When Colinaude finally arrived at the designated meeting place, he was not at all surprised to find no one at all there. The Cad must have had transportation from there to elsewhere. Added security precautions. This was a definite sign that he had stepped up his operation. Paranoia always comes easier to those with something worth hiding. This was an unfortunate development.
He no longer had Hopper’s paper. It sat on Peter Cooley’s desk, its codes broken by the Solvent and its secrets revealed. Colinaude did not possess an extraordinary mind. He was never foolish enough to think that. He was not going to remember the rest of Cad’s destinations for the day. He was less angry with himself about not knowing those than over the fact that his intelligence had not been able to divulge the rest of Cad’s noonday plans. And he was also angry that he had allowed Viper to stand in his way, prevent him from leaving Mad Jack’s in time. This was not a day for miscalculations, but they were fast multiplying. He should have been here to track Cad’s retreat.
He brooded in the alley. Yes, Cad had arranged his meeting in an alley. It was a very typical move. This was one of the filthier ones in Traverse, filled with the typical rendering of trash strewn about, nestled from most views. There was an Eidolon costume Colinaude had stashed here. Right now there was going to be some comfort just to confirm it was still here, a sort of personal vindication. It was up two fire escapes, and the first one was missing its ladder. As always, he would need to improvise.
Colinaude gathered a few of the cans, and remembered how he’d used buckets against Viper. He always used two, for support. He leapt on top, which easily brought him within reach of the first escape, which rattled uncertainly at the slightest touch. He swung himself up, working with the quivering framework, and landed on light feet. The second escape’s ladder was within reach now. Someone had designed them to be autonomous of each other, for whatever reason. He had never given it a thought. The rust on this one was greater than was present on the first escape. It rubbed off a little each time he used it, just as the ladder creaked in protest, in struggle. Colinaude knew how to win.
He climbed up the ladder and watched as the second platform struggled to carry his weight. He walked assuredly over to the window of a room long abandoned. He popped it open, having unlocked it years ago. Nothing ever seemed to change here, a stagnating quarter in a district that could ill-afford to squander its meager resources. If by some chance something did, all Colinaude would lose would be a uniform. He would salute the fallen comrade, and move on.
But that comrade was still here, hidden behind a radiator, seldom used before and never used since, where a panel could be pried away to reveal its secret contents. Colinaude uncreased it. It had not been used in all the time it had been here. Strange now that such an untouched place would be the source of frustration. Strange, but somehow appropriate, too. It had gone unwatched, neglected. The Eidolon should have made his presence known here, and not just to stash a costume. It wasn’t as if nothing of any importance had ever happened here. It was known as Stonewine Alley. No, it was not unknown.
He put the costume back, made his way down again, put the cans aside. Colinaude did know of a few other appointments Cad had arranged. None of them seemed as important, but he was no longer prepared to dismiss them. He would have to make the time. There could be no more excuses, no more excursions. Godsend. He had to get in the way, didn’t he? He had to impose himself, didn’t he?
Colinaude had civilian clothes stashed elsewhere. He was getting hungry, he would need to change and find someplace to eat, just a quick bite. Like clockwork, he was scheduled to meet Godsend within the hour. He had a job, too, and had to go there soon. There were other contacts to see, including another mutual one with Cooley he was not looking forward to. That one ran a hotdog stand he was probably going to choose for lunch. As things stood, he had little other choice.
He rubbed his arm, the dislocated shoulder. That had made the fire escapes that much more difficult to navigate, but he worked through it. He knew what it took to negotiate them, and would not have allowed something as simple as a dislocated shoulder to stand in his way. He had had those before. He knew how to set it himself. So he did, and tried to squelch the resulting howl. He was mostly successful in that regard. It was going to bother him the rest of the day at least. Stolid as he was, Colinaude was not going to show it. He realized how cartoonishly macho that seemed.
The Eidolon made his way to downtown Traverse to fetch Colinaude, so he could carry on with his business. Had Cad been the kind to take his own business indoors, somewhere inside one of the buildings Stonewine Alley was formed by, things might be different. But Colinaude knew from experience that Cad didn’t work that way. He doubted that with the other recent changes Cad would have deviated in this regard. He always said he was too pretty for that. He liked to do things out in the relative open. One of the other appointments was scheduled over dinner, which was going to cost Colinaude his lunch hour. Whatever this dinner party would have indicated for most other criminals, it wasn’t the same with Cad. He did not intimidate, did not cajole. This was another thing that was not going to change, no matter the size of his operation. Cad was, as Colinaude’s nickname for him implied, an unabashed romantic.
In the past, that had also meant he was a fool. Colinaude could no longer assume that much. It was a little frustrating to think that. It was also frustrating to think how much sooner he seemed to reach this destination than the last one. The trick now was to retrieve his clothes. They were in a sealed pouch affixed beneath a mailbox; the pouch was painted the color of the box to hide it. The mailbox, however, was not hidden. It was at the corner of the street. He had other clothes hanging on lines which he was less worried about. This was tricky. This was probably insane, foolish. Yes, Colinaude acknowledged that he was probably a fool. He reasoned it was the only way to do things as Eidolon. Some fools were just less foolish than others were. They had a method to their madness. It was a small comfort.
As always, this trick required mastering the rhythm of the moment. He found himself waiting again. The cadence of the traffic, of the pedestrian stream, was more regular than most people realized. It was a random act of synergy, something that could be studied, learned. It took patience. Sooner or later, a window would open, a window wide enough for someone like Colinaude to take advantage of. All it took was looking for. He looked. And he saw. He saw a world he had always known was worth protecting.
He also saw an opportunity present itself, something he had been considering but not exactly in this form. She walked by, oblivious to him. He broke concentration to follow her, thinking of the new possibility. When he turned back, the chance had presented itself. He slipped from his hiding place behind some bushes in Glengarry Park and snatched up his package with one confidence stroke, then slipped the other way, to another alley. Maybe someone had seen him. Maybe they would think twice, and then think nothing of it again. Maybe the traffic lights had caught an image or two. He was a ghost, was he not? He was nothing more than an apparition. There were other, more important things to concentrate on. Those who might have cared were busy in their own affairs.
He changed quickly, deposited the visage of the Eidolon for safekeeping, and made his way around, to emerge elsewhere a new man. No more ghost. Here was Colinaude, hungry citizen, just another resident looking out for his own interests. He had money included in each of these ensembles, sometimes sewn within the seams if they were among those more likely to be found. He had other places for identification purposes, which he might seek out or he might not. There was no pressing reason for that. He was just going to eat not sign up for life insurance.
Lou was always at his stand, or so it seemed to Colinaude. He worked a long day, out earlier and pulling in later than the other vendors did. Colinaude stopped at one to buy a newspaper, perhaps as a tangible means to channel his recollections on where else Cad would be this day. No, he was not psychic. But he had also found in the past he could stumble on other useful information by reading what otherwise might be mundane, useless word count. He had intuition. He had seen Hopper’s copy for himself, had noted where the scribbling concentrated. And there was other bounty to be found as well.
The lead article was written by Cooley. "What’s new?" Colinaude asked Lou as he stood in line. Lou shot him a look, and he didn’t know immediately how to interpret it.
"The dogs," Lou snapped. "The FDA has a funny thing about that."
Colinaude took that as other things being up. He waited his turn to find out what. The eating was good here, and plenty of people seemed to know it.
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