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iii. con-men au

A/N: Con-men AU: In which Elliott has just been released from prison after getting caught at Three Card Monte, and he and Brady are back to their old tricks.

Randomly generated dialogue:

"You had time to call the police. Why didn't you?"

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"What do you mean, he's escaped?"

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Con-men AU

“I was told to call within forty-eight hours,” Elliott said, leaning against the grimy payphone booth. His cell phone, lifeless in his pocket, had not been charged in over a year. “It’s been about—” he consulted his watch, the most expensive item in his current possession “—an hour. Call me eager, but I just wanted to get this over with.”

“Name?”

“Elliott Church.”

“Offense?”

“A bad game of Monte.” The silence on the other end of the line was tantamount to a flat look. “‘Offense in relation to lotteries and games of chance’,” he recited with a sigh. “Misdemeanor. One and a half years. Minimum security.”

“Any previous charges?”

“No.” He paused. “Well. Implied involvement in organized crime, identity theft, credit card fraud, petty theft, and being an absolute ladykiller.” Elliott felt the need to add, “That was a joke. I haven’t killed anyone. The rest was true, though.”

“Is that all?”

“That wasn’t even half of it.”

A deep sigh sounded. “You’ve not been charged with any of the aforementioned crimes?”

“As I said,” Elliott reiterated, taking a breath of fresh air, happy it was no longer a luxury, “those were only implied. Never been caught, although they did add a few weeks to my sentence. But if you want to hear the rest, check my record. It makes for some good light reading if you ever find yourself stopped up in the bathroom for a half hour.”

“I’m required to ask you if you think you’re going to break the law again anytime soon, and advise you not to,” said the bored voice.

Elliott subconsciously slipped a hand in his pocket to make sure his deck of cards was still there. It, along with his keys, phone, watch, and wallet, were the only possessions he had on him when arrested a year ago. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Of course, being a conman, it was imperative for Elliott to be a proficient liar as well.

There was a drawn-out pause, and just when the ex-convict was about to hang up, the silence was shattered. “Call back in at least twenty-four hours.”

“Fine.” And that was the end of that.

 ***

  

The first time Brady visited Elliott in jail, he was three months into his sentence.

The visiting room was full of small square tables, each with two chairs on either side. Inmates chattered to their loved ones, to their partners in crime, to whomever they could; some were excited, some were yelling, and one man had to be physically restrained and taken out after about a minute.

Brady had never felt so far from Elliott, even though the distance between them was less than a meter’s worth. He was suddenly lonelier than he had been the past few months—it must’ve stemmed from the fact that he was not allowed to touch Elliott, when all he wanted was to wrap his arms around the con and tell him just how stupid he was. Punch him in the arm, maybe. Kiss his cheek, his forehead, the tip of his nose. His lips.