“That's so cool,” Yolanda said, looking at the customized bullet she had requested.
“That's fifty dollars,” Clarice replied.
She frowned for a moment. “I got that.” She dug in her pants, took out a wad of plastic. Unfolded it, handed her some bills that were inside. Settled her bottom on the mattress again, hands in her lap, still frowning.
“That's a five hundred dollar tattoo,” Clarice pointed out, opening an alcohol pad. “You're getting a ninety percent discount.” Clarice wiped down the two twenties and ten very thoroughly. Then put them away.
The corners of her mouth rose with her thick brows. “Awesome,” she breathed, looking at her shoulder again.
“Wait until we get some shading on it. It'll look so realistic you'll be able to hear it shooting.”
Yolanda turned to Patty and stuck
