Trace, Chapter Six

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Chapter Six

Colin ended up last in line for dinner. Joseph was on guard outside the doors; they didn't acknowledge each other, but he could see a slip of white paper held in Joseph's fingers, and when he passed he lifted it deftly, feeling the release as Joseph let him have it. He tucked it away without looking to see what it was, hurrying past the picked-over mess at the service table, and grabbed a plastic bottle of milk, looking around at the rest of the inmates. Noel was, again, sitting with a group of men, hands gesturing in the air as he described something, sometimes falling to his own skin to trace an expressive outline. Gutierrez was with the Latinos, probably striking some kind of food deal. That left Laney, who was at a corner in the back, eyes wide and wary. Colin settled in across from him with his sad little bottle of milk.

"I got some cobbler for you," Laney said, pushing his tray into the middle of the table. Colin carefully dissected an edge of the dessert before lifting it with his fingers and popping it in his mouth. Looked okay; tasted salty, but edible.

"Thanks," Colin said.

"Pretty weird," Laney continued, carefully picking out unburned portions of the pasta on his tray. "I thought the asshole behind me was gonna pick a fight."

"Why?"

Laney pointed at the cobbler with his fork. "I grab this extra helping, and he opens his mouth all, ain't you gonna put that extra helping back, and I turn around..." he grinned. "And he didn't say shit to me."

"Mm. You got the mojo," Colin said.

"What I got? Pretty useless," Laney said.

"For now. You never know what's going to come in handy," Colin replied. "What was he, Italian? Latino?"

"Asian Crip," Laney answered. "Don't see many of them up in here. They mostly on another block 'cause the Bloods on this one."

"I'm surprised we're not all killing each other over our spaghetti," Colin murmured, picking another bit of peach carefully out of the cobbler.

"Sometimes we do," Laney shrugged. "So I hear."

Colin nodded. "It happens on the inside. Ever seen it?"

Laney shook his head.

"No, me neither."

"Seen it on the outside," Laney offered. "Well," he added with a dry grin, "not over spaghetti."

Colin grinned back. "I hope not. I never did till -- well. My kind of crime, you don't see a lot of bodies."

"You came in for fraud?" Laney asked. "Kinda pussy to get you thrown in a place like this, huh?"

"I was an escape risk," Colin said. "I think they'd put me in supermax if they thought they could get away with it."

"What'd you do?" Laney asked, leaning forward.

"What didn't I do?" Colin responded. "Mostly counterfeiting. I'm an artist, they had me do the plates. Did a couple of art forgeries, here and there, but there's no cash in that. Confidence games, when money got tight. Bank robbery, once -- never again, tell you that for free."

"How'd they get you?"

Colin shrugged. "The guy who caught me was more persistent than I was smart. He got close enough to figure me out. Set up a snatch for some treasury rag paper I couldn't resist, and I didn't." He smiled a little in memory. Joseph had been chasing him all over for nearly a year; he was sure the look on his face had been priceless when the lights in the warehouse went on and Joseph walked out from behind a shelf. Joseph hadn't even bothered to draw his gun.

Laney was looking at him, eyes narrowing.

"What?" Colin asked.

"What'd you do this time," Laney said pointedly. Colin realized his slip, small but significant to a bright guy like Laney -- he'd been asked why he was in prison, and he'd talked about his last stint like it was the only one he'd done.

"Broke my parole, among other things," he said. "Listen, it's not important, what you're in for. It's important what you do once you're in."

"Moral sermon?" Laney asked. "Fuckin' skip it, Suicide."

"Your funeral," Colin said. "Point is, some whispered mojo you have is only going to take you so far, so if I were you I'd scrape around for some more, or figure out how to get protection."

Laney grunted, probably in agreement. Colin let the conversation lapse. His milk tasted watery. The fucking milk.

"You ever in the AB?" Laney asked, finally. Colin shook his head. "Noel was, though, and you're tight with him."

"I'm the reason Noel isn't anymore," Colin said. Laney looked skeptical. "You heard him. I said he was going to hell. He had a moment, made a choice, got out. You know what they do to you when you leave a gang? Blood out, man."

Laney glanced away. Colin winced inwardly.

"I know what they did to me," Laney said softly. "Wasn't even my fucking fault."

