By Katsuhiro Otomo
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Extra info for Akira Vol. 1, No. 3
No more than half an inch, as far as I can tell. ” I frown, run my index finger across the scapula and back to the neck. “I could almost . ” “Assuming he didn’t inflict these himself . ” “I might almost believe they wanted him to bleed. ” Taking the candle from the sconce, I move the light across him in rippling pools. ” I ask. “Not exactly. We had to clean it up a bit. ” “Mm. The right hand. Couldn’t even see it at first for all the damned blood. ” He watches as I raise Leblanc’s fingers to the light.
Sat with them all night, they say, waiting for that accursed Vidocq to show up, then joined them in their despondent trek home—where, naturally, he’d stationed a tribe of gendarmes. ) Legend has it that if you give Vidocq two or three of the details surrounding a given crime, he will give you back the man who did it—before you’ve had time to blink. More than that, he’ll describe the man for you, give you his most recent address, name all his known conspirators, tell you his favorite cheese. So compendious is his memory that a full half of Paris imagines him to be omniscient and wonders if his powers weren’t given him by Satan.
Vidocq opens his mouth to answer, but the Widow Maltaise is glaring down at him now, lambent with rage. “Finish your business, Vidocq. ” There it is: the strange mystique that surrounds him. He is considered apart from everything—even the Prefecture that nominally employs him. The law is one thing, Vidocq another. T H E B L AC K T OW E R 49 He pats her arm. He clucks in her ear. “Just a few more minutes, my sweet. ” By now, Poulain has had time to work out a new tone. He’s the beggar at the gates of Saint-Sulpice.
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