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originalsam_backup2011-01-08 05:50 pm
copperbadge.livejournal.com) wrote in originalsam_backup2011-01-08 05:50 pm
Entry tags:
Trace: Prologue
PROLOGUE
They said a lot of things about Colin Byrne in prison, once he was no longer there.
They said that he was a con man, that he could sweet talk anyone and make cigarettes and scraps of paper disappear stage-magic style. He'd show you he was a pickpocket, given half an opportunity, by picking yours. They said he was a snitch, that he had a cop on the outside who was his lover (that this lover was a woman; that this lover was a man). They said he was in tight with the Fives, the Bloods, La Mugre, the Aryans. The Aryans denied it, but everyone said that was because he stole one of theirs.
He once shanked a prison guard so stealthily that the guard didn't even know until ten minutes later and they never did figure out it was him. He didn't kill him. Just made him writhe a little, for some unknown insult he'd suffered at the guard's hands.
He could get you anything you wanted. He knew what you wanted when you didn't. He'd show it to you, and you'd know, and then he'd name his price. He had nicknames on the inside: the guards called him Cat, the inmates called him Suicide.
In dark corners, in quiet voices, at other times they said this: that he could do magic, real magic, prison magic. He'd once drawn a bird so real it flew off the page. He couldn't be tattooed; the ink ran out of his skin while he slept. He could walk through prison bars. He could tell your fortune by looking in your eyes. If you gave him a lit cigarette, he could hypnotize a man just by flicking it back and forth. He could steal your soul if you let him draw you, but he wouldn't (but he had once). His name wasn't even Colin Byrne. They said that he was a ghost who'd just disappeared one day, straight out of his cell, and taken a servant with him. They said he'd come back. Some people believed it; some didn't. Gutierrez, who talked to God, said there was a priest who owned his shadow.
All of it was true. More or less.
At the moment, however, Colin Byrne was on the outside, having a beer.
Chapter One
They said a lot of things about Colin Byrne in prison, once he was no longer there.
They said that he was a con man, that he could sweet talk anyone and make cigarettes and scraps of paper disappear stage-magic style. He'd show you he was a pickpocket, given half an opportunity, by picking yours. They said he was a snitch, that he had a cop on the outside who was his lover (that this lover was a woman; that this lover was a man). They said he was in tight with the Fives, the Bloods, La Mugre, the Aryans. The Aryans denied it, but everyone said that was because he stole one of theirs.
He once shanked a prison guard so stealthily that the guard didn't even know until ten minutes later and they never did figure out it was him. He didn't kill him. Just made him writhe a little, for some unknown insult he'd suffered at the guard's hands.
He could get you anything you wanted. He knew what you wanted when you didn't. He'd show it to you, and you'd know, and then he'd name his price. He had nicknames on the inside: the guards called him Cat, the inmates called him Suicide.
In dark corners, in quiet voices, at other times they said this: that he could do magic, real magic, prison magic. He'd once drawn a bird so real it flew off the page. He couldn't be tattooed; the ink ran out of his skin while he slept. He could walk through prison bars. He could tell your fortune by looking in your eyes. If you gave him a lit cigarette, he could hypnotize a man just by flicking it back and forth. He could steal your soul if you let him draw you, but he wouldn't (but he had once). His name wasn't even Colin Byrne. They said that he was a ghost who'd just disappeared one day, straight out of his cell, and taken a servant with him. They said he'd come back. Some people believed it; some didn't. Gutierrez, who talked to God, said there was a priest who owned his shadow.
All of it was true. More or less.
At the moment, however, Colin Byrne was on the outside, having a beer.
Chapter One