"Yeah, and I'm sorry for that," Colin said. "Someone should've been looking out for you."

"Ever happen to you?" Laney asked.

"What, a beat down?"

Laney shook his head, eyes cast downwards. Oh.

Colin scrubbed his hands through his hair. "It happens to a lot of guys in here," he said. "It doesn't -- I mean, you know. It's done to you. It's not something you ask for. You know that, right?"

He really should have taken that rape crisis counseling class Joseph wanted to sign him up for (God -- and maybe Gutierrez -- knew why, but Joseph's motives were often opaque).

"I know that," Laney said, lifting his chin a little.

"Good. Keep it in mind," Colin said.

"But did it happen to you?" Laney asked. Colin glanced down the long line of tables. People were starting to carry their trays away, getting ready for lockdown.

"Some other time," he said. "Come on. Lockdown. Finish your food and let's go."

Laney took one last bite of the pathetic excuse for a meal, finished Colin's milk when he offered it to him, and followed Colin out to their block. They passed Gutierrez on the way; Colin caught his arm and gave him a look.

"I know," Gutierrez said, and Colin realized the older man looked worn down. Weary. "I know."

"We can't dance around it forever," Colin said. "You know what we have to do."

"I don't know how," Gutierrez protested.

"We better figure it out," Colin said, and then moved on before a guard could give him a shove for holding up traffic.

Back in his cell, he carefully unfolded the paper Joseph had slipped him. Two sheets of crisp, expensive white stationery, and even before he looked at the writing he looked for a watermark, for any identifying stamp. But of course Joseph wouldn't have allowed that; Joseph was thorough.

The handwriting was neat and very small, thin lines rising and dipping evenly. He'd expected Joseph's dark block-print, designed for legibility on reports and evidence forms, but not Analise's slightly canted copperplate. He stared at the page for a while, just taking in the shape of the paragraphs, the places where the ink darkened slightly and where it was light. Two whole pages from Analise, smuggled in by Joseph, for him. It almost hurt, it was so good -- perhaps the hurt was, in part, that it was pathetically good. A thin thread of connection between the three of them, a link to the outside world, two pages of Analise's beautiful handwriting.

It didn't say anything important. In fact, he could read her trying not to say anything important, deliberately writing as if he were simply on vacation, or traveling for business. A little news, some gossip about some of Joseph's colleagues that they both knew, how the sink in the bathroom was running slowly and she feared for their safety if Joseph tried to plumb it. Colin read so fast he missed things, then went back and read it over again. If he concentrated, he could almost hear her voice, could almost find her on the outside. But not quite.

Folded into the crease of the second page was a small piece of twine. When he was finished reading the letter for a third time, he picked up the twine between thumb and forefinger and rolled it, curious. She made no mention of it in the letter, but it wasn't there on accident, trimmed to fit the length of the paper and carefully tucked in the fold.

Analise could see Joseph's shade, could see the second shadow now, but that was because she was his wife. As far as Colin knew, the rest of -- everything, the strangeness of it, didn't belong to her. She wouldn't have understood why he'd burned an egg for her any more than Joseph understood the bullet charms in the window of their home. On the other hand, maybe Colin didn't understand her dark corners, either; maybe he wasn't meant to understand the twine.

He turned the hem of his prison smock inside-out and picked at a loose thread, pulling it carefully away from the seam. He knotted the twine and thread together with nimble fingers, tucking it up into the seam, and then smoothed it out so that no wrinkle was visible. It was all he could think of to do.

Colin folded up each sheet of paper into a pyramid, the writing safe on the inside. He cupped the two little pyramids in his palm, covering them with his other hand. They burned smokeless; they left his hands a little red, like a mild sunburn, but that was all that remained after -- not even the scent of paper or flame.

***

He'd been in prison for eight days before Galano actually saw him.

Colin knew word was spreading that Suicide Byrne was back, and Galano must have heard it. But as long as Galano didn't see him -- and the only time he would was at meals -- then there was nothing to be done about it. He was in the dinner line when Galano finally made him, and prison had made Galano fast. He was over the prep table behind the line and vaulting the service table almost before Colin could blink.

