Among those who took the hard line against super heroes, the media was perhaps the harshest. News reporters, whether in print or on camera, elected to take critical looks at what they called vigilante activity, and more often than not came up with negative views. Heroes like Eidolon fell under the heaviest gavels, while those like Godsend managed otherwise. The explanation would have been that some heroes could more easily be condoned, but no one ever pressed for one, and anyone could understand the criteria of judgment. The more independent the hero, the less accepted. The quality of the craft meant little. It was all about personal relations.
Colinaude had a good laugh with his friends over that. Peter Cooley was among them, and his was also among the persons in question. He happened to have a past time that involved the codename Solvent. The dual life went back a decade or more, when Cooley was still a cub reporter looking for his big break. Unbeknownst to the "Traverse Tracks," it had an ace reporter thanks to the very activity it condemned in a long line of editorials and among the publishing hierarchy itself. This was before Colinaude’s time, Cooley’s ascent, but not long before. In another life, Cooley might have himself become a super hero. In this one, however, he was deaf, and would have been hard-pressed to survive as a crimefighter without some sort of compensating miracle. And those were not as easy to come by as it sometimes seemed.
He had not given up the kind of beat he’d initially toiled at after finally making it. This was how he and Colinaude, or at least Cooley and the Eidolon, had originally met. Colinaude’s act, spoiled as it was every now and again as at Beacon Street, found as easy audience in Cooley. Seven years earlier, the newly-emerged Eidolon was establishing himself when he came across a reporter sitting in another alleyway, one Colinaude had intended to plant one of his costumes. As luck would have it, Cooley was right behind the spot he’d chosen, planted and peering above folded arms probably in anticipation of some contact’s arrival. He was dressed in a hunter’s jacket, and for all intents and purposes Colinaude could only assume he would have to come back, even though he was running late for other matters. Cooley’s appearance belayed his character, misled Colinaude.
"Hello," Cooley said all the same. With his refined speech, he was once again misleading Colinaude, and he spun around to meet the pinned figure, with more misinterpreted gestures. Colinaude, dressed as the Eidolon, backed off, placing his hands and their contents behind him. This was the first time he’d apparently failed in his act.
"I mean you no harm," Colinaude said. "I came here for entirely personal reasons."
With the mask covering the hero’s mouth, Cooley had no idea what had just been said. The ensuing silence sent still more confusion toward Colinaude. He pressed on, "I won’t hurt you. Look," putting his duffel bag down in front of him, "nothing to be worried about. I’m a good guy. Eidolon. Perhaps you’ve read about me in the paper."
Still nothing. Colinaude saw a copy of the previous day’s "Traverse Tracks" lying about. He picked it up, and found the lead headline reading ‘Mysterious Vigilante Still About Town.’ It was, of course, referring to Eidolon, and it was the second such headline from that week, though he had been operating for three months already. The bi-line read Peter Cooley, which Cooley himself found amusing. He’d been looking forward to meeting Eidolon, and just now realized what was going on. He’d gotten his chance, just as he’d done with every other hero in town, or near it.
Convincing his editors to go with the resulting story was always a battle. They were fine with the paranoia pieces, like this ‘Mysterious Vigilante’ one, and any that featured Godsend, but reading about fairly casual encounters with the likes of Moonraker or Silt, the so-called Sand Man, were the scenes of his fiercest conferences. He was always having to fight to prove they were fit to print in anything more than a gossip column, and gossip columns were not his interest. Inevitably, Cooley would have to compromise, sitting on the pieces until a follow-up occurrence presented the needed reason to run them.
What he did in the meantime was cultivate a new contact, which was a business this clientele was also invariably familiar with. That was how he came up with his first big story, sitting on a piece about Threshold, a speedy hero since moved on from Traverse. "Mysterious vigilante, huh?" he said to Eidolon. By this time, he’d learned his lesson, and was now prepared to skip to Point B. "I don’t suppose you’re that man?"
The Eidolon nodded, unknowingly working in the other man’s favor. The rest of the way, Cooley was prepared for. "Could you please remove your mask, at least partially? I promise you, you have nothing to worry about." The turnaround was not lost, on either man. Eidolon seemed willing, putting down the paper again and reaching toward his mask. He hesitated, backed up some until he fell into the shadows, and then complied.
