originalsam_backup | Trace, Chapter Four

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Chapter Four

Colin woke the next morning to a faint hint of soreness but no real pain. When he craned his head to look down the edge of his back, he could see ink still there; sometimes it bled off him in the night and stained the sheets, but Noel had probably wanted to fix this one as long as possible. It'd wash off in the shower, or rub away onto his uniform during the day. In the meantime, he should move slowly; his clothing would chafe on the sensitive skin, and Noel would feel that.

Breakfast was raw-looking oatmeal and brown apples. Colin spotted Laney in the line, far behind him, and slunk back to him without any of the guards catching on.

"We didn't get a chance to get right yesterday," he said, as the line shuffled forward slowly. "I talked to Natell before I came in."

"Yeah?" Laney asked, and Colin could see eagerness warring with suspicion on his face.

"He said hi. Asked if there was anything you wanted to tell him. He says Darkman's winning in the city, but the riders were leaving." Colin fixed him with a curious look. "They all came here?"

"Don't know. How come you believe in them?" Laney asked.

Colin shrugged, then thought of Noel and stilled himself. "I see them. How come you do?"

Laney grinned. "Mama said I never grew up."

"You're grown up now," Colin replied. "What's special about you?"

"Fuck, I don't know." Laney glanced away. "Ain't doing me no favors."

"Yeah, I heard about what happened with Gutierrez," Noel said, and touched Laney's arm when his face hardened. "Listen to me, okay? You need us. I'll make it right with Gutierrez but when he talks about God you should shut up and listen. You don't have to agree, but he's older than you -- "

Laney laughed, a little bitter. "Sounds like school."

"And I know you're smart and see through the bullshit, but Gutierrez isn't bullshitting. Or do you want to be thrown to the Aryans?" Colin asked. Laney looked sullen.

"No," he said.

"Fine. You want to stay alive in prison, you have to learn to keep your head down and protect your ass," Colin said. He looked over just in time to catch a slight tremor run through Laney's features. Colin wondered just how far the Aryans had gone. It wasn't something you asked, though. "We'll handle the ABs."

"Like you did for Noel?" Laney asked. Colin smiled. "They say he's the only AB ever got out right."

"Maybe one of a few," Colin said, as they reached the service table. "Noel was a badass. He wasn't a fuckhead like most of 'em, but he'd stab you soon as look at you."

"So? He don't seem that way now."

"No," Colin agreed, helping himself to some oatmeal. "He has his penance."

"You give him that?"

Colin shook his head. "Noel chose it. It was part of leaving -- look, it's a complicated story. Some other time, yeah?"

"Can't be that complicated," Laney muttered, picking through the little cups of apples for one with only a few brown slices in it.

"Noel can't fight his own battles," Colin said. "When he left the Aryans, I had to fight them for him. Wasn't easy on him. Come on," he added, and led Laney away from the table.

Noel and Gutierrez were already eating when Colin slid in next to Gutierrez, jerking his head at the empty place near Noel when he saw Laney hesitate. He watched as Laney navigated elbows suddenly jabbed out in his direction, glares from Aryans up the table and Bloods at the table behind him. When he finally sat down, the man on his left shuffled to one side. Noel just gave Colin a told-you-so look and kept eating.

Gutierrez set his spoon down. Colin picked his own up and began shoving oatmeal into his mouth, trying not to taste it or to feel the crunch as he chewed the half-cooked oats.

"You got something to say to me?" Gutierrez asked Laney. Colin gave Laney a sharp look.

"No, sir," Laney said, looking like he'd rather cut out his tongue than say it.

"Suicide says you're all right," Noel said. Laney just stared at his tray.

"He's an asshole." Gutierrez turned to Colin. "You hear what he did to me?"

Colin put out a hand before Laney could say anything, glancing at Gutierrez. "Are you seriously going to spend your time fighting about theology?" he asked. "Half the guys in here don't believe in God, Gutierrez. Don't pick on the kid."

"God says he's a sinner," Gutierrez declared.

"We're all fucking sinners. Have you noticed this is a prison?" Noel waved his fork around.

"Ain't no God anyway," Laney muttered.

"See?" Gutierrez said to Colin.