When Galano came at him he ducked back instinctively and felt a blade whistle through the air in front of him. The rest of the inmates scattered away, but not very far -- a wall of bodies began to form up around them at a distance. This was a rare excitement, a fight at mealtime, and everyone wanted a front row seat even if it put them within reach of the blade. It was what was so troublesome about fights like this, Colin thought, as his world narrowed to a tight focus on Galano. Hard for the guards to get in to break it up, unless they cracked a few heads on the way.

Galano was a smallish man, strong but not overly muscular, and he knew he couldn't take Colin if he got close enough to get grabbed, which gave Colin at least a momentary advantage. The scar on his face, the jagged pucker that ran from his earlobe along his jaw, was livid red; Colin looked away from it just in time to jerk back when Galano lunged, and the blade narrowly missed him this time. He could see it clearly now: such a cliche, a sharpened bit of metal shoved into what looked like the broken end of a broom handle.

"Come on, kitchen boy, couldn't you find a real knife?" he taunted, as Galano circled, forcing him further from the service table -- his one valid avenue of escape -- and towards the eager onlookers who were chanting and cheering, not caring who won. This was bad, but not so bad that he couldn't survive it, not yet.

"You son of a bitch," Galano growled. "You fucking sent me here!"

"You fucking killed -- " Colin started, cutting off has he ducked left under another swing. He came up solid against Galano's elbow and shoved, using height to his advantage, but Galano staggered away, keeping his feet as he broke free.

He had to know he didn't have the time to dance with Colin, should be pressing his advantage with the blade. The guards were already converging, Colin could feel it, and he was sure Galano could too.

Gutierrez had been right: he acted like a man possessed. On the other hand, Colin couldn't feel anything unusual about him, not in that way -- he was just fucking crazy, maybe, or maybe evil all the way out to his skin. As they circled, Galano still controlling their movements, Colin risked looking away from the blade and up into his eyes. Even for just a second, their eyes locked, and Colin could see flashes of what would happen, of what had to happen.

One of those inevitabilities, he supposed.

Galano pushed in suddenly, too fast for Colin to dodge and too close anyway if Colin didn't want someone else getting cut --

Suddenly there was a clatter as someone else came over the service table and then a sweep of sharp cold across Colin's face. The room went dim and Colin realized Joseph was there, between him and Galano, taking the impact of the knife in his stab vest. Another guard came over the table behind him even as Joseph's hand flicked his baton out of his belt with easy skill, telescoping it with a twist of the wrist. When he swung he put the whole force of his shoulder behind it, the metal singing through the air to land against Galano's ribs with a sharp whipcrack of noise. Colin stared; he hadn't known Joseph could use a baton that well, didn't think he'd have had time to learn in just a week. Galano collapsed with a grunt.

He had thought the dim gray at the edges of his vision had been from the adrenaline rush, but even with Galano down, it remained. The sound of jeering prisoners and shouting guards seemed muted. He looked around him and discovered that he was standing in Joseph's second shadow.

It was cool; almost placid. It felt powerful.

Then it swept away and the humid warmth and light of the dining hall rushed back, as Joseph turned and grabbed Colin by the front of his uniform, shoving him into another guard who pinned his wrists behind him. Colin watched, helpless, as Joseph knelt and pulled Galano, groaning in pain, to his feet. Joseph pushed Galano into another guard, who hauled him away, and then he turned to the guard holding Colin. He gave him a sharp nod; Colin felt his arms released.

Joseph's baton was still in his hand, swinging back and forth as he forced the prisoners back, driving them away from the service table and down into their seats. As they scattered, Colin rubbed his wrists and watched Joseph with his head slightly bent, not willing to look away even at the cost of rulebreaking.

The whole thing, from Joseph's arrival to Galano being hauled away, had happened without a word spoken. Colin could see the rips in Joseph's shirt and stab vest where the knife had landed. He didn't move from where he'd been shoved, hips against the service table, until Joseph walked out of the room.

Slowly, shufflingly, the other inmates who'd been in the dinner line re-formed. The guards watched them closely. Colin could feel every footstep as Joseph walked down the hallway towards the guardroom to make a report.

"Nobody ever landed a hit on Galano before," one of the inmates whispered to Colin, as they served themselves quietly.

