Chapter 19: "All the News"

Business was still taking its time picking up at Tin Can, and besides, Alonzo had arrived for his shift and could carry some of the slack. These were rationalizations Colinaude regularly employed when he wanted to peruse the "Traverse Tracks" on the job. He told himself it wasn’t too hard, especially if he wasn’t going to be conducting conversations similar to the one with Cassie Dawes with every customer, or even every other. There were those who never wanted to chat. There were those who came to socialize with a bunch of the guys. There were those who spoke in one word sentences, and those could easily be handled if Colinaude wished to juggle his priorities.

Among the other things Alonzo liked to say, he was keen in pointing out how negligent Colinaude was being as a bartender when he did that. He said people came to drink, and find a place where they could be wanted, as someone with more than just cash to offer, or a drink to be offered. They came for solace, for companionship, for respite, for acceptance. And Alonzo was always threatening to quit and pack his bags for another state. He said he never felt quite at home in Alabama. He had a self-deprecating way of saying it, but Colinaude knew he wasn’t really joking. That was the thing with comics. They were able to get away with poking at the fabric of things and receive favorable responses from a wide swath of the population, because their delivery bespoke their words. They were politicians, but without the personal ambition.

Alonzo might also be considered a social critic, and that was something Colinaude liked about him. There was a certain kinship. And Alonzo wasn’t leaving any more than he was condemning reading the newspaper on the job. These were just things people liked to say, to burn off frustrations.

So Colinaude read his newspaper as they kept bar at Tin Can. He was currently in the midst of clue-finding, both in the sense of trying to rediscover some of the notes Hopper had made for him in a copy that presumably still sat on Peter Cooley’s desktop, and looking for his own discoveries. The double-crease he’d managed to create earlier now came in handy as he attempted to carry on as discretely as possible. It amazed him to think how much of what he did he tried to suppress from general knowledge, and he thought he understood why most government programs did the same. Doing so made accomplishing things so much the easier.

Unfortunately, the Cad and his kind had the same idea, which revealed the downside of the idea: making things easier to accomplish didn’t always mean those things should be accomplished. The trouble was, most people loathed adversity, and spent most of their lives trying to overcome it, as if admitting defeat was the very worst thing imaginable. A lot of history had been made on the broken backs of past failures, maybe more so than on successes. The explanation went like this: mankind sought to improve itself. Colinaude knew better.

The trick to accomplishing his second goal was in understanding associations. This meant Colinaude was equally concerned with goings-on reported in the business section as in seemingly harmless local news and crime reports on trials, arrests, unsolved mysteries; and there was also the always useful word puzzles, which in the cases of cities like Traverse who employed their own puzzle makers, often found themselves dealing with crafters hiding perfectly significant answers to questions not directly posed in the puzzle itself. Colinaude wished he could take credit for figuring this out by himself, but that was something Hopper had showed him once. It had helped him a number of times, and he’d coined that bizarre collective occupation as Minos. Hopper got to calling it Milo.

Some of the customers were usually good for helping him solve those. Leonard was especially good at it, but he wasn’t here yet. Colinaude instead concentrated on the non-Minos Milo sections. There were still articles following the Delenda affair he perceived Godsend as having botched. Those had been giving him leads on Cad for months now, some of which he’d turned over to be contacts around the city, and others he’d been working on with Cooley. That had been a topic he was going to breach with Peter earlier, but they’d never gotten around to it. Something was always coming up to prevent everything from falling in place, in a perceivably timely manner.

Timely manner had taken on a whole new definition today, as had his relationship with Cooley, whom he was becoming more concerned about all the time. They never spent much time trying to keep in touch beyond the usual office visits, and that had never seemed a bad thing. Until now. Even the minor appointments Cad was supposed to be attending, as outlined in the notes on Cooley’s desk, were becoming a source of concern for Colinaude. He began to sense there were no longer any minor appointments for Cad. He was stuck at work now. It would be unfair to leave Alonzo alone to handle the increasing patronage. But there was business not being taken care of, contacts he could have deployed to cover those appointments so he could have known what was going on. There was also the matter of the missed opportunity that had been the noon rendezvous. There was no telling how crucial that would have been, what Colinaude didn’t know now because of Viper, and Ratbeard.

Leonard finally appeared. Colinaude signaled him over right away, drawing the Minos Milo expert from the jukebox, which was better for everyone considering Leonard’s taste in music. Not that Colinaude enjoyed what Tin Can usually played. He motioned Leonard with the page he was going to be concerned with for the next hour, sometimes considerably less, sometimes more. The plump middle-aged software engineer, whose appearance belayed his latent brilliance, was always eager to help. He got a free beer out of it, not to mention the recognition from his fellow patrons, whom Colinaude always made sure were appreciative, and supportive.

They agreed to leave him alone, which in Leonard’s early visits had not exactly been the case. Colinaude scored that as a victory for the good guys. Johnny Cash was singing about John Henry right about the time Leonard reported back in, clickety-clack, clickety-clack. Nothing seemed to jump out as holding any significance. It was more of the random garbage Minos Milo tossed out more often than not, to throw off anyone who might be catching on without determination enough to decide they were right about it. There were still other options.

Colinaude was no great detective himself, but he’d been around those with the right minds long enough to pick up a few skills. That served him well enough for Colinaude to be reasonably certain he found the places Hopper’s notes had been. It turned out the appointments were more routine than he would have liked to think. Like Ratbeard, Cad was not that much different from himself or the man who masqueraded as Solvent. It was in the application that they differed. All Cad had been up to today was reassuring himself of things he already knew, which would have been useful for Colinaude to know as well, but it wouldn’t have been likely that the appointments would have yielded much more than he already did. They would have been dead ends. The dinner date would have to suffice. He was bringing Calypso. He couldn’t wait to see who Cad would be.

And then there it was, buried in an innocuous editorial written by someone Cooley would have described as a half-wit. It was something Colinaude had been dying to know for months, something that would facilitate everything else that he would need to do. He had stumbled on the Cad’s base of operations.

It wasn’t an editorial, really, more like a column someone had decided the paper should include to give it a more personable verve. Stretched along the front page of the local news was a piece detailing the reaction to the Traverse Warhorses’ latest championship run. Not being a thoroughly competent sports fan, Colinaude had no idea which Warhorse team had accomplished it, and he didn’t really care. There was one sound-byte from Vinny Vegas. There was also one from Rufus Ferrante, who all but identified himself as a bookie by revealing he’d bet on them. Colinaude knew he was one. He also knew that he was the Cad’s personal bookie, and that the Cad kept his closest associates closest to him.

