Arrived (Book One)

Chapter 13: A Message In A Tattoo

When I was little, I read countless novels of the Series of the Unfortunate Events. There was one book I had liked out of all of them, and I think it was called: Lachcromose Leeches.

My favorite part of the book is when Klaus unscrambled Aunt Josephine's message by correcting her 'accidental' errors. It's how I feel when I did a Rubik Cube under five seconds or when I completed a chess game flawlessly.

Instead of acting like a detective, I need to think straight, like Klaus Baudelaire. As the waitress came over to fill our orders, I asked her about a tarantula skeleton drawing.

The waitress nervously scratched her pencil onto her notepad. Her eyes were as big as bowls. "W-what?" she stammered. I repeated the question to her then showed the small drawing to her.

The woman glanced at it then looked at me. "Do you know what this means?" Dad sighed. She hesitantly nodded. "That symbol belongs to a notorious gang... El something. I remember it has to do with the spider."

"The Spanish word for Spider?" I asked. The waitress stuck her pencil behind her ear then nodded again. "Why do you want to know?" she asked. I was about to answer until something caught my attention: a black tattoo of a tarantula skeleton peeped out of her white shoulder sleeve.

Its design looked very recent, due to the fact that there was a red halo circling around the image. The waitress is one of them, I thought. The people who kidnapped Malcolm and ended the lives of the associates of Senior Goodman, especially his wife.

Instead of answering her question, I told her that I was interested in the artwork. Noticing traces of nervousness, Dad stepped in: "She wants to be an artist when she grows up," he said with a smile.

"And a photographer," I added sheepishly. The waitress smiled jot down something then disappeared into the kitchen. Dad put the papers back into the suitcase then locked it shut while I let out a relieved sigh.

That was close, I thought. Dad slowly lowered the case next to him then glanced at the kitchen. "Do you still have those trackers, Cleo?" he asked in a whispered voice.

I nodded quickly, not surprised that Dad knew about the tattoo. "As soon as the waitress gets back," Dad instructed carefully. "I want you to track her movements."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. He let out a sigh then told me that he was going to burn the suitcase. Instead of overreacting, I asked him what was in the suitcase.

He gave me a worried look and a frown that meant business. "They are not just ordinary papers..." Dad began slowly. The waitress came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee. "...they are just blueprints of the park that I am building," Dad said meekly. "A park?" I asked.

I flipped the threatening message to its back and snatched a pen out of my purse. "Can you describe it for me?" I asked. "They have candy," Dad described. "Huge vehicles, maps of the rides, and kids of all ages."

The waitress set down the cups of coffee on the table then walked back to the counter. My hand danced on the paper, writing down the information with the help of my father.

As soon as I was finished, I placed my pen down the looked at the words. So far, I have written down drugs, suspicious cars, and kidnapped women or children. And to top it all off, I sprouted dark lines across from the words. I wrote the word: cash then showed it to Dad.

"Why would Goodman have this information, even though he quit trafficking?" I asked. "Is he lying?" Dad drank his coffee, shuddered at the taste, and shook his head.

"No," Dad answered. "I checked his pulse and looked in his bedroom. He is telling the truth." I sipped my coffee then spat the beverage into my napkin. I tried wiping it off with my tongue, but the bitter taste remained like a stain.

"Something tells me that he is hiding from someone," I explained. "I mean, first of all, it is kind of weird that he gave us the suitcase." Dad bit his lip then toyed with his upper lip. "You may have a point," he said.

"But the only thing is, why would Goodman have this when he-" My phone suddenly rang in my pocket. The jazzy tune alerted the waitress from her daze on the counter. "It's probably your mother," Dad said with a smile.

"Take your time, I will be waiting." I took the phone from out of my pocket then hurried into the restroom. A wave of black coffee and smoke overwhelmed my nose. The sink and the tiled white floor was covered in a thick layer of grime and water.

The ugly blue paint washed over the holes and circles of dirt, but traces of the muck remains on the blue canvas. Pressing the Answer Call, I hoisted the phone to my ear then greeted Mom casually.

"Hi Mom," I beamed. "How are you doing?" "Great," Mom answered. "Seth, put that down!" "What?!" Uncle Seth grumbled in the background. "Seth," Mom repeated. "The doctor told you not to drink so much chocolate milk! You're lactose and tolerant."

"No, I am not!" Seth argued. Mom let out a sigh then apologized to me. "Sorry Cleo," Mom sighed. "Your uncle is just as stubborn as a donkey." "I am standing right here," Uncle Seth cried.

"How is your father doing?" Mom asked, ignoring Uncle Seth. "He's good," I answered. "Good," she said. "Anyways, how is the case?" "Tricky and slow," I admitted. Mom let out a light giggle. "That's how I felt when I was your age," Mom chuckled.

I told her everything about the investigation: I told her about Senior Goodman's strange message, the tattoo of a tarantula skeleton, and the fact that there is an notorious gang involved.

"Is your father keeping you safe?" Mom asked urgently. "Are you out of harm's way?" "Yeah," I answered. "Dad and I are okay." "Where are you right now?" Mom asked. "I am at a Cuban diner," I answered. Just then, Mom grew serious.

"What diner?" she asked. "I don't remember the name," I admitted. "Dad's with me." In the background, I heard something zipping. "Stay right there," Mom urged quickly. "I will be on my way."

I was confused for a moment until I realized that I was holding the threat letter in my hands. I stared at the paper then thought about what Mom was saying. Instantly, I took out my pen then stared at the words again and again.

The dangerous snake might be someone following us, Malcolm going to be killed, and what else? Mom asked me what was the name of the diner. I roamed around the bathroom, trying to search for the name until something caught my attention.

There was a crumpled flyer lying under the bathroom stall door. I plucked it up and unraveled the paper. The huge red letters reminded some customer to free coffee if you are a member of Under the Hot Sand.

Under the Hot Sand? I thought. My mind then traced back to the note. Your son won't be safe under the hot sand, I reminsced. Malcolm is being imprisoned in the diner. I have to warn Dad, call the authorities, and get out of here.

I hung up the phone immediately, gathered my things, and headed out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, my escape was interrupted when a waitress barged into the room and hoisted a gun to my face.