"Come on, man, he's a kid," Colin said. "Just cut him some slack. I'm pretty sure Jesus said something about throwing stones."

"Jesus, he was a punk too," Gutierrez said. "I don't hear anything from Jesus. I talk to God."

Laney tensed; Noel rested a hand on his arm. Laney looked down and caught sight of a little symbol tattooed in the soft, tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger: the Odin's Cross.

"Noel's one of us," Colin reminded him, when Laney's eyes widened. "Gutierrez talks to God. Deal with it. Gutierrez?"

Gutierrez stabbed at his oatmeal. "I don't like wiping some kid's nose."

"You don't have to."

"And I don't like taking orders from you either, mijo," Gutierrez added. Colin ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"You didn't like Marlow, but you put up with him," he pointed out.

"Marlow was useful."

"And talking to God, that's so useful?" Colin asked. Gutierrez groaned.

"Fine. He keeps quiet about God, I'll keep an eye on him. If the Aryans throw down with me, though, I'm not risking my ass for him," he added. Colin gave Laney a reassuring smile. Noel released his arm and sat back, clearly disinclined to finish his food.

"I think the Italians want me this morning," Colin said, chewing on a slice of only slightly brown apple. "Any idea what they want? Yesterday they wanted to run some fucking test, I don't even know."

"Probably want something stolen," Gutierrez shrugged. "What else do people ever want?"

"You never know. Outside," Colin said, around a mouthful of food, "outside, thing is, there's so much more to fight about, you save it for the big shit. You forget how petty it gets in here. Someone steals a breath mint and the knives come out."

"Better watch yourself," Noel said with a grin.

"Don't I always?" Colin asked.

They finished the meal in only slightly awkward silence -- Laney still sullen, Gutierrez austere and distant, Noel reabsorbing himself in the pain of the tattoo on Colin's back. Colin kept his eyes sharp, watched where people went and what they did. Who was stealing food from whom. You could almost see the entire society in the way people moved, how the debts and payments racked up, how the pecking order shifted.

He was emptying his tray, stacking it with the other dirty dishes for the kitchen cleanup staff, when he saw Paolo loitering at the door, waiting for him. He gave him a nod and followed, silent, when Paolo led him away from the exercise yard and back towards the cell block doors.

Leoni was sitting in a cell adorned with crucifixes and pictures of the Virgin Mary -- not his cell, probably belonging to one of the young men lounging nearby. Colin, leaning against the open cell door, smelled hashish from the back of the room.

"So, did I pass your little exam?" he asked Leoni, who shrugged.

"Hey, I have to get your bona fides, you know?" he asked. "We had a guy in here couple of years ago who had it. He went outside and when they sent him back in he didn't have shit. Couldn't take that chance."

"Oh?" Colin raised his eyebrows. "So you want, what, a charm? A curse?" he looked around at the cell. "Deus panis factus, maybe? That's more in Gutierrez's line, though if you want I can give it a shot."

Leoni laughed. "Listen to him, full of bullshit," he said to his entourage. He accepted a joint from the recesses of the cell and took a hit before offering it. Colin waved it off, glancing curiously at the shadows. "No, I want you to kill someone for me."

Colin's pulse jumped, but he didn't let it show; just crossed his arms (Noel would feel that, sorry Noel!) and tilted his head.

"You're wasting me on murder?" he asked.

"You shanked that guard, that one time," Leoni said.

"He came after me first," Colin answered. "And I didn't kill him. Just gave him a little prick. Like he wanted to give me," he added with a sudden grin, and the Fives laughed. The younger, smaller ones laughed loudest, and Colin tried to ignore what that told him. Especially since he was the one making jokes about it, which in itself -- well, better not to think about it. "He was back on his feet in nine or ten weeks, easy."

"So? You have a problem with making sure someone doesn't get back on his feet at all?" Leoni asked.

"Yeah. I want to know who he is, what he did," Colin said. "Inmate gets killed, they look a lot more closely at it than a guard who gets stabbed. Especially when they know what that guard was getting up to. If it's my ass on the line I want to know it's worth it."

Leoni narrowed his eyes. "You say no, Rifkin's not going to be happy."

"I say yes and I get nailed, Rifkin's the least of my worries," Colin retorted. "Come on, what the fuck? Is it one of your own guys or something, that you can't tell me who he is?"

