into an expensive looking speed boat by a young man with wavy brown hair. The young man laughed at the beauty’s words. The engine on the boat started, and the boat sped out into the waters of the sea.
Abel felt a slight twinge of jealousy. “Must be nice to be young, rich and carefree,” he said to himself. “Nothing but smooth sailing ahead of you.” He shook his head in slight disgust, hoisted back the dolly and continued to move the crate towards the ship’s gang plank.
***
After finishing his day of work, Abel Tarrant took a stool at the bar in the nearby taverna. Since his rented room was sparsely decorated, this was the one place where he could view a bit of television. He hadn’t picked up a lot of Greek conversation yet, but he found that he could at least get some comfort from the pictures on the screen. It helped him pass the time while he enjoyed his beer.
On the screen, the cable news channel just started a story that gave the man some amusement. “Well, well,” he said to himself, “it looks to me like another of Scudder’s schemes crashed upon the rocks.” The news showed shots from San Francisco, Hong Kong, and Sydney — the three cities where members of the Injustice Gang had been defeated by the Teen Titans and Superman. The villains were in handcuffs. “I’m so glad I chose to miss the boat on that one. Every time I got mixed up with that group over the years, its always ended up with us in the brig.” He took a long, satisfying drink from his beer bottle. “No more of that. From now on, I’m on a one-man voyage.”
He watched the news a few moments more, then boredom set in. He spun a half turn on his stool to see what the rest of the room was doing. Just at that moment, a tall young woman with long dark hair entered the dockside bar. “Well, ahoy there, cutie,” he said to himself. She wore a white halter top with a wrap around skirt. Both complemented her smooth olive skin. “Where have I seen you before?”
The young woman looked around the room and walked over to some of men playing pool. She began to speak to them in Greek.
Abel nodded his head negatively. “So much for me sweet talking that beauty,” he said turning back to the bar. “What a shame, too. That’s one vessel I’d certainly want to board.” He tapped his empty bottle on the bar to get the bartender’s attention. When the man finally came over and acknowledge the tapping, Abel said, “I’ll have another of these.” He jiggled the empty bottle.
A long tapered hand with polished nails gently grabbed his hand, putting the bottle back to the bar. Abel turned and saw it was the young woman he had been eyeing only moments ago. She looked the man in the eyes, smiled, and spoke to the bartender in Greek. The bartender nodded, fetched a bottle from behind the counter and two glasses. He poured a clear liquid into them and placed the glasses before the woman.
The woman smiled at Abel again, slid one of the glasses in front of him and said in English, “Perhaps you should try one of the local customs, yes?” She took her finger and gently traced one of the tattoos on his arm.
For the first time in ages, Abel felt totally relaxed. It felt good to talk to someone new and not just about shipping or work. It helped a lot that the woman was incredibly gorgeous, too. “I was in the navy for awhile when I was younger, traveled to various ports of call,” he said. “After that, I moved around a lot, doing jobs here and there.”
What he said was pretty much the truth. He only left out the details that the ‘jobs’ had been robberies and other schemes as the infamous Tattooed Man. No sense in torpedoing his chances with the woman due to his past activities.
The young woman stared at him intently with her warm, brown eyes. She hung on his every word, almost mesmerized. She took a good, long drink of what the bartender poured. “Is that where you got these?” she asked, once more stroking the pictures that adorned his right arm. “In the navy?”
The man blushed as he felt slight goose bumps. “No,” he stumbled. “These are all my own work. Do you like them?”
The woman smiled and nodded. “Ah, I had a feeling about you. Beneath the rugged exterior lies something deeper.” Abel’s eyes started to widen. “You have the soul of an artist.”
He relaxed. He had not touched his drink yet and was a bit thirsty from all the talking. He downed it quickly and almost regretted it. The liquid was very strong alcohol with a unique flavor. He made a weird sound with his throat before swallowing.
The woman giggled. “Ouzo has a taste that is acquired. Perhaps you will be around long enough to appreciate it.” She batted her long lashes at him; he wasn’t sure if the warmth he felt was from the drink or from the young woman’s flirtatious advances.
“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Lydia,” Abel Tarrant requested.
Lydia Anastasios smiled and began to speak. “Not much to tell really,” she said. “I am twenty years old and a student at the university. I have lived just outside of the city for most of my life, helping out on the family farm.”
“What do you plan to do after school?” he asked.
“I would like to get away from here, to see the world some,” she said without hesitation. “Perhaps even see America.” She glanced at his arm again. “Who knows? Perhaps I will even get a tattoo. Yours certainly fascinate me.”