And where had Rufus, and Vegas, made his comment from? The Complex, a sports bar among other things but primarily a recreational facility rumored to have underground offices. Colinaude put two and two together, and came up with one. The rumors were true, and the underground offices of the Complex were home to the Cad’s operation. Allowing Ferrante to be quoted like that was exactly the kind of cocky behavior Colinaude expected from Cad, because up until now no one had been interested in him. He had gotten away with much, because it seemed little, and he was on the verge of getting away with a lot more, because he still seemed small. The Eidolon was not in the habit of measuring significance. He let others make that mistake. It always seemed to work out well for him.

Risk, however, was another matter. He played with risk as part of his general design. And he was going to be playing with it soon enough when Cotton Colinaude joined Cassandra Dawes for a visit to Marco’s, where they’d meet Rodrigo Ramirez, and perhaps the face of things to come.

He looked around Tin Can, watched as Alonzo filled some orders, filled some orders himself. There was a mood here that overlapped almost too perfectly with his other life. Maybe that was what had drawn him to this in the first place. It was a good thought, anyway, and what Colinaude needed now was more of those to keep him grounded for what was about to go down.

Chapter 18: "Bars and Maidens"

There was something else Godsend had been right about. Colinaude was only willing to admit this one because he hadn’t needed Godsend to remark about it to realize choosing to do that would be of immeasurable benefit to him. The opportunity presented itself at the Tin Can, which wound up being the third pleased he encountered her today. It seemed like a good enough omen.

He had only needed to switch back again from the Eidolon to civilian sheets and relieve a grateful Greenwood to reach this opportunity. Barely had he served one customer his hard rocks when she sidled in, a bored expression on her face that read, nothing else is kicking it today so let’s try the few hours game. She wasn’t exactly a regular patron of Tin Can’s, but she was frequently enough to be considered a regular infrequent, or frequent regular.

"Cassandra Holweger," he greeted.

"Cassandra Dawes, actually," she said, flashing a sparkling diamond ring, which might have meant something entirely different three years ago. "Just married."

"Just Hitched Cassandra Dawes, then," Colinaude said. "What’ll it be, Mrs. Dawes?"

"Try Cassie," Cassie said. "That’s what they call me at the agency. Wonder Ads. I’m probably responsible for some considerable annoyance in your life."

"Oh, isn’t everyone," Colinaude said. "But as it is, I’m a patron of the arts, in most of its forms. I have shares in the Blackman Tailors Company. Maybe that’s not quite the same. So, what’s your poison, Cassie?"

"I don’t really have a regular," Cassie said. "Give me one at random. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I say that every time I come here."

"It’s been dawning on me," Colinaude said.

"Hence your calling out of my name," Cassie said. "Well, what it was up until recently."

"The Mr. Dawes doesn’t hit the bars?" Colinaude asked, deciding on what he might choose for one of the few customers at this early hour. "It might be too soon?"

"No, he’s pretty good at not knowing when that is," Cassie said. "But he likes to do it in the privacy of his own home, our own home. But don’t worry."

"It hadn’t crossed my mind," Colinaude said. "Is this all you do for kicks?"

"It has been for three years now," Cassie said. "The old poison found an unwitting antidote."

"I know how that goes," Colinaude said. "Was the Mr. Dawes that antidote?"

"No," Cassie said, taking her drink from the bartender, and the opportunity to slacken the conversation a little. It wasn’t as if they were good friends. Until now the two had not necessarily spoken before, but there was something about him she found familiar, and it wasn’t just the visits to Tin Can. She couldn’t quite put her finger to it. The face wasn’t it. That she was sure she’d have remembered.

"I never really saw you as the marrying kind," Colinaude said.

"Strange that you’d see me any particular way," Cassie said, "if you don’t mind my saying."

"Oh, it’s a habit of my kind," Colinaude said. "You’ll understand."

"I guess I do," Cassie said. "Sure." She nursed her poison a little more. What it was she wasn’t sure, not having ever been good at that. All she was in it for was the good vibration, which began at the back of the throat. "Andy isn’t working this evening?"

"He almost was," Colinaude said. "Yeah, whatever pleasure you might be deriving from this little chat might have been averted, or avoided. I had been thinking of calling out."

"Oh, what a shame that would have been," Cassie said, smiling into her drink, giving it one of those piercing examinations that meant something else was under the microscope. "I’m not putting you down, but Andy knows how to run a bar."

"I’m still learning the ropes," Colinaude said. "You’d be surprised at how long that takes. There’s a feel you have to get to know, an instinct you have to develop. I’ve got the skills, but I don’t have the soul yet."

"I would have thought the soul came first," Cassie said. "Are you here because you want to tend bar, or because you think it’s a good way to pass the time?"

"A little of both," Colinaude said. "I guess I’m a bit of a mixer. That’s not such a bad thing, is it?"

"Many people would say they’d prefer the pure intentions," Cassie said.

"But then again, few people actually live on those," Colinaude said.

"The philosopher says," Cassie winked. "I could think of a few better environments for your kind."

"I’m not cut out for this," Colinaude said. "That’s what you’re saying?"

"I’m saying there are naturals," Cassie said, "and then there’s your kind. Doesn’t make you any less qualified, but it does make you stand out."

"Which is not necessarily a bad thing," Colinaude said.

"Not necessarily," Cassie said. "But you never know. It’s sort of a preference thing. Give me another shot of whatever you gave me the first time, please."

"Sure thing," Colinaude said. "So you’re saying I’m not exactly that, not exactly a sure thing?"

"Like you said," Cassie said, "most people aren’t. Don’t get yourself all worked up over it. That tends to spoil things."

"Some things," Colinaude said, delivering the second shot, "are better off spoiled."

"Not that that can easily be understood," Cassie said. "Or explained. Please don’t try. I don’t hold my liquor well."

"Who said I was giving you liquor?" Colinaude winked.

"Well, don’t spoil it," Cassie said. She relaxed her concentration onto her drink. There was honky-tonk music playing in the background. There always was, and yet there was no mechanical bull to complete the atmosphere. She had once made a pretty good name for herself riding those, and the real kind as well. Success there seemed to give her power over the onlookers, especially the men. Somehow bull-riding triumphs gave her an aura, and that aura in turn melted those around her into dolling slaves, willing to do whatever she might bid. Such power was easy to corrupt. Such power was made to be corrupted. She allowed it to, for a time.