There was a nervous silence. Colin felt his lips form a little surprised 'o'.

"You don't want to say his name," he said. Leoni looked like he was about to protest, so Colin held up a hand to stop him. "Even two cell blocks over, huh? Because if you actually tell me to kill him, the words are out there. Then it's just as much you as it is me, if he decides to come after whoever made a try for him."

"You get one shot," Leoni said, his voice a low growl.

"Me? I'm sly. Two shots at least," Colin replied easily. "But you're right -- nobody else would get more than one. And whoever was talking him into it wouldn't even get that."

Paolo spread his hands. "So you see what we need."

"Boss likes his food," Colin said to him, tipping his head at Leoni, feeling cocky now. Leoni was scared. "I get it."

"And?" Leoni prompted. Colin looked around, taking in the occupants of the cell, the men loitering nearby, either openly eavesdropping or pretending they weren't.

"Clear everyone out," he said to Paolo. Slowly, the others drifted away. Colin waved a hand at Paolo, and he backed off too. The only one remaining was Leoni -- and whoever was sitting in the shadows at the back of the cell, obviously someone who wasn't going anywhere. Colin walked into the cell and crouched in front of Leoni.

"Say it," he said. Leoni frowned at him. "Hey, man, if this is on me it's on you too. You want me to follow the order, you have to give it."

Leoni's lips tightened. He licked them before speaking. "You doing this, Suicide?"

"Yeah, I'm doing this," Colin said. "Say the words, Leoni."

The other man inhaled. Colin smelled sweet smoke again. Leoni let it out in a breath, and at the end of it were just the two words -- "Kill Galano."

Colin almost laughed to himself. Sometimes the universe played right into your hands.

"Sure," he said, and stood up, casting one last look at the shadows. "It'll take a while. Nobody gets impatient and comes after me, okay? Don't fuck this up for me."

Leoni nodded, looking relieved. What did he expect, that Galano would materialize out of thin air at the speaking of his name?

"Once this is done, Rifkin don't owe you shit. See you round, Leoni," Colin told him, and walked away. Behind him he could hear footsteps as the others returned, and low voices asking about the outcome of the discussion. He didn't smile until he was far away, passing the workout room on his way to the yard.

Rifkin was inside, bench-pressing, grunting and straining to lift some ridiculous amount of weight. Colin paused and then stepped into the room, subtly offering him a chance to take a break. Rifkin put the weights back on their support legs and sat up, wiping his face with his arm.

"Talked to Leoni," Colin said casually. "Job's as good as done. Might take a while, but he's fine with it."

"Yeah?" Rifkin asked. "What's he want?"

"You'll hear about it," Colin said. "I hope whatever you owed the Fives was big. Otherwise you're getting overcharged."

"Good thing I'm not doing the work." Rifkin's grin was wide.

"You couldn't do what he wants anyway," Colin told him. Rifkin's grin stayed in place, but his eyes went hard. "Hey, you know Laney?"

"Crazy Laney, sure," Rifkin rumbled, still looking annoyed beneath his facade.

"He's mine. You see someone going after him, you could yell," Colin replied.

"You like chocolate now?" one of the nearby men asked. Colin flicked a disdainful look in his direction.

"He's one of us. Gutierrez says he won't watch out for the kid. Someone's gotta."

"Shut your smartass mouth and I'll consider it," Rifkin said. Colin pressed his index finger to his own lips and drew it from one corner to the other. Rifkin nodded, dismissing him; Colin turned smartly and left the weight room before anyone else could pick a fight.

Out in the yard he found Laney and Noel sitting together, both casting nervous looks at the Aryans. There would have to be some kind of confrontation sooner or later, that much was obvious, but for now it felt like it was still simmering. The Aryans would grumble and posture and talk for a while first, which was just as well.

"So," Colin said brightly, as he sat down next to Laney. "Cards?"

***

The tattoo Noel had cut into his back stayed on his skin until the second night, when it ran off him in his sleep. Colin thought perhaps it had stayed so long because he was less powerful than he had been -- older, reaccustomed to the outside, and certainly here with ulterior motives. But the tattoo did vanish, and with it the raw half-healed skin, and on that third day he heard whispers of power in his ears.