The couple talked for a long time. Lydia seemed to genuinely enjoy Abel’s company. He most definitely had become smitten with her instantly.
Over the next week and half, the two spent their evenings together. She introduced him to the finer points of Greek cuisine and culture. He regaled her with tales from his past, with a bit of spin to them so as down play the illegal aspects of his history. They would take moonlit walks along the shore, and Lydia would spend the night at his rented room. Because she was on break from school, she stayed with him often. He had a spare key made for her, so that she could come and go as she pleased while he was working.
One afternoon, Abel got off from work and was walking down to the taverna to meet Lydia. As he approached the boating slips, he heard the sound of raised voices arguing in Greek. One voice in particular he recognized very quickly.
A young man with wavy brown hair wearing a crisply pressed shirt and shorts was gesturing at Lydia. To whatever he was saying, she shook her head no. The man slapped her on the cheek hard. “You bastard!” Abel exploded as he ran down the docks. While Lydia covered her face, the man hopped into his awaiting speed boat, gunned the engine and sped off out into the harbor.
Abel reached to touch a tattoo on his forearm but hesitated. “No, not here. Not now.” Instead, he ran to the crying woman’s side. “Lydia, are you all right?” he asked. “Who was that bilge rat and why did he strike you?”
Lydia took a moment for her tears to stop. She wiped them away with her hand and sunk into Abel’s awaiting arms. “His name is Nikos Petropoulos,” she began to explain. “I know him from the university. We saw each other once or twice.” She looked up and saw concern on the man’s face.
“But no longer!” Lydia said quickly. “I want to be with you, not him. In fact, I told him so when he invited me out to his yacht for dinner this evening. That’s when he got angry. Nikos said, ‘why do you want to be with the common American laborer? I can offer you the finer things, a life of luxury. What can he give you that I cannot?’ And I told him that there was more to life than wealth and expensive things. I told him that I was falling in love with you.” She looked into his eyes. “I do love you, Abel.”
The man’s lips parted, and he hesitated just a brief moment. “I — I love you too, Lydia,” he said. She pressed closer to him, her lips meeting his in a deep, long kiss.
A few hours later, when the night had descended upon the area, Abel Tarrant had told Lydia he had something to see to. While she wasn’t sure why he was being mysterious, he was able to assure her that it was a surprise and would help them plan for a future together.
Standing alone at the boat slips, Abel Tarrant glanced out at the water. “Time to take care of some business at sea,” he said to himself. Where anyone else would have needed to steal one of the many expensive boats tied here, Abel Tarrant simply touched the picture of a boat on the back of his left arm.
The picture sprang to life and expanded as it fell to the water. In a moment, it was a solid, functioning speed boat. Abel hopped into the vehicle, started the motor and set course for a certain yacht.
Abel recognized the speed boat tied up to the first yacht he came across. “That has to be rich boy’s,” he concluded. He pulled his own boat up to the side and hoisted himself up to the ladder along the side. As he climbed up a bit, his own boat faded.
“First, let’s send that to the drink.” He touched a tattoo of a knife, giving him something to cut the tie line that kept Nikos’ speed boat secure. Then, he touched the tattoo of a huge anvil, and the large heavy black object materialized. It dropped straight down and punched through the floor of the speed boat. Water gushed up, and in a few moments the small craft sank out of sight. “Now let’s see what I can plunder.”
The Tattooed Man hoisted himself over the rail and crouched down in the shadows. From the far end of the deck, he could hear two voices laughing, one male and one female. It also sounded like the jets of a hot tub. Guess pretty boy is popular and didn’t have problems getting another date, he thought to himself. At least I’ll be able to work without interruption. He made his way to the stairs that lead to the lower deck.
Poking his head around, Abel immediately by-passed the bathroom and galley. The recreational area had all the comforts of home — television, stereo, full-stocked bar. Gotta be a safe around here someplace, he thought to himself. Rich folks always have those. He checked behind the sofa and under the material that draped the tables. Hmm, perhaps in the bedroom.
He entered the last room and began to search. He pushed aside the clothes that had been discarded on the floor — a man’s shirt and pants and a woman’s mini dress — and looked under the bed. Not even a dust bunny. He went over to the dresser, snatched up the wallet, jewelry and gold watch, putting them into the sack he had attached to his belt. He quickly checked the drawers for anything of value as well.
