Black and grey realistic handgun tattoos on both hips of a torso, angled inwards above a white thong with purple chevron stripes.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Twin handgun tattoos on the hips

Realism · Other · Black and grey · Photo

Two realistic handguns are tattooed on the hips, each angled inwards towards the centre of the lower abdomen. The pistols use smooth grey shading, with dark outlines and highlights that give the metal a three-dimensional look. The image is a close crop of the torso, with a navel visible above and a white thong with purple chevron stripes covering the centre.

Realism Other Pistol Gun

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mrs Pryce kept the pistols wrapped in a chamois on the top shelf of the back parlour at Seaspray House, where the boarders could not reach them without the step ladder. Her late husband had taken them in pawn in the summer of 1947 from a fisherman who swore he would redeem them by Michaelmas. The fisherman went out past the breakwater one dark morning and did not come back. The pistols stayed where they were. Mrs Pryce dusted them on Fridays, between the sherry glasses and the barometer, and never once let herself wonder which of them had been meant to go to sea.

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Then came the wet Tuesday when Mr Harding in number four asked for a room with a view of the harbour, and the shelf was the only place left to hang his coat. He found the parcel while reaching for a hook. He unwrapped one pistol and turned it to the window, where the grey light ran along the barrel and two small highlights sat on the grip like wet pebbles.

"These aren't yours," he said.

"No," said Mrs Pryce. "They were never anybody's. That's the trouble with them."

He laughed, then stopped, because she was not laughing. She told him about Arthur Keel, who had a wife in Ramsgate and a debt at the Anchor, and about the second pistol, which had been pawned by a commercial traveller in corsets who never paid. Her husband had kept both in one parcel because he could not bear to split them. Mr Harding turned them over in his hands for a long time. In the morning the parcel was gone from the shelf, and a note lay under the teapot in neat capitals: DELIVERED TO THE RIGHT ADDRESS. There was no address on it. Mrs Pryce looked out at the breakwater, where the tide was turning, and poured her tea.