"Care to explain?" the partially unmasked hero then asked.
"Pick the paper up again, and read the bi-line," Cooley instructed.
"So?"
"You’re looking at him," Cooley said. "I’ve got a proposal for you that would benefit both of us."
"I’m listening," Eidolon said.
"Good," Cooley said, "because I can’t."
"Which would explain the mask request," Eidolon said.
"Exactly," Cooley said, pushing aside one half of his jacket and reaching inside. He pulled out a card, and handed it over to the hero still standing in the same spot. "This might make it official. It’s my credentials. You can keep it. I’ve got plenty more."
Eidolon took the proffered card. "I think I get the general idea. I’m going by Eidolon. Look it up. I wanted to be creative. And you want some sort of mutual assistance pact. This isn’t blackmail, is it?"
"Not at all," Cooley said. "That’s a white slip of paper. Or are you blind?"
"Ha. You saw my shadow," Eidolon said.
"Like the groundhog," Cooley said. "Well, almost. So what do you say?"
"I’m game," Colinaude had said then, and the informal agreement was sealed with the regular handshake. He’d spent the years since taking full advantage of that relationship, much as Cooley must have, to each their own advantage. For a man with no ears, the reporter still managed to hear his fair share, in fact more than that, of what was going on in Traverse. He knew more about the inner workings of the city than just about anyone, and he also knew more about the Eidolon than anyone not named Cotton Colinaude. He also knew that Colinaude was the Eidolon. It seemed the most Colinaude owed him. Most people never even learned Cooley was deaf. A good portion of the "Traverse Tracks" staff didn’t, including most of his editors.
Colinaude considered the man more than heroic in his own way. The trust he’d so instantly, instinctively imparted on Cooley had not once been betrayed, and given the many ways in which that could have been done, that was a heroic fete all itself. Colinaude had known betrayal enough to see the many temptations available. If there was one thing he understood and appreciated fully, it was that Cooley was one of the best things he had going for him. He made life, and the heroics gig, more bearable than it otherwise sometimes seemed.
So, in broad daylight, with the city wide awake and none the wiser, Colinaude slipped into the headquarters of Traverse’s newspaper for another rendezvous with his friend and colleague. "Hello again," he greeted, mask rolled up as usual.
"You know, you could just take it off," Cooley replied.
"Yeah, I suppose," Colinaude said. "It feels more right this way. How have you been?"
"Same old. Never could complain," Cooley said, seated at his desk and working on another story.
"They’re bothering you again, then," Colinaude said.
"They always do," Cooley said. "It’s a fact of life in my line of work. Well, one of my lines of work. I suppose you’ve been to see Hopi already."
"You know he doesn’t like that," Colinaude said. "Of course. And here we are."
Cooley accepted another batch of codes. "He’s not here, is he? Anyway, I mean no disrespect."
"Of course you don’t," Colinaude said. "But you’re still calling him that all the same. I don’t think he even has a drop of native blood in him."
"I do," Cooley said, "and that seems enough. What’ve you got going on?"
"The usual. The gangs are beginning to flare up," Colinaude said. "Vinny Vegas is getting a little more bold. He and his friends jumped me earlier in retaliation for taking out one of theirs this morning. They had me for a while. But they’re really just a bunch of stupid kids. There’s probably a greater picture going on. It might even be Neville, but I haven’t seen him since I left the nest."
"It might be Cad, you know," Cooley said, pouring over the paper and Hopper’s notes as he casually demonstrated the degree of refinement he’d taken of his compensation. He seemed to either have two sets of eyes, or a remarkable ability to use just the one pair more efficiently than others. Or perhaps a reflection Colinaude couldn’t see.
"That hadn’t really occurred to me, but considering how close I’m getting," Colinaude said, "you may be right. There is that chance."
"Wouldn’t be the first time," Cooley chuckled.
"Ever the modest one," Colinaude said, before throwing his head around from the visitor’s seat he’d taken during the conversation. There was someone approaching. "I’m afraid we’re being interrupted. I’m going to have to make myself scarce." And quickly, too. The figure had introduced itself without knocking or admittance, forcing Colinaude to employ his greatest illusion: disapparition…
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