"Hey," he said to Laney, who was playing backgammon with Noel on a cheap board and plastic tiles, probably a gift from someone on the outside, traded to Noel for a tattoo. "Look me in the eye."

"What for?" Laney asked, not looking up.

"I'll tell your fortune," Colin told him. One of the inmates watching the game elbowed Laney, friendly-like, with a wary glance at Colin.

"Man, it's my turn," Laney said. "Stop distracting me."

"Do it," Gutierrez told him, from the end of the table. He was bullshitting with some of the Latinos, but Colin knew he was also watching everything that was going on. Laney groaned and made his move, then looked up quickly at Colin and back down.

"Happy now?"

"Aw, come on, Laney," Colin said. "Noel won't cheat."

Gutierrez slid over and put his hand on the board, covering the middle of it. Laney sat back and looked up, annoyed. Colin caught his gaze and held it -- Laney had dark hazel eyes, a little too old for the rest of his face. The others fell silent -- even the men arguing good-naturedly at the end of the table.

"Your girlfriend, Laetita," Colin said.

"Aw, fuck, you knew about her," Laney said.

"She's pregnant."

"Yeah, so? That's why I boosted the car, you knew that too."

Colin grinned. "It's a boy. You'll be out in time to take him to kindergarten."

Laney scowled. "Ain't no way you could know that, nobody knows yet."

"It's a boy," Colin said confidently. "And Laetita found the letter."

Laney went tense all over. "What letter?"

"You know what letter, Laney," Colin said. "It's fine. Ask her about it next time she visits."

He turned away from Laney before he could ask anything else. "Gutierrez, you up?"

Gutierrez shook his head. "Don't need to see the future."

"Noel?"

"I know mine," Noel said absently.

"How 'bout me?" asked one of the inmates who'd been watching the backgammon game.

"Step into my office," Colin said, gesturing to the bench he was sitting on. He lifted a leg over so that he was straddling it; when the other man sat, facing him, he looked into his eyes calmly.

"You're up for parole in a couple of months?" he asked. The man nodded without breaking his stare. "You won't get it."

"No?" the man asked, frowning.

"Sorry."

"You sure?"

"They're hardasses," Colin said with a shrug. "I can't fix it, I just tell it."

"My mama's -- "

"Sick, I know," Colin said. "It's okay, she'll get through it. Hey, listen," he added, as the man withdrew a little. "The future's not set in stone. Keep your nose clean, who knows, right?"

The man glanced at Gutierrez for confirmation. Gutierrez shrugged too.

"He's the fortuneteller," he said. "God ain't talking to me about you, Petral."

"You seriously tell fortunes?" Laney asked, as Petral walked away and the others all murmured and argued about who would be next.

"It's a novelty," Colin said in a low voice, shrugging. "What, you're going to believe in the Darkman and Guye but not in fortunetelling?" he added with a wink.

"You see a lot?" Laney pressed.

"I see enough," Colin said, leaning forward under the pretense of examining the backgammon board. "This is prison, man, it's not like you get a lot of variety."

"People get out," Laney said. "Guys get in fights, they get sent to Seg -- "

"Yeah, but I'm not in the business of little stories," Colin told him. "You know what I see? Death in the infirmary. Or on the yard. Guys get out, they get menial jobs because that's all they can get. Or no job, and they go back to what they know -- and they die in a prison infirmary, or on the yard."

"He told my fortune once," Noel said, toying with one of the tiles. He lifted it on edge and spun it, eyes lowered. "He told me I had to come to Jesus."

"I said you were going to hell," Colin said. "There's a difference."

"So I got me a penance," Noel continued, ignoring him. "I ain't going to hell now. These other guys? Most of them, not so lucky, you know?"

"Hey," a burly inmate said, tapping Colin on the shoulder. One of the Italians, Colin thought. "You want a look?"

Colin gave him a bright, entirely false smile. "I'd like nothing better."

He spent the morning reading fortunes, telling and warning, sometimes lying with flair if the future he saw was too grim and the man whose eyes he looked into wasn't the sort of man who would accept it. He shuffled cards, watched the backgammon game, smoked a cigarette, joked, laughed, bartered for favors, looked people in the eye. It was -- good, for the most part. As good as it could be, anyway. Prison might be a hell of a sort, but there were small pleasures even in hell.