"Listen," Colinaude rather pregantly began. "There’s something I want you to consider."

"Uh oh," Cassie said. She made sure her ring was visible.

"No, not that," Colinaude said. "I’ve got another job."

"Not enough people tipping," Cassie said. "For shame. Tell you what, I’m contribute more than my fair share. How’s that?"

"It’s not like that," Colinaude said. "You must have been racking your brain, trying to think of how you’ve seen me before."

"Okay," Cassie said. "I’m listening."

"Your work at the museum has been inspiring," Colinaude said. "I especially enjoyed the Incan effort."

"Oh," Cassie said. Now she was paying attention.

"It’s a shame you no longer do that," Colinaude said.

"Is that now," Cassie said. "I would think you of all people would be glad."

"Oh, I am," Colinaude said. "But there are other ways to scratch that itch."

"None I ever considered," Cassie said. "Are you trying to give me the benefit of the doubt here?"

"You’ve earned that," Colinaude said. "Ten times over. I’m trying to give you an opportunity."

"The last time I took one of those, I got myself into trouble," Cassie said. "You know that much."

"This is a different kind," Colinaude said.

"I am familiar with your work, you know," Cassie said.

"I’ve just got me a terrific reputation," Colinaude said, "don’t I?"

"You do," Cassie said. "Give me another shot."

"Here’s coming," Colinaude said. "Is it really that bad?"

"Not among most folks," Cassie said. "But I haven’t lost everything from those days."

"That much is a good thing," Colinaude said.

"I think about that sometimes," Cassie said. She accepted the third shot. There was beginning to form a new reason for these. She wasn’t sure yet how she felt about that. She’d been down this road before. There was an entire culture she thought she’d left behind, she hoped she’d left behind. She had a new life, a new lease she was reluctant to give up. There were many reasons why she shouldn’t even consider it. And some she couldn’t ignore that said she should. She knew she was flirting with trouble, regardless of which side, even thinking about it. She found that she enjoyed the thought, and the shot, especially this third one.

"I’m not trying to pressure you or anything," Colinaude said.

"You’re not," Cassie said. "I’ve got a pretty independent mind, even if the rest of me isn’t so much these days."

"That’s a good thing," Colinaude said. "That’s an asset."

"You don’t have to tell me," Cassie said. "But there are a few others I could stand to have you remind."

"Bring them here," Colinaude said, "and I’d be happy to."

"Oh, they’re not that type," Cassie said.

"Not everyone is," Colinaude said. "Which is something Tin Can fully endorses. Well, maybe Andy doesn’t. But he can be a bit of a bastard at times."

"I know," Cassie said."

"Says the bad girl," Colinaude said.

"I’m not allowed to be anymore," Cassie said, finding herself flashing the ring a third time.

"But we can still arrange for one last engagement," Colinaude said wistfully.

"We can," Cassie said. "Why don’t you write the details on this coaster here?"

"Can do," Colinaude said.

"Seems to me that the bar ought to be picking up energy by now," Cassie said.

"Oh, it’s about that time," Colinaude murmured, writing furiously. "You still have that number?"

"I kept one," Cassie said. "Sure."

"Great," Colinaude said, smiling again.

"You’re wicked," Cassie said.

"No, that number is," Colinaude said, finishing up. "And here you go."

"I guess I’ll see you around," Cassie said.

"I guess you will," Colinaude said. "Does Andy know you’re Mrs. Dawes now?"

"I guess I’ll have to show him the ring," Cassie said, waving her hand strategically behind her. And out walked the kind of help the Eidolon was going to have to hopefully cap a few things. Calypso was back in business.

Chapter 17: "The Man Comes Around"

There was so much he already needed to be thinking about. He didn’t need Godsend adding to that. He didn’t need one of those existential moments. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford it.

Damn that man. And now Colinaude was forced to conclude his rounds in a frenzied fashion, which was going to do no good for them. He needed more information on Neville. He needed more information on Cad. He needed to know what was going on. And there was more than Neville, and Cad, and everything else. There was an entire city he had taken as his charge, superceding the authorities of the authorities, and the claims of other heroes. There was a lot here to handle, and he had his own life to handle, too. Had he been neglecting that? No. No, of course not.

Colinaude wiped his hand on his pant leg, finding hotdog remnants still there, relish among them. If only Lou hadn’t been so distant. Yet Lou was always distant. That was one of those things. There was a host of other contacts out there with their own quirks. Fletcher liked to rub his chin a lot. Cudgel spoke all of her sentences like they were questions. Stanley Snip couldn’t stop moving. Finley thought he had to be in the shadows in order to fulfill ‘obligations,’ and called himself Slightly Deeper Throat, even though he was a soprano. All these he was going to be seeing before reporting to work. He’d need to switch back into the garb of the Eidolon for these. That’s the only way they knew him, and the only way they were ever going to.

He might see Hopper again at some point, depending if he rode the subway again. Colinaude had this thought, realizing he’d had the newspaper he’d just bought tucked under his arm during the entire conversation with Godsend, plus the exchanges with Lou. A permanent crease had formed down the middle. He hated that. It was a bother to read the paper with that, on top of the crease the paper already had. Trying to keep enough of it readable was like a puzzle when a crease like that happened.

It was good to have a trivial concern like that for once today. Neville was definitely not one. His defection to the other side meant Colinaude’s attempts to hide from him became more a mandate than a challenge. Being seen was going to get him in a lot of trouble, and it occurred to him presently that his appearances outside the wares of the Eidolon were probably now as dangerous as those within. He could no longer assume that Neville couldn’t put two and two together. Somehow the bad guys always seemed a little bit better at that. A hero like Godsend could openly parade without a mask because he had no private life. Some others took gambles with that notion and some of them got lucky, either because the two personas were inextricably contradictory or by some hand of a fickle deity’s, or possibly because everyone considered found it more convenient that way, subconsciously or otherwise.

There were many things Colinaude liked to fool himself about, and one of them was that he had no personal life to be concerned about were those two’s to finally meet. He did, and Lou had made that much perfectly obvious. He may have put Peter Cooley’s life at risk. This he had never considered, because nothing had ever made him consider it before. Like most other people, Colinaude completely lacked foresight for the unexpected, no matter how much it would seem necessary to expect it later. He had considered it at times, but never had it seemed that urgent to invest himself fully to it. Life was always a choice between apathies, not interests. The interests were the cards remaining on the table after all the others had been personally withdrawn.