"That one did," Colin whispered back.

"He got two shadows. I dunno, man."

"Me neither," Colin said. He didn't. The shadow hadn't felt malevolent. If anything, it felt like being with Joseph: calm assurance, tranquility, absolute confidence in Joseph's power. And Joseph had managed to hit Galano, which was apparently a first.

"Hey, maybe the food'll be better," one of the other inmates said, grinning.

"I wouldn't count on it," Colin murmured.

Laney was behind him in the line, but Noel and Gutierrez were already seated; when Colin sat down across from Noel, next to Gutierrez, a handful of Italians joined them, straddling the benches or leaning over Colin's shoulder.

"Hiya," Paolo said, slapping Colin's shoulder with enough strength to make it a vague threat. "So. That was interesting."

"You shoulda gone after him," another man said.

"He had a knife," Colin pointed out.

"So? Suicide?" Paolo's grin was wide. "Leoni's impatient, man."

"Leoni knew this would take time," Colin said.

"You think you can get to him where he's going?" Paolo demanded. Clever, sending him to ask the questions. Paolo would know if he was lying.

"No," Colin said, looking him in the eye. "But I won't have to."

"No guarantee he'll stay in Seg," Gutierrez said, breaking into the discussion. "Fuck off, Paolo."

Paolo looked uncertain, but eventually he gave Gutierrez a nod and jerked his head at the men who'd come with him. They disappeared pretty quickly, down the aisle and back to where the rest of the Italians were eating. Colin raised an eyebrow at Gutierrez.

"I got 'em thinkin' I'm a saint," Gutierrez said with a grin. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"No saints in prison," Colin said.

"Hell no," Gutierrez agreed, giving Laney an absent nod as he sat down next to Noel. "So what'd you see, Suicide?" he asked calmly. Colin gestured vaguely with his fork at Laney and Noel. "Hey, they have to learn sometime. What, you don't trust your hermanos?" he asked, a slight sarcastic lilt to his voice.

"I don't want anyone getting fucked up who doesn't have to be," Colin said.

"Want to make an omelet, gotta set something on fire," Noel said.

"That's clever, Noel," Colin drawled.

"Ain't nobody breaking eggs in prison either," Noel said. Colin laughed and turned back to Gutierrez.

"We gotta do it," he said, and Gutierrez snorted. "Okay, I know you know that. Thing is," he added, lowering his voice, "One way or another I'm not here much longer."

Laney didn't look surprised, as Colin expected; perhaps Noel had explained things to him. Colin hoped he'd keep his mouth shut. Noel just kept his eyes on the careful disassembly he was performing on his dinner.

"Can you get into his block?" Gutierrez asked.

"Not after lights out." Colin shook his head. "He'll be in Seg, anyway."

"Think he planned it?" Laney asked. Colin glanced at him. "He knew you was after him. Takes a swipe at you, figures, if he wins, no more problem. If he loses, he's safe."

"Kid's got a point," Colin said. Gutierrez grunted. "Do we even need to get to him? For what we're planning?"

"I don't know," Gutierrez said. "I think we gotta get our hands on him."

"I don't know if I can do that," Colin said, around a mouthful of chicken that tasted like metal.

"But you maybe know someone who can," Gutierrez said with a grin. "Okay, no more right now. Think quietly. I have some people to talk to."

At the end of dinner, a handful of names were called, Colin's among them; random drug test, lucky him. On the other hand, when he trooped into the secure cell with the others, Joseph was standing at the door to the toilet. When he went inside to pee in the cup, Joseph came in with him.

"We have about five minutes," Joseph said. "Piss. Talk fast. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Colin replied, lowering his uniform pants. "You all right? He nicked your vest."

"Bruised, nothing major. You want out?" Joseph asked. "Galano can't be your only enemy, and I can't follow you everywhere. That was dumb luck today. Another guard would have let you get stabbed."

"Galano was the only one going after me. The others know better," Colin said.

"I can pull you, this isn't worth dying over."

"Seriously, I'm okay," Colin said. "Listen, I wanted to tell you sooner, but when I called you a guard showed up."

"Yeah, what the hell was up with the office thing?" Joseph asked. "I'm halfway to getting a warrant for the Department of Corrections offices downtown."