He didn't see Joseph anywhere, but just before lunchtime a certain man he'd been waiting for sidled up to him and offered a candy bar silently as payment. Colin waved it aside.

"You have something else I want, Aaron," he said, and the little man with the candy bar frowned for a second before smiling agreeably, posture changing -- the tilt of his hips, the set of his shoulders. Colin shook his head again. "Not that."

"What then?" Aaron asked.

"Sit," Colin said, gesturing at the bench. He looked down, so that Aaron wouldn't think he was trying to trick him, shuffling a deck of cards. "If I remember, you used to be someone who followed the guards."

Aaron nodded.

"Who you with? Bloods? Muslims?"

"Bloods," Aaron said carelessly. Colin raised an eyebrow without looking up.

"Why'd they keep you?"

"Oh -- not like Laney?" Aaron asked. "I got uses. So. You need information?"

"I need a lot of information," Colin said. "Time was I knew everything that moved in this prison."

"You went out," Aaron said.

"Yep. So now I need your help. I need to know where the guards go, what they do. Who works where. And I need you to shut the hell up about it to anyone outside of you and me, you understand?" Colin said. He cut the deck one-handed and reassembled it. "You don't tell anyone the questions I ask you."

Aaron shrugged. "Easy enough. Don't nobody care."

"Tell me where they go when they get off shift."

"Locker room, most of them," Aaron said.

"The ones that don't?"

"Parking lot? Mostly."

Colin tilted his head and looked up, keeping his eyes carefully off Aaron's. "What about the warden. They report there? Anyone go there regularly?"

Aaron frowned and shook his head. "No. Don't need to."

"And the warden? When he arrives in the morning, where does he go?"

"His office."

"He stays there all day? Does he ever go to the loading dock? Does he meet with anyone?"

"No," Aaron said. Colin could see his curiosity almost getting the better of him; good. He'd keep a close watch on the guards, wondering what it was Colin wanted from them.

"Fair payment?" Aaron asked, and Colin nodded, lifting his eyes. Aaron was not destined to spend much longer in Railburg, though it was difficult to tell whether he was leaving in an ambulance or a body bag. Colin chewed on his lip.

"Watch your back," he said finally. "Get a transfer somewhere."

Aaron's expression barely changed, but fear radiated off him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Get out of Railburg."

"Why?" Aaron asked.

"Can't say," Colin said. "I don't know. Hey, I'll need you again," he added, as Aaron stood to hurry away. "Come see me again."

Aaron's face twisted uncertainly, but he gave a quick nod and then half-ran across the yard, back to the safety of his gang.

"What was that all about?" Gutierrez asked, when Colin returned.

"Needed information," Colin said with a shrug.

"Aaron follows the guards," Noel told Laney, who frowned.

"Follows 'em?" he asked.

"Sure. Can't look at the guards, right?" Noel asked, tucking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it. "So, you start to see 'em sidelong. Look at 'em out of the corner of your eye. Soon you just know. Some folks, they know a lot more. Some folks need the guards more," he added, with a little chuckle, but he subsided when he saw Colin's glare. "Anyway. Aaron, he knows where they all is. Always."

Laney whistled low. "That's good mojo," he said, and the other inmates around them nodded.

"Speaking of which, your guard's comin'," Noel said in a low voice to Colin, tilting his head sideways at the patrol alley.

Colin, expectant, still didn't anticipate the consciousness that struck him a few seconds later: consciousness of Joseph, not just that he was nearby but where he was and how he moved. He looked for the other guards and didn't find them; just Joseph, stalking like a big cat through the hallway and into the patrol alley behind the chain-link fence.

This was new -- Colin had never felt the guards before like others did, simply knew on instinct where they'd be because he spent enough time spent paying attention.

He looked up, finding Joseph unerringly, and for a second he thought there was a trick of the light -- it was overcast out, and the indirect sunlight was occasionally causing little optical illusions here and there. He blinked, to be sure, but it was still there when he looked again.

Joseph's eyes were clear of the shade, even a little dull, plain and not as quick as usual. But the shade was still there, following him like a second shadow -- it was a second shadow. Joseph had two shadows, each moving along like a version of himself, one a little darker than the other.