It sucked to think about it like that, but Colinaude knew enough to see that. Naturally, he was usually apathetic about it, and no matter the detriment because of it. Nobody ever did something because it made sense, but rather because it didn’t. The challenge was always the key. And for Colinaude, the challenge was proving more daunting all the time. He didn’t know sometimes if he could handle it, continue to handle it, or whether he should ever have even tried in the first place. Right now he was deciding if he should call off the entire mission, the Cad version of it anyway, and walk away, leave Traverse and all its problems behind him.

That’s where they were, too. In Traverse. Traverse had always been the source of his heartache, and he had foolishly decided to go there to try and chase it away. What a fool. He was repeating someone else’s life. He could feel it. He was one of those who failed to learn from history, but at least he realized it and realized too that this was mostly what kept civilization going. He hated knowing these things, but he knew no other way to deal with it than to do what he knew. And what he knew was killing himself a little more every day.

Should he go on? Were the negatives greater than the positives? He was basing it right now on emotion, and he knew also that there was no more dangerous way to do it. But he couldn’t go on and hope the answer would come later. The answer was going to have to come now, when he wasn’t too far to know exactly where everything was going but far enough to be able to see where they could go. What the end result would be of this present path could not be a consideration. No, he couldn’t let that influence him. That was going to be a consequence, and a consequence alone, of his decision.

Colinaude had crumpled into a heap on the sidewalk, nestled against a building, and if he’d looked up he would have realized it to be the same building he had talked with Godsend on top of. Yes, there were things Godsend had said he couldn’t ignore, things he would never had admitted to Godsend but things he couldn’t ignore all the same. But there were also driving forces within him that were telling him to ignore those things, to betterment and otherwise of his wellbeing. He had a charge, a calling. What was he to stand in its way? Was he fool enough to get out of the way of the incoming bus? Was there such a thing as fate to be considered?

There might be something Godsend had said he could not argue with. Colinaude thought too much. He thought it was a benefit, and he dreaded it was a curse. He had a decision to make. Would he continue to push forward through the wind, knowing all he knew, and what he didn’t?

To preserve his sanity, he decided to. Colinaude concluded it was the only decision he could reach. And so he continued on his rounds. He visited Fletcher, and Cudgel, and Stanley Snip, and Finley, each of them with their quirks and their useful information. They were like nails being driven into his resolve. He couldn’t turn away now. Not only was he left without any other decisions, he was whittling his choices, too. This was something he had to do, and damn the consequences, and possibly himself as well.

He couldn’t let that bother him. He saw other contacts, other informants. There were no other overlaps with Peter Cooley’s, and not another word of Solvent himself. He had become a riddle, another thing for Colinaude to consider as his day marched on. There were going to be answers by the end of it, answers he was going to make himself if he had to. He couldn’t let this, or himself, rest.

It was something he owed. For everything else there was to pay for, Colinaude worked the counter in a bar. It seemed like a rather trite occupation for a super hero, possibly one of the better ways to describe the antithesis of what he did. But there were selling points to it. If he was going to help someone drown their sorrows, or just themselves, at least he could be there to lend a sympathetic ear, which he found was a satisfying way to pass the time and earn his living in a monetarily recognized way. It was also an example of the ways he left some societal help to people he actually differed to. He never preached to anyone. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just because that was all he’d ever heard Godsend do, and do somewhat hypocritically.

It just wasn’t in his nature to tell people what to do. But it wasn’t like he viewed his chosen methods as anything like saintly. No, there were probably plenty of patron saints for those interested in that sort of thing, medals and prayers and the like. And he knew he was no saint, not when he understood the basic truth of what Godsend had been trying to tell him.

So most of the time it was mostly letting the customers drown their sorrows. He did allow them to keep tabs if they needed it, and he usually knew if they needed it because he knew a lot more about them than they would ever realize. A percentage, of what amount he never cared to tally, had had their fair share of run-ins with the Eidolon. In a way, he had already helped them, and now got the see the fruit of his tough love.

There was going to be a long evening ahead of him, with a respite to attend a dinner as an unsuspecting Cad’s guest. He had learned a few more things about him and about Neville on the last rounds as the Eidolon in the daylight hours. There had surprisingly not been a need for the hero in other regards. There would probably be following the bar. But until then he had some new rounds to attend to.

Chapter 16: "A Conversation Continued"

Two solitary figures atop a tall building continued their tete-a-tete. One was named Colinaude, otherwise known as the costumed avenger Eidolon; the other was Godsend, known otherwise as the Alabama Lamb, and personally as Robert. It was the last one he wanted to be addressed as right now. But Colinaude had his own ideas.

"You can’t dictate how I operate," he told Godsend. "You can offer suggestions, and I will listen to them, but I won’t follow them. I will not compromise."

"The problem is," Godsend said, "many of us feel you’ve already compromised, and we have little interest in seeing you compromising further. That is not the face of heroism we wish to project."

"And what is that face? Shock and awe?" Colinaude scoffed. "That’s a good way to attract attention, but it isn’t the best way to get the job done. There’re many levels a less subtle approach misses. Your way does nothing to prevent future occurrences, to help stem the tide. I’m not interested in participating in that any longer. I made that clear long ago. You made your objections known then, and you found out immediately that there were merits to mine, and detriments to yours."

"The point," Godsend said, "is that you seem to see the world in a perpetual shade of gray. Sometimes there are black and whites. Sometimes you must see the larger picture."

"The point, the point," Colinaude said. He was getting cold up there, incredibly. There was still no sign of rain, which usually was the time it felt cold here. Yet there was something in the wind, which this perspective was only intensifying. "I see the greater picture. Yet I cannot ignore the smaller ones. Yes, there are shades of black and white, but they are the composition of the gray I see most clearly. Gray is the base color. Gray is the one we think we can ignore, because it does not stand out as starkly. It lacks appeal, and that’s the very reason it is, or should be, the most important one. Those who don’t pay mind to it, are bitten by those who by nature are attracted to it. And those people are the very ones who are not interested in colors, but in scraping by. They see themselves as victims of the colors. Gray attracts these."

"You think too much," Godsend said. "It clouds your judgment."