There was a mirror behind the bed; Abel hopped up onto the bed and lifted it down. “X marks the spot,” he said as he saw the wall safe. He looked over his arm and considered using plastique. “Nope, too noisy.” He flipped his arm over and located a picture of a hand drill. “Perfect.”
After about ten minutes, the Tattooed Man was able to drill through the tumbler mechanism of the safe. The lock popped, and the door pulled open with ease. The drill vanished from his hand.
“Let’s see what we have here,” he said as he rummaged inside the wall safe. There were some papers on top, along with some cash and other small boxes. He opened up the top of the sack and shoved it all in. “Might as well take it all and sort through it later.”
The sound of a gun click and a word spoken harshly in Greek got his attention. Abel didn’t know the word, but he had a feeling it was something along the lines of “freeze”. He dropped the bag on the bed, raised his arms in the air and turned slowly.
Nikos, wearing a wet bathing suit, stood at the foot of the bed. In his hand was a gun, no doubt loaded. In the doorway was a thin blond woman wearing nothing but a towel. A look of recognition hit Nikos’ face, and he spoke another word in Greek. A wicked smile crossed his face as he fingered the trigger.
Abel had a split second before the young man fired the gun. Plenty of time for his right hand to touch his left elbow, producing a shield. The Tattooed Man snatched the shield from the air just in time to block the shots from the gun. “You’re swimming without a lifeguard, guppy,” the villain said. “I’ve mixed it up with the likes of Green Lantern and Superman in the past. You definitely ain’t in their league.” In a moment, Nikos had spent the gun’s ammunition.
Nikos threw the gun aside and lunged forward in anger. The Tattooed Man easily evaded him and brought the shield down hard on the base of the Greek man’s skull. Nikos fell to the floor with a great thud. The villain snatched the string of the bag, leapt off the bed and made his way for the doorway. The woman screamed and ran for the deck ahead of him.
Topside, he could see the woman was trying her best to keep her distance. She was talking loudly and fast in Greek. “It’s not my style to attack defenseless women,” the Tattooed Man said. “Best to make my exit.” He touched his arm, and a pair of wings sprung forth. They attached themselves to the man’s blue shirt and lifted him off into the night sky.
***
It was after midnight when Abel Tarrant returned to his rented room. After stepping inside, he tossed the small sack he had been carrying up on the top shelf of the closet. “I’m ready to hit the bunk,” he thought as he made his way over to the bed. He turned on the light near the bed and was surprised by what he saw. “Lydia!”
There before him lay the young dark haired Greek woman, wearing nothing but a smile. “Surprise, my love,” she said. “I wanted to be here waiting when you returned.”
He smiled back at her and began to remove his blue shirt. “I’m certainly not too tired for a roll with you, darling,” he said. “That is what you had in mind, right?” He raised his eyebrow.
She smiled but held her hand up. “Of course, Abel,” she stated, “but I had something else in mind before that. I want you to give me my first.”
He slid up to her on the bed. “Your first what, eh?” he whispered in her ear.
Lydia turned to him, her face pressed close to his. She reached out her long slender finger and gently ran it down his right arm, tracing the colorful pictures. “Yes,” she said with a sultry whisper. “My first tattoo.”
Abel grinned. “I’ll get my kit.” He got up and went to the top dresser drawer, removing a small box. “You sure about this, baby?” he asked as he turned back to her.
Lydia stretched her naked body out on the bed. She didn’t need words to answer his question; the body language said it all.
***
The next afternoon, Abel Tarrant was on cloud nine as he walked along the water front. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and a cool breeze was coming in from the sea. He took a deep breath, enjoying fully the smell of the Mediterranean.
Life can’t get better than this, he thought as he watched Lydia stop into a nearby produce market. I have a job that’s steady, a woman who loves me, and last night proved I can still rely on old tricks if I need to. I haven’t been this content in a long time.
He continued down on his way to the docks, stopping briefly to check himself in another shop window. Yes, sir, he thought, I can finally drop anchor and enjoy life for awhile. He smiled at his own reflection and adjusted his white boating cap. This was a definite turning point in his life, and he planned to make it last.
He started to walk again when a voice from above called. “Not so fast, mister. You’re going the wrong way.” It was a voice Tarrant had heard many times over the recent years. “The jail is the other way!”
Abel Tarrant spun around just as a fist composed of emerald energy nailed him in the jaw. “Lantern?!? How?”