He'd never seen that before, and he'd seen a lot in Railburg. He had no idea what it meant. Only that Joseph had two shadows, and that was not ordinary. Not wrong or right yet, but --

"Head down, mijo," Gutierrez warned, ducking Colin's head for him before anyone could notice Colin staring so openly at a guard.

"New pig," Laney said.

"What's up with him?" another inmate asked. "Hey, Suicide, you know?"

"No," Colin lied. He could still feel Joseph on the edge of his consciousness, restless and curious. "No, I dunno about him. So," he added brightly, turning to Gutierrez in the hopes of changing the subject, "Galano. I am tasked with the burden of fucking his shit up."

"Hell, yeah," another inmate said. "I'm tired of rotten food."

"Everyone's tired of rotten food," Gutierrez said.

"The Fives definitely are. Maybe the other gangs got on them, Galano's an Italian name. So?" Colin prodded at him. "Any ideas? He got a gang?"

"Galano's got mojo," someone announced. "Nobody touch him, man."

"Yeah?" Colin asked. "No gang? So why hasn't someone stomped him yet?"

"No, man, nobody touch him," the man said. "He's a fucking weasel. Can't get a hand on him, he just slips the fuck away. Don't need a gang."

"Anyone try?" Colin asked, turning to the little cluster of men around the table.

"I know a guy in his block who did," the inmate confirmed. "Went after him on the yard, Galano just -- " he waved his fingers. "Poof. Gone, man. Went after him in the shower, he turned into steam and ran away. Next day, the guy's teeth started falling out."

It wasn't exactly the news he wanted. Apparently a frontal assault was out, even if they could get into his cell block. Which was dubious -- and if Colin was caught, it'd wreck his chances of helping Joseph.

Gutierrez blew air through his lips. "I have a plan, maybe."

"Maybe?" Colin asked. Gutierrez looked around at the expectant faces, and Colin nodded.

"Clear out, boys," he drawled. "Noel, Laney, you too."

The others melted away slowly, reluctantly; gossip was almost as good a commodity as food or cigarettes, and it was a contact sport with these guys. He watched Noel and Laney wander over to Rifkin's corner. In the back of his mind, Joseph was walking out of the patrol alley and into the overwarm guards' break room.

"What're you thinking?" Colin asked, when he was reasonably sure they wouldn't be heard.

"Galano's got something wrong," Gutierrez said. He tilted his head. "What was he like outside?"

"Mean. Greedy. Smart," Colin said.

"I think there's something in him," Gutierrez said.

"Like a disease?"

"More like a demon. I think we should do an exorcism," Gutierrez said. "Or you could steal his soul."

"I don't know if he has one," Colin replied. He couldn't imagine himself drawing Galano, couldn't see his face clearly even if he wanted to do it from memory.

"You got a better idea?" Gutierrez challenged. Colin considered it.

"Maybe we think bigger," he said.

"Bigger than exorcism?" Gutierrez was skeptical.

"Bigger exorcism," Colin murmured. He was almost afraid to say the words aloud.

Gutierrez sat back, obviously turning it over in his mind. "Don't say it," he said finally. "Even just between us, if you put that in the air, Galano will hear it. Hell, the warden'll hear that."

"Think about it," Colin said.

"I am, and it's scaring the fuck out of me, Suicide."

"Me too. Let it go for now?" Colin suggested. "It'll take time, anyway."

"Fortunately," Gutierrez said drily, "I have plenty of that."

***

That night, Colin went back to Noel's cell and sat down on his bunk, while Noel fiddled with pots of ink on the table across from him. They were quiet, not the important silence of the last time but just a comfortable peace, a little anticipatory. Noel glanced over his shoulder at Colin, a question in his gaze; Colin sat forward a little, clasping his hands between his knees.

"How do you feel about faces?" Colin asked.

Noel turned, fingers toying anxiously with the hem of his shirt while he thought about it. Colin could see the hesitation; faces had a lot of nerve endings. On the other hand, the point was the pain, and Colin knew Noel liked to be challenged. So few inmates were willing to go there -- even here, the face was off-limits to most. And those that would do that, the Aryans and the hardcore bangers and those who would probably not survive prison very long, they generally weren't the kind of men Noel wanted to touch, let alone draw blood from. Even penance had its limits.