Switchblade, the controversial hero who had reawakened Colinaude’s moral compass, died not long after doing so. He fell victim to foes that sprang up looking to defeat him. They developed their crafts in a direct intention to beat him at his own game. It was a bloody death, one that polarized the nation’s attitudes on super heroes as a whole. In this climate, the shift the Eidolon had taken away from the Terrific Tandem alliance with Godsend sent him into further recession. Those who still liked him, only grew more intense in their championing of him. Those who didn’t, why they did the reverse. The man in the middle, Colinaude, carried about his crusade as he intended, not minding the gathering controversy he had inherited for himself from his ideological mentor, Switchblade.

"That’s a poor attitude," Colinaude said. "It’s indicative of the very reason why we’re no longer working together. You appall me."

"And you me," Godsend said. "You’re becoming brash, irrational. That is entirely too dangerous. And you won’t listen to reason."

"Give me some to listen to," Colinaude said.

"Stop," Godsend said. "Listen to me. You’re disconnecting yourself from everyone. You can’t do that. You can’t act alone and expect to remain lucent. It’s a fool’s gamble."

"I don’t need that advice from someone like you," Colinaude said.

"Someone like me?" Godsend said, half-rhetorically.

"Someone like you," Colinaude said. "The split was mutual. You encouraged my decision at the time. Yet that didn’t stop you from turning around again, begin these little chats, for one."

"Initially I respected you," Godsend said. "You betrayed that."

"That’s your opinion," Colinaude said.

"Not only mine," Godsend said. "And you’ve turned your back on every other hero, from here in Traverse to Bowie to the Lost City."

"The Lost City doesn’t have any heroes," Colinaude said.

"You know what I mean," Godsend said. "There are those who operate there given the need. Don’t be sarcastic with me."

"Don’t be self-righteous," Colinaude said. "How about that? Can’t do it?"

"It’s not being self-righteous," Godsend said. "It’s being levelheaded."

On the last mission of the Terrific Tandem, the foe was, like the first, Rancor. He had modified his approach, and his ambitions. This worked for and against the strengths Godsend and the Eidolon had utilized for half a decade. In many ways, their positions had been reversed. Rancor now preferred to pull his strings from behind the curtain, and since Godsend had been monitoring him, butting heads with him, since the beginning knew more of what was really going on than Colinaude, who was more focused on the effects of Rancor’s meddling. That Godsend had been keeping his information to himself all this time led to a confrontation that nearly cost them a victory against Rancor. This came at a time when his ultimate defeat was at hand. They still managed to foil him, but the Tandem fractured and he got away perhaps for good, knowing he would have to become even more clever for the future, and that there would be no one to stop him then.

"That’s one way I’d expect you to put it," Colinaude said. "You are naïve."

"And you are blind," Godsend said.

"This is pointless," Colinaude said.

"That would be your conclusion," Godsend said. "You are only proving my point."

"And you only prove mine," Colinaude said. "Say something useful and I’d have something to consider. You haven’t, and so I don’t. We could go on like this, but you’re really just wasting my time."

"There that is again," Godsend said. "What do you have that’s so important?"

"Rodrigo Ramirez," Colinaude said. "Sound familiar?"

"Vaguely," Godsend said.

"Exactly," Colinaude said. "Let me refresh your memory. Earlier this year, when you were pursuing the international crime lord Delenda, you learned he had a number of connections here in Traverse. In fact, it was the first time you’d actually been in Traverse in months. Celebrity had called you elsewhere."

"Save your editorializing," Godsend said.

"Okay, fine," Colinaude said. "I can do that. The truth speaks for itself. In this case you did in fact handle some of those connections, ones you deemed as posing a significant danger based on their perceived strengths even disregarding and independent of Delenda. I read a good deal about it in the paper, believe me. I also heard a great deal about your methods, how you prioritized those connections, how you evaluated them. Believe me when I say this, you missed the big one. Ramirez is now on the verge of something greater than any of the other connections could, or would, have ever approached. Yet you dismissed him outright, ranked him squarely at the bottom."

"I don’t see a threat from him even now," Godsend said.

"You wouldn’t," Colinaude said. "But that’s what I’ve been working on. He’s closing in on becoming a bigger threat than even Delenda ever was. You would never have known until it hit the papers. And why? Because you have totally dismissed approaches such as mine. You dismissed me."

"You forced that," Godsend said.

"I didn’t," Colinaude said.

"What were your methods in determining this? That’s what I’d like to know," Godsend said.

"The entirely conventional kind," Colinaude said. "You don’t seem to think I’m capable of that. You’ve chosen to forget much."

"What choice did I have, after St. Ambrose?" Godsend said.

"That was only ever an isolated incident," Colinaude said. "It was not indicative of some change. It wasn’t. If anything, it became indicative of how I grew to be perceived. Especially by you."

"It is not something that was easy to ignore," Godsend said. "You can’t deny that."

"And I will continue to stress there was a context for it," Colinaude said.

"Not one that justified it," Godsend said.

"Maybe not to you," Colinaude said.

"Not to the media, either," Godsend said. "You didn’t help yourself there, either. Especially when you refused to come forward and admit it. Did you know that Moonraker was hassled for months, everyone blaming him over circumstantial evidence?"

"I couldn’t help that," Colinaude said.

"You could have," Godsend said.

"I couldn’t," Colinaude said. "Not when it would have meant an even worse backlash. There are many out there convinced there were no heroes involved whatsoever. They say it was gang related. And in a way, it was. If there is confusion over it, I won’t intervene."

"And you will not convince me you’re not corrupting yourself," Godsend said. "Not like that."

"Not to you," Colinaude said. "And I tell you now, I don’t need to."

"You are making a mistake," Godsend said.

Rancor retired to his club in Taipei, where Colinaude made sure he had contacts, not ones he would easily be able to keep in touch with personally, through methods he trusted, but with enough satisfaction. He would know when Rancor made another move. Godsend, in the meantime, moved on to other concerns, caught up, in Colinaude’s estimation, with the notion that he was always on top of things, the importance of which he declared for himself. They were no doubt worthy of attention, but they no longer held the interest of Colinaude. Rancor periodically sent his same surrogate tentacles outward, and Viper was always a favorite one, but never since the end of the Tandem did Godsend take heed. Rodrigo Ramirez, the Cad, was developing into a similar figure. That’s what alarmed Colinaude the most about him, not his association with Neville, the agent developing a reputation as the Barracuda.