"I don't know why I put up with you," Colin grinned as he pulled his pants back up. "Off the central guardroom, opposite the locker room."

Joseph covered his eyes with one hand. "Day Captain's office, yeah."

"If there is a ledger, I think that's where it is. Not the swing shift office, the day shift," Colin said, screwing the lid on the cup. "He might not even know it's there. You guys have a couple of master keys floating around."

"I'll see what I can find. Warrant shouldn't be that hard to get," Joseph said. Colin held out the cup, and Joseph took it, sighing. "You were right, you know."

"About what?" Colin asked, washing his hands.

"I don't understand what goes on in here," Joseph told him. He sounded a little lost, which was more lost than Colin had ever heard him. "I swore, on your face a few days ago..."

"Try not to think about it," Colin said, but he hesitated. "Joseph, look behind you."

Joseph, perplexed, twisted to look at the blank wall. "What?"

"How many shadows do you see?" Colin asked. Joseph looked back at him.

"Just mine. Why?" he said. Colin shook his head.

"Never mind. Hey, can you get me word when Galano goes into Seg?"

"Is that important? Are you planning something?" Joseph asked.

"I'm not going to break into Seg, I'm not insane," Colin said. "Why, is he there already?"

Joseph glanced away. "He has a couple of bruised ribs. They treated him and sent him down."

"Good," Colin said, and went to leave. Joseph stopped him, a hand on his chest; Colin felt his fingers tuck something in the pocket of his shirt.

"The guards call you Cat," he said quietly. "The inmates call you Suicide. Should I worry?"

Colin wished he could risk a quick kiss, but he knew better than to risk it here, so close to other prisoners, so close to rooms with cameras in them. "No. Come on, they're going to wonder what happened in a minute."

***

"The neighbors are fighting about the fence again," Colin read that night, Noel sitting crosslegged next to him, Colin with his knees pulled up and a new letter from Analise resting on them so he could read it aloud. "That old adage about good fences making for good neighbors is crap. J built a beautiful fence, even painted both sides of it, but they're saying the red clashes with their roses, which are yellow. I think J's about to go over and offer to paint their roses for them. It's pretty Alice in Wonderland. Do you think I'd look good as the Queen of Hearts?"

Noel snorted a little laugh.

"Anyway, they have no reason to talk," Colin continued, his voice low and hushed. "When Christmas comes around they always put up a horribly gaudy nativity on their roof, wreathed in red and green neon. I think maybe tomorrow I'll go over with some cookies and tell them, if they stop bothering us about the fence we won't get an injunction from the city for light pollution. She'd do it, too," he whispered. Noel grinned at him. He was fiddling with ink pots, twisting the caps on and off, shaking up the black to mix it. He looked nervous, and the next little passage in the letter was kind of dirty and private, so Colin skipped it. "But that's pretty much all the news from here. I'll write again soon. Love to you, stay safe. Lise."

Noel nodded as Colin tucked the letter away in the waistband of his underwear, where it would be safe until he could destroy it. "That's pretty great, man."

"Yeah, she's good," Colin said, only a little wistfully. After all, with any luck he'd be gone soon; Noel still had a sentence to serve, and he didn't have a woman waiting on the outside, at least not that he'd ever talked about. They were silent for a while, Colin contemplating the letter, Noel somewhere in his own head, until Noel drew a breath to speak.

"You and Gutierrez are moving on Galano, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Colin said. "I don't know what we're doing yet. Gutierrez doesn't either."

"He's a lifer, you know. Gutierrez."

"I know," Colin sighed. "He wouldn't leave, anyway."

"He'd miss God," Noel said. "Gutierrez been here twenty years. I think he's afraid of the outside."

"Sometimes I am," Colin admitted. "Things are so...different there. But it's good, too."

"What do you do on the outside?" Noel asked. Colin tilted his head back.

"When I got out, I didn't know what to do with myself. I just sort of -- yeah, I don't know," he said sheepishly, bending his head forward to rub the back of it before leaning back again. "I got a little lost. Got some help getting found. Now I find other people. I mostly work for people who need answers and don't need someone with a license finding them."

Noel laughed. "You're a detective? A private dick? Shit, Suicide, that's fucking funny."