Finally, Noel crossed the narrow space between them and bent over, cupping his palms around Colin's cheekbones, tipping his face up to examine it. Colin felt his thumbs smooth over the skin, testing its elasticity, finding the shape of the skull beneath.

"Sit back," Noel said. "Head against the cinderblock," and Colin slid back until his shoulders and head were supported by the cold concrete.

Noel took up the needle and razor, sterilized black in the flame of a contraband candle, and set out a tray next to Colin's hip, little divots filled with an assortment of home-made pigments, artist's inks, and food dyes. He washed his hands, scrubbing thoroughly with lye soap -- not that it mattered, not with Colin, but with other prisoners whose tattoos would be permanent it did matter, and he knew Noel didn't like to break habit.

Colin closed his eyes as Noel straddled his thighs and swabbed his face clean. He could feel when Noel began to work -- both the rub of an inkstained thumb against his skin and the pressure of the pinpricks.

When he got too close to the eyes, or worked directly over the bone, Noel whimpered softly. Colin raised a hand and rested it on his hip, steadying, hopefully anchoring. Some of it was concern, of course; he didn't like to know people were in pain. But he also didn't want Noel to slip and accidentally stab him in the eye. When Noel started on the sensitive hollow just at the corner of his lip, Colin tightened his fingers a little.

"Your man in the guards, people talking about him," Noel rasped, obviously trying to push through the pain with words. "He's got two shadows. Ain't never seen nothing like that. Don't answer," he added, when Colin's lips almost parted to ask what the inmates thought. "They say he's a'right, for a guard. Don't harass nobody too much."

He sunk the needle too deep momentarily and Colin felt it, not painfully, just present; Noel leaned back and panted for a minute, trying to get the pain under control.

"Sorry," Colin murmured, not moving more than his lips.

"Not your fault," Noel said. He leaned forward and began working again. Colin opened his eyes and watched Noel's as they swept over his face, focused on small patches of skin. He saw Noel's parole -- not as soon as Noel hoped, but sooner than he feared. Noel worked his way up Colin's temple on the other side of his face.

"You can talk now," Noel said, as if he understood Colin wanted to. "Just don't make no faces."

"When you get out," Colin told him, after a few heartbeats, "you should look me up."

Noel laughed, then hitched a breath, flicking the edge of the razor through Colin's skin briefly. "That's what they all say, man."

"I mean it. I have resources. I'll set you up."

Noel paused and met his eyes, then went back to work. "You, set me up."

"Yeah. On the outside you could really -- " Colin stopped as Noel hissed, waited for him to breathe through it. "You could have a good studio outside. I'll be there when you get out, look me up."

"Nah, Suicide, you run around too much."

"Not anymore," Colin said. "I'll be in New York. You'll find me."

Noel was silent for a few minutes, examining Colin's face, not for hints of emotion or truth but just to see if his work was complete. Finally he leaned back and eased off the bed, staggering to the sink like a drunk, fetching up the little shaving mirror to toss it to Colin.

Colin studied himself in the mirror, resisting the urge to make faces. The tattoo started in points on either side of his forehead, sweeping down over his temples in black and curling under his eyes, little red tendrils stretched across his cheekbones. They continued into curlicues down the sides of his face, terminating in tight black spirals at the corners of his mouth. The effect was a little like some kind of baroque decoration, and made him look like he was wearing his face as a mask, with something harder and infinitely more dangerous underneath.

"Thank you," he told Noel, easing off the bed, careful not to upset the ink pots.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Noel rasped. Colin let himself out through the bars.

Chapter Five

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

abraxas-life.livejournal.com

Ah! So short! But gooooood, chewy. Can't get enough of these tattooing scenes, they're so intense.

"Speaking of which, your guard's comin'," Noel said in a low voice to Colin, tilting his head sideways at the patrol alley.
When did Noel get the heads up about Joseph? Or is this a mojo thing?

Colin had never felt the guards before like others did, simply knew on instinct where they'd be because he spent enough time spent paying attention.
Say what?

I'm ridiculously excited for tomorrow's part!

From:

Sam Starbuck's Original Novels

Trace, Chapter Four

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