At 8:45 a.m., Needles and Beeks readied some equipment in the cannery's main warehouse. Aaron looked on from a chair in the corner, his hands taped behind his back. He was still reeling from Souther's pep talk.
Beeks called to him. "Hey, boy. You an artist?"
"Huh?" Aaron said, surprised.
"I'm in need of an artist. You an artist or ain't you?"
"Uh, not really," Aaron said modestly, having no idea why Beeks would ask him that question. "I've done some art in school I guess… does that count?"
"Get your puny artist-ass over here."
"He's taped to the chair, dumbass," Needles said.
"Shit… you think I don't know that?" Beeks said, trying to hide his embarrassment. He walked over and with a flash of his knife cut Aaron's restraints then grabbed him by the shoulder with one of his big hands. "I don't have to worry ‘bout you doin' nothin' stupid," he said, "do I, boy?"
"No, sir," Aaron replied, wincing under Beeks's powerful grip. He recalled how terrifyingly unreal it had felt the moment Beeks's big hand took him down to the asphalt in the alley.
Beeks had set up a makeshift workbench and stocked it with art supplies. "You think you can make me some bad-ass masks outa all this shit?" he asked. "I'm gettin' real fuckin' tired of those damn panty-hose."
Aaron paused at an image of Beeks's face smashed into a nylon stocking then blinked it away. "Uh, yeah," he replied. "I think I can handle it."
The project had caught his imagination. He took a quick inventory of the tools and supplies Beeks had laid out for him: four Styrofoam heads, four white ski masks, four colorful cans of spray paint.
"No amateur bullshit crap," Beeks insisted. "I want ‘em bad-ass. You got it, boy? Bad fuckin' ass."
"No problem," Aaron said, growing more nervous now that Beeks had raised the artistic bar so high.
He stood at the workbench, rubbing the blood back into his wrists, running ideas around in his head. He thought of clown faces, but that had been done to death; horror themed masks didn't seem right to him either. He settled on a simple design he thought Beeks would like then set to work.
He stretched one of the ski masks over the first form, gave the can of electric-blue a vigorous shake, and painted a row of simple vertical stripes onto the white knit fabric head. He followed with shocking-pink polka-dots on head two, neon-green horizontal stripes on head three, and jet-black circles on head four. Then he stepped back to admire his work.
Beeks came over and tested the paint on the black mask with his finger; then he pulled it off its form. He stretched it over his glossy head and checked himself out in a mirror. One of the black circles went around the eye, like a pit bull. He smiled.
"Not bad, boy," he said, adjusting the fit, his teeth gleaming through the mouth hole. "Not too damn bad."
Aaron grinned. He couldn't remember the last time he received a compliment from anyone other than his mother, and maybe Willy.
Needles laughed at the sight of his friend. "Nice, Beeks… really nice."
"You can kiss my big, black ass," Beeks said, still admiring himself in the mirror. "I like it fine, motherfucker. I like it just fine."
Needles selected the green horizontal stripes then tossed the pink polka-dots to Aaron.