"We all do," Colinaude said. "If we didn’t, there would be no need for people like the Eidolon. Or Godsend. Now, quit wasting my time. This ‘session’ is terminated."

Perhaps for the first time, Godsend acquiesced, but before leaving he took the measure of returning Colinaude back to where he found him. Without another word, the purple-and-gold clad Lamb departed, leaving behind an uncertain relief. Not all of Robert’s words had been wasted.

Chapter 14: "Highs and Otherwise"

The one thing he never really needed to change was the pair of shoes he wore. This was the thought Colinaude had as he waited to buy a hotdog from a vendor named Lou, informant to both the Eidolon and Peter Cooley, reporter-at-large for the "Traverse Tracks." Lou was among the few who was privy to the knowledge that the Eidolon was in actuality Cotton Colinaude, a feat accomplished by the fact that Lou never took a personal interest in anyone or anything, not even his hotdogs. No personal interest, no undo attachments, no incentive to care one way or another. Luckily that meant he could afford to be selective in what he put his mind to. He thought of himself as a sort of organic robot. He was good with hotdogs, and he knew how to pick winners, and he was loyal to both no matter what, because things happened to work well that way. The man was eighty years old.

Colinaude’s boots, meanwhile, were three months old. As a consequence of putting them through so much work and expecting them to lead the same dual life as their owner, the shoes had relatively short life spans. He had found it better for his shoes to go through them like that, than to try and fit them in around Traverse along with the clothes and costumes. With thieves valuing footwear more than anything else, it came out as more cost-efficient all the way around.

Not that he spent idle time looking at his feet. No, there was some spray-painted wording on the sidewalk that had caught his attention, ‘Bitter Bites,’ that Colinaude could only assume to be a compliment directed toward Lou. "Bitter Bites," he said to himself, smiling.

"New slang," the man behind him said.

"One can only assume," Colinaude replied.

"You have a chance to find out one way or the other," Lou said, indicating it was Colinaude’s turn. "Don’t waste my time now."

"The usual," Colinaude said. "What’s the matter?"

"Cooley’s what’s the matter," Lou said, his tone darker than his skin. He still conducted himself professionally, reaching for a roll, a dog, and the relish.

"Cooley?" Colinaude said.

"Cooley," Lou said, continuing. "I haven’t seen him today. I’ve never seen you before I’ve seen him. The only time he’s ever been anything but usual was because of you. I can only do the math."

"You’re saying something," Colinaude said as he accepted the hotdog and tendered his payment.

"You’re damn right I’m saying something," Lou said, sifting through his apron for change. "Your other friend, he’s been through here. Made a scene of himself. Had some interesting plates. Here’s your return."

"Keep it," Colinaude said. "As a tip." Lou gave him another queer look, but he was already walking away. What did that mean, ‘interesting plates’? And how did Cad make a scene of himself? The only person Colinaude knew that employed more riddles than Hopper was Lou. But the greater concern right now had to be his demeanor, and what he had been implying about Cooley. It wasn’t like the reporter to fiddle around with his routine, not with Lou and not with anything else. He had always been dependable, and that had been a significant reason why. But what to do about this news? Colinaude couldn’t easily track him down now, given he would be out of the office and on the beat.

And Lou himself. For a man who didn’t take things personally, he sounded like he was taking Cooley’s irregularity, which at this point was all that he could be called, seriously, and blaming it on Colinaude to boot. There had to be something else; perhaps connected to whatever he had meant about Cad, his ‘scene’ and his plates. As with the rest of the day to this point, it was proving a lot to chew on. He took a bite of his hotdog.

Colinaude turned around to observe Lou, interested in seeing how deep his agitation ran. If he was grumpy to the rest of his customers, it meant the agitation ran deep, perhaps having nothing to do with Cooley, or himself. If he wasn’t, it meant the agitation was directed at him, which could only begin to confirm that there was something in Colinaude’s suspicions. Not a frown. He decided to walk back over to try and talk Lou through a little more of what was bothering him, carrying his half-eaten dog. The line was smaller than it had been before. Maybe Lou wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t be further irritated.

"Lou," he said.

"What, what is it," Lou grumbled back, though not turning from his work. "In case you are blind, I’m running a business here. I’m busy. Busy. That goes hand-in-hand with the business part. You can’t have one without the other."

"I understand that," Colinaude said.

"Yet you’re still talking to me," Lou said, smiling to the current consumer.

"Because you’re agitated with me," Colinaude said.

"I think that stands to reason," Lou said. "I still don’t see Cooley. Do you, blind boy?"

"No," Colinaude said.

"Then what’s the problem," Lou said, handling the last of the current line.

"I’d like to know," Colinaude said.

"You’re Captain Oblivious," Lou said, finished now, "aren’t you? You don’t know how to read things, do you?"

"Look," Colinaude said.

"No," Lou said. "You look. Scram. Get lost. I mean it."

Colinaude knew enough to see defeat. He walked away, then came back for a new hotdog. "As a customer," he said.

"As a vendor," Lou said, obliging. There was not going to be anything else said. It was a silent, mutual agreement. The half-eaten one was thrown into a garbage bin not far away, and then Colinaude left Lou to his own devices, another conversation that should have been, that wasn’t, and for no good reason. It was another mistake he knew he was making today.

Bitter Bites, he thought. Bitter Bites was right. Suddenly he was not where he had been. Where he had been was on the sidewalk, feet away from Lou’s stand. Where he was now was quite elsewhere. There was no sidewalk and no Lou’s stand. He looked around himself and saw the sky. He looked down and saw a roof, and below the roof several stories to the ground. He was in the same part of Traverse, just several lines up the latitude.

It was an unsettling transition, given that it happened instantaneously. He turned around and found the Alabama Lamb starring back at him. The wind was whipping at each of them, and it occurred to Colinaude that his hotdog had not survived the trip intact. He looked at his hand and found the relish had disappeared. That was too bad, too, because as good as Lou’s hotdogs were, it was with the relish that Colinaude not only preferred them, but considered them as being at their best. Without it, the hotdog he now held was almost like any other one. He might as well have bought it from another vendor. The Alabama Lamb had spoiled his lunch, not to mention kidnapped him and left him standing on top of a tall building, exposed to comparatively bitter temperatures.

