Behind the counter, Front Desk Bitch Sin smiles at Blue. "I didn't have anything on Steve's appointment book today. I need a release form signed."
"One, no one ever calls him Steve. Two, I need the Old Man's pistols and a coupla' hundred bucks."
All the pleasant and perky disappears, her overly done Morticia-Addams-as-Donna-Reed face drawing in to an angry scowl. "Hell no."
Blue's eyes light up with fury. "I know you think he's a paper tiger. That you run this joint and he's just a mascot. But I one hundred percent surely know that he told you that whatever I ask for, whenever I ask-- I get. I also one hundred percent surely know that you will never work in a tattoo shop again if you piss off The Old Man. Check your fucking tattoo history. If you look past the Sailor Jerry rum and your tacky Ed Hardy sunglasses, you'll find him there. Let me put this in terms you might understand. He's Dumbledore, bitch."