Earth’s resident Green Lantern landed on the walkway. “You never were too bright, were you, Tarrant?” the masked Hal Jordan said. “Did you honestly think you could rob and kill the son of a Greek tycoon, blatantly using your telltale powers and not expect it to make international news?”
“You’re the stupid one, Lantern,” Abel Tarrant laughed as he touched a picture on his right bicep. A spinning wheel of flame appeared to leap off his arm and began to grow larger. “One touch of my living tattoos and you’re a fried fish!”
Green Lantern’s ring pulsed. The emerald energy formed into a scoop that rocketed towards the ocean, dunked under the surface and flew back. “I’m smarter than you, it seems. Though I can’t use my ring directly against your tattoos, there is plenty of water at the ocean front to snuff your flame.” The scoop dumped the water onto the flaming wheel, drenching it before it could reach its target. Steam rose into the air. “Not the best weapon to attack me with.”
The Tattooed Man smiled as he reached to his left forearm. “Perhaps, mate, but this might be more appropriate for the water front!” An anchor and chain expanded as it rocketed forth, wrapping around Green Lantern before he could react. The black iron chain bound the hero’s arms tightly, and the heavy anchor imbedded into the ground.
“Typical move, I should have expected it,” Green Lantern admitted. “But this will only hold me until you run away far enough. When it vanishes, I’ll hunt you down again. You know you can’t run from justice forever.”
The Tattooed Man shook his head. “No more running for me, mate. My life’s finally on a new course, and I’m planning to keep sailing it for a long time to come.” He glanced down his arm, locating the perfect weapon. “Nope, this time it’ll be you who’s gonna be the loser — permanently!” He slowly reached for the tattoo of a gun.
The Tattooed Man touched the picture on his arm, and a .45 magnum gun materialized in the air before him. He quickly snatched it as it became solid. “Say your prayers fast, Lantern! You’re about to be heading for Davy Jones’ Locker!” But when the villain took aim and fired, Green Lantern was already out of view. The bullet ricocheted off the empty space on the ground.
A giant emerald finger thumped the Tattooed Man from behind the head, causing him to drop the gun. “Still not thinking,” Green Lantern called from behind him. Tarrant scrambled for the gun but an emerald broom whisked it away, sliding it into the water. “That never was your strong suit. You forgot that you can only generate one tattoo object at a time. When you went for the gun, the chains faded and I was free.”
“Why, you…” Tarrant was about to say. Just then, an emerald straight jacked wrapped around him tightly, binding his arms around his back. He struggled but realized there was no way for him to touch any of the tattoos on his exposed arms. He was helpless.
“It’s over!” Green Lantern said. “You’re going back to jail where you belong. I guess you’ll never learn.” Emerald energy glowed around the hero and lifted him into the sky. A trail of energy from the ring towed behind, lifting the bound villain along as well.
Abel Tarrant glanced down as the port he had grown to know the past few weeks got smaller and smaller. A tear formed in his eye, and he dropped his head to his chest. He’d blown it once more. And this time, more than any other, he felt a true loss — the loss of the love of a woman who cared for him. This was what hurt the most.
***
From the produce market across the way, Lydia Anastasios nearly dropped her basket of fresh fruit. The dark haired woman rushed to the edge of the market and watched with both great sadness and anger as her lover, bound in emerald energy, was carried off into the sky by a costumed figure.
She quickly ran down the street, turned left at the second intersection, and ran up three more blocks. She entered the building where Abel Tarrant had been renting a room for the last month or so. Using her key, she opened the door to the small place.
Lydia grabbed a chair and moved it over to the closet. Stepping up, she pulled down the small sack from the top shelf. She opened the draw string and verified that the money and other stolen goods were still all in the bag. Abel had revealed the contents of the bag to her earlier that morning, but he would not say where he had gotten it. The woman did not have all the answers yet, but she was starting to realize what had been going on.
She then went over to the top dresser drawer and opened it. Inside was the special tattoo kit that contained Abel’s needles and special ink. I now realize why this was so important to you, she thought.
She folded down the waistband of her patterned skirt and glanced down at her waistline where Abel had done her very first tattoo. Her finger gently traced the outline of the red heart; recalling the time they had together helped ease her breaking heart. “I know you would want me to keep this safe, my love.” Lydia grabbed the kit and stuffed it into the top of the sack, pulling the draw string tight and knotting it.
She hoisted the sack up onto her shoulders and closed the apartment door behind her. The young woman wiped the key in the folds of her skirt and dropped it on the floor. “One day, Abel,” she vowed to herself, “we will be together again. I will find you.”