He looked at his captor square in the eye, glared at him, and turned away. He still had a hotdog to eat no matter if it had been spoiled. He took his time. He relished it. He was anchoring himself, he figured; he could afford to. He deserved it, this much. He wanted to press his luck. He knew that he had gotten relish around the corner of his mouth, when he had had relish on the hotdog. Some of it had fallen off; some of it was still there. He took a corner of his tee shirt, a blue-and-orange affair, and casually dabbed it away. This accomplished, he patted the sleeve back down, and brushed the remnants off. Some stuck to his hand. He took a moment to examine this. Satisfied with his inspection, he then wiped his hand on his pants, careful not to wince over the slight twinge his shoulder experienced through the action.

He spat next, mindful of his shoes. The hotdog had worked up a thirst, but all he could find was saliva, and he wasn’t in to that. Lou didn’t sell beverages. It was odd of him, but whenever Colinaude asked he’d reply that he was doing a service to the other vendors, given that he was obviously favored otherwise. He was pragmatic like that, and pragmatic in most other ways.

Next Colinaude shuffled his feet, as if getting himself a bearing against the wind. His hair was tussling, but after confinement under the mask of the Eidolon, that was probably a good thing. He folded his arms, unfolded them when that turned out to be bad for the shoulder. Whatever that looked like to the Alabama Lamb, he didn’t care. He shuffled his feet some more, looking down on them. He imagined that made him look like he was preparing to start a race. He’d run his fair share of them. He was no Threshold, of course. There was not much competing with that, but the brevity of the trip to this rooftop was indication enough that the Alabama Lamb could at least compare. Whether that was good enough, or whether Colinaude amused him, didn’t seem to register on the Lamb’s face. He was as impassive as could be. He also had his arms folded, across a broad chest. The arms were equally impressive.

Colinaude did not have a comparative physique, had never cared to. He had no idea where he would have ever found the time to build one, had no idea when most heroes did. Perhaps there was a personal trainer he didn’t know about, or perhaps most heroes competed for Mr. Universe in their spare time, or run gubernatorial races. Maybe they were professional wrestlers. It could be anything, really.

Finally, he’d wasted enough time. "Hello, Godsend," he said.

Chapter 15: "Conversation with Godsend"

Always when he was least wanted. Godsend had appeared, and he took Colinaude with him, to the rooftops. In the super hero hierarchy, Godsend was near the top, with his flash and pizzazz, while the Eidolon was near the bottom, with his cloak and dagger. Yet like the preternatural pairing of cliché, they had once gotten past that and formed a powerful alliance. They were billed as the Terrific Tandem, and for a while nothing can stand against them, or between them.

"Hello, Godsend," Colinaude said.

"You’ve said that already," Godsend said.

"Yeah," Colinaude said. "I know. I enjoy saying it. What can I say?"

"Sarcasm is unbecoming," Godsend said.

"I disagree," Colinaude said. "I think it can be, especially on me."

"You could call me Robert," Godsend said. "That would be better, Cotton."

"Okay, Robert," Colinaude said. "A little early, are we?"

"Not at all," Godsend said. "This is exactly the time I told you. You know how punctual I am."

"Time must have slipped up on me," Colinaude said.

It was time that had gotten caught up with the Terrific Tandem. Neither would have ever admitted it, but there was always the perfect window for their collaboration, the zeitgeist. They had seized the moment when it came along, the Eidolon still fresh, still a yearling. It was also the beginning of Rancor’s quest for global anarchy, and the perfect moment began as a mutual decision that this just shouldn’t be allowed to happen. That Rancor should choose Traverse of all places to usher in his ambitions, when it happened to be home to both Godsend and the Eidolon, was one of those ironies one can’t help but marvel at years later. Godsend had gotten his own start not long before either, like a blaze of glory.

"You should be more careful with it," Godsend said. "Just a suggestion."

"I’ll make a note of it," Colinaude said. "Is this really the best place you could come up with? Why can’t we rendezvous like other people do?"

"Because you have a nasty habit of blowing people off you don’t want to see," Godsend said. "It’s one of your less endearing qualities."

"Some people would beg to differ on that," Colinaude said. "Knowing who you like and don’t like is one of the more important life lessons. Also one of the simpler ones."

"Don’t get snippy with me," Godsend said. "Anyway, to be very trite about it, it’s just not nice."

"Very inner-man-child of you," Colinaude said. "I do have other things to do, you know."

"I’m aware," Godsend said. "You run yourself ragged. Just what is it you’re running from? Do you even know?"

"Everyone’s a psychologist today," Colinaude said.

"Perhaps there’s a reason for that," Godsend said.

"There’s a reason for everything," Colinaude said. "Some are much better than others."

"And some are easier to accept than others," Godsend said.

As if to punctuate the dichotic approaches they came with and would always draw from, Godsend and the Eidolon wound up joining forces against Rancor by following different leads. Rancor was more than willing to oblige the two approaches. He was never one for overly subtle plans. Eidolon had come across the paper trails. He knew how Rancor’s operation had begun, how it ran, and what would tip over the house of cards. Godsend had followed the heists needed to fund the operation, and was more capable of handling the insurance measures Rancor sprang in his defense. Together, Godsend and the Eidolon toppled every aspect of Rancor’s ambitions, at least for the time being, sending the villain to plot for another day, or possibly reconsider things altogether.

"Still," Colinaude said, "you did catch me on a break of sorts."

"So I noticed," Godsend said. "And how was your hotdog?"

"You spoiled it," Colinaude said.

"I was afraid of that," Godsend said. "But that doesn’t excuse your being rude about it."

"I like to play with you," Colinaude said.

"You don’t have much need to respect," Godsend said, "do you?"

"Oh, I respect many things," Colinaude said. "I respect the notion of justice, for one thing."

"Do you now," Godsend said. "That’s not what I’ve been hearing."

"And thus we get to the point," Colinaude said. "I don’t know what you’ve been hearing, but I haven’t changed a thing about how I operate, how I conduct myself, since I began. If you had a problem then, you should have mentioned it."

"I believe I may have made a comment or two," Godsend said. "Maybe you don’t think you’ve changed, but like I’ve said, I’ve heard a few things. Of course, the way you initially went about things leant itself very easily to this slide."

"I resent that," Colinaude said. "I have a different approach to yours. Doesn’t make it any less legitimate."

"I’m not saying that," Godsend said. "But I am saying that your methods are indicative of the many reasons our work is not more widely accepted."

"I’m accepted by the people," Colinaude said.

"So am I," Godsend said. "And those with more influence don’t mind me, either. They do mind you."