"Yeah, I know," Colin answered. "I follow a lot of unfaithful spouses. The cops throw work my way. I'm on parole, you know, but it's better than a cell."

"So you are a snitch," Noel pointed out.

"Nah, I don't -- it's not like that. A snitch, that's someone who sees something and then turns around and tells the cops. The cops tell me what's going on, I help them out, give them advice."

"Gotta be weird."

"Nah. It's a living."

"That what happened with you and Galano? You help the cops put him away?"

"Yeah," Colin said, not offering any more information.

"So?" Noel prompted, frowning. "What happened?"

"What'd he do?"

"Sure," Noel said.

"He was in a lot of bad business." Colin shrugged. "Something went south, he thought he'd been screwed out of his share. He killed this guy...tortured him to death. Can't prove it," he added.

"You see the body?"

"Yeah," Colin answered briefly, his shoulders pulling tight, pulling inward. Joseph had shown him the body, lying on the table under the pig-iron weights, blood so thick on the floor it hadn't yet dried. "He's probably not the only one."

"You know I'm in for murder," Noel said softly.

"But you wouldn't, now," Colin told him. "Big difference. You're paying for it. Galano, I think he likes it. I don't think he's sorry. I don't think he'd have the balls to man up and pay for it even if he got the same offer you did." He saw a small smile on Noel's face. He inched closer to him, seeking reassuring touch, the sense that something was real. "It wasn't just murder. It must've been slow, the guy who died. They showed me the body and I said yeah, I'd help them. Testified against him, he got fifteen to life. End of story."

"Not this story," Noel said.

"No." Colin ran a hand through his hair. "I guess not."

Noel nudged him with his shoulder. "You'll get him, you and Gutierrez."

"Maybe," Colin answered.

"So that's what you do on the outside. Pay any good?" Noel asked. He seemed hungry for details, angling sidelong to get them, but Colin could understand that.

"Sure, it keeps me fed. It's nice, you know? I got my own place. Cable television. Summertime, I can sit outside and have a beer. Cook my own food. I come and go when I want. If I want to leave a room I just get up and leave. If someone picks a fight with me I can walk away. Nobody telling me when to eat, when to shower. If I need something I just go out and buy it. I do a lot of drawing. Sometimes I paint if I want to."

Noel nodded. "You forget what it's like, after a while."

"I know," Colin said. "You forget what it's like in here, too."

"What about your girl? Saint Grace?" Noel asked. "You ever see her? Gutierrez said you're fucking some guy...and this letter...?"

Colin looked down at his wrists, resting on his knees, fingers dangling down. "You know Grace stopped coming."

"You find out why?" Noel prodded gently. "She find out about...you know, the mojo and shit?"

Colin shook his head. "I never told her about it," he said, waving a hand aimlessly, trying to encompass all the strange dark things inside the walls that he never wanted her to know about. He used his mojo -- he'd be a fool not to -- but he knew in some way it was dangerous, it wasn't necessarily good. Good and Powerful were very different. People could be both; Joseph was. But one didn't guarantee the other.

"Maybe she stopped coming because I didn't tell her," he mused quietly. He glanced at Noel. "She picked up a guy on the outside."

"Bitches," Noel said, and then quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry," he added. "Old habits."

"It wasn't like that, not -- " Colin exhaled. "She thought he'd take care of her. She was like that, you know? And I liked taking care of her, and I couldn't in here, so yeah. She got tired of waiting, I guess."

"So she still with this guy?"

"She died," Colin said. "Same week I got out."

"Shit," Noel breathed. "The fuck happened?"

"Overdose," Colin said shortly. "I didn't find out for a week or two," he added, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, man," Noel said.

"It was done. Between us, I mean. I'm sorry she died, but she wouldn't have come back to me. I wouldn't have taken her," Colin said, and was surprised to find it was true. He'd never said it out loud before. "Messed me up though. Joseph -- my guard? He took me in. Kinda...put me back together." He smiled.

"Your guard, that's the guy you fuck?" Noel asked. Colin rolled his eyes. "What? You want me to frill it up?"

"No, it's -- yeah," he said. "Him and his wife -- that's Lise, in the letter. She's unbelievable, man. After a case sometimes, he brings me home. Always at their place. Not often. It's good, I guess."

"Nice for some," Noel said, without bitterness.

"I need it, I think," Colin answered. "Maybe they do too, I don't know. But I do. I haven't got anyone else, outside."

"You seen Grace since she died?" Noel asked carefully. Colin shook his head.

"She's not waiting for me," he said. "I can't find her. That's how I know."

"Sorry, Suicide."

"Doesn't matter." Colin shrugged. Noel turned and rested his chin on Colin's shoulder, thoughtfully.

"What you want tonight?" he asked. "I could do Saint Grace for you. Maybe inside your skin, she'd talk to you?"

Colin shook his head. "I don't think we'd have much to say."

"What then?" Noel asked.

"You pick," Colin said. "Whatever you want."

Noel nodded, chin digging into Colin's shoulder. "Get on your back," he said, standing up. Colin stretched out on the cot, resting his head on his wrists, and Noel went to the little desk to prep his tools. When he came back he swung a leg over him, sitting comfortably on his stomach, and spread a hand over Colin's chest, pressing down, feeling for something. Then he went to work.

Colin closed his eyes and tried to breathe shallowly, aware that a moving canvas was the most difficult kind. The rapid press of the needle was soothing, without any pain. Noel was a heavy, warm weight on his stomach, his breath rhythmic, almost hypnotic, as he worked through the pain Colin should be feeling.

He wasn't aware of the exact moment he slipped into sleep, but he must have. He could still feel the needle tapping, and the occasional drop of sweat falling off Noel's forehead onto his chest. He could feel the pressure of his head, resting on his arms, and the slight shift against his skin every time Noel moved. But what he saw was different, not the darkness of closed eyes or the gray ceiling of Noel's cell. He saw the dining hall, felt a plastic tray in his hands as well. It must be a dream.

The men in the hall moved slowly, listlessly, like they'd all been broken; those who were sitting ate quietly, ignoring the rot and mold on the food they were shoveling into their mouths. The inmates moving along the meal line shuffled forward with bent heads and dull eyes. Colin closed his eyes and tried to open them again into Noel's cell but he couldn't -- when the afterimages cleared he was still there, watching the terrible parade move forward. They acted like McGall had acted after Colin stole his soul. Like the muscles knew what to do but the mind was curiously absent.

There were strange flares of light, too, pulsing amber, rising slowly from the tables like mist, rising off the shoulders of the men and drifting out of their eyes and mouths whenever they moved.

Colin glanced at the doorways and saw other men there, not in the black guard uniforms or the orange prison ones -- riders from the Darkman, their police badges blacked and shining. Guye's soldiers too, men in fatigues creeping along the walls, hands curled as if they held imaginary guns, their bright eyes watching the Darkman's riders.

There was a snapping noise, a terrible sound like bones crunching, and Colin turned in the other direction to see Galano climbing over the service table. His joints crackled as he moved and the amber light that was drifting off the other men was entwining him, bursting into little white bubbles at his joints.

Galano elbowed one of the slow-moving inmates, shoving him into the man behind him, and Colin watched the man behind him throw down his tray and take a swing, fury suddenly evident in every line of his body. The man Galano had shoved staggered back, into someone else, who pushed him again.

Colin felt himself throw down the tray he was holding -- it landed with no sound at all, though the plastic cracked and shattered like porcelain. He tried to turn around, to look for somewhere to shelter, because the men fighting in the service line were being joined by others, and men who'd been eating were standing up to look. The amber light took on a darker shade, blood-orange red, and the slow roar of voices filled his ears. This was how a riot started.

The inmates were about to riot and the Darkman's riders were surging forward instead of the guards, throwing themselves into the melee with clubs and mace, and Colin couldn't move. He couldn't shift, he couldn't run, couldn't even duck out of the way as a thrown plastic tray glanced painfully off his shoulder.

Someone grabbed his arm and he looked down -- dark fingers against his orange uniform sleeve -- and then up at one of Guye's soldiers, who was pulling on his arm.

"Come on," the soldier said, twining his other hand in Colin's shirt. "Come on, get out of here."

He twisted and something sharp cracked in his spine --

And he woke, gasping deep for air, his back arching suddenly into Noel's hands.

Chapter Seven