"I also get my hands dirtier," Colinaude said. "Would those people like me to use better soap?"

From the first success, the Terrific Tandem was able to put aside its differences, not exactly by ignoring them, more like not counting them as all that important. Godsend and the Eidolon had a common goal, that much they valued, and they saw their disparate approaches as complementary, which only facilitated that goal. In the early years, it was true that Eidolon had less of an interest in the greater social problems confronting Traverse like every other community. Perhaps that was the key difference.

"Please take it seriously," Godsend said, "for once. Don’t think every one is charmed by your cavalier attitude."

"I’d rather be that than clay," Colinaude said.

"That’s a personal attack," Godsend said. "Have you become petty?"

"Not at all," Colinaude said. "And I wouldn’t choose the word ‘cavalier’ to describe myself. Far from it. Maybe more like carefree."

"At least you didn’t say fearless," Godsend said. "That’s something."

"What’s wrong with fearless?" Colinaude said.

"Fearless gets people killed," Godsend said. "Fearless is synonymous with careless."

"Not to oversimplify or anything," Colinaude said.

"A man without fear does not know his limits," Godsend said. "And a man with no limits, or none he will acknowledge, is a man who will eventually run into them. That’s dangerous, both for himself and for the cause he claims to champion. Fearlessness flirts with death."

"Your image is that you have no limits," Colinaude said.

"That is an image," Godsend said. "A useful one at that. It’s more useful than I myself thinking I have none. It’s an advantage."

"Or a challenge," Colinaude said.

So they battled the forces of evil together, Godsend and the Eidolon. This took up most of each’s attention. When they were fighting crime at all, they were doing it as the Terrific Tandem, and they were feared. It was said that Traverse had no greater era than when the Terrific Tandem was in full force. That wasn’t really the case, but it seemed so to most observers. It was certainly the case for morale. Everyone was in a better mood then, including Colinaude. He didn’t even seem to mind that most of the attention lavished on their successes was directed toward Godsend, as if the Alabama Lamb was alone responsible for everything. Other contributing factors to the overlooking of the Eidolon’s efforts included an incredible boon in the overall presence of super heroes, when even Fin Lad could become an international sensation.

"That’s a cynical attitude," Godsend said.

"No, it’s a realistic one," Colinaude said. "There’s a lot of bad things that go bump in the night. And bump in the day, too."

"I’ve heard of your long hours," Godsend said. "They can’t be healthy."

"I do what I have to," Colinaude said. "I do what it takes."

"And it takes its toll on you," Godsend said. "An observation."

"Yes," Colinaude said, "it is."

"And you are just going ‘blow it off,’" Godsend said. "Call that attitude anything you like. It is not a healthy one."

"You’re one to judge," Colinaude. "You and your high horse."

"There is nothing wrong with having scruples," Godsend. "Mock me if you will, but it is far better to have them than to not have them."

"You’re suggesting I don’t," Colinaude said.

"I am," Godsend said.

"There’s a word that comes to mind," Colinaude said. "It’s descriptive. I’ll give you one guess."

"That’s uncalled for," Godsend said.

"It probably doesn’t help my standing as a role model," Colinaude said.

"Scoff at that responsibility if you want to," Godsend said. "I happen to cherish it. What else are we here to do but stand against evil and present ourselves as worthy models to emulate?"

"Kids jumping from roofs with bath towels," Colinaude said. "That’s how much some of us have to exemplify. Not to suggest anything."

"There you go," Godsend said, "mocking me again."

It was among other heroes, Switchblade and Manner, that strains in the relationship first appeared. Switchblade, as his name indicated, had chosen one of the riskier paths, and Godsend did not approve. Manner supported her partner, but the Eidolon did not support his. This was because Colinaude had shared an experience with Switchblade, a humbling excursion on his rounds where Colinaude began to reconnect with many of the ideals that had set him onto the path of the Eidolon in the first place. Switchblade also talked tough, and made him to examine his emerging rationales face up, as no one else had done since the Terrific Tandem had come together.

"I’m not mocking you," Colinaude said. "I’m speaking honestly. Would you rather I not do that?"

"Of course not," Godsend said. "But your attitude…"

"Is my attitude," Colinaude said. "It’s who I am. Do you really expect to change me?"

"There are things that could use changing," Godsend said, "yes."

"And you’re the one who sees things clearly," Colinaude said. "That’s so very nice to know, that I have you to help me like that. You who openly admits to projecting perfection. To throw people off."

"I believe there are many things we need to work out," Godsend said.

"Aren’t there, though," Colinaude said. "Aren’t there."

Chapter 13: "Luck, and Who Should Have It"

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.

Chapter 12: "Disjointed"

He traversed the city. It was an old joke here, traversing Traverse. For most people, that was what Traverse was, a means to an end. It was the first city where the only real reason anyone came was to move on to other, bigger cities. That’s how the ordinary citizens did it. That’s how the heroes did it. The story of Sidewinder went much the same way. Legend had it that he’d begun in Traverse and moved on to fulfill his ambitions. That was how Traverse had built its reputation, trading on the old stories, trading up from missionary town to Indian reservation to a destination to reach other destinations. It was like high school. Eventually everyone graduated.

Sidewinder found his way there one day, the legend went, because someone else first had set up shop in Traverse, looking to build a reputation. That someone was Mustache Baird, a frustrated plantation master cast aside after the Civil War, change leaving him behind in the ever-pressing effort of time to try and improve man. Trouble was, the more change tried to improve, the more ways man found to go in the opposite direction. Baird was looking for a testing ground. He wasn’t a shootist, and he wasn’t much of an outlaw. No, the worst of them were never that obvious. The worst of them found places like Traverse and planted seeds in society itself, working within the system to transform it, shape it to their own benefit. The needs of the one were what always weighed the most in their pockets.

Baird had Traverse wrapped up nicely by the time Sidewinder appeared. The gunslinger was going to have his work cut out, especially when he realized his best skills were not going to serve him here, against this foe. He was going to have to reprogram himself, and in the process of deconstruction lose a bit of himself as well. He would find out later just how much. But he built himself back up, recreated himself for the challenge Baird presented. He was not going to back down, was not going to let Baird carry on. This process took ten years.

A lot could happen in that time. Sidewinder started a family. He had a wife, three kids, and the wife’s entire extended family counting on him. These were people who had seen wrong in their lifetime, had seen it throughout previous generations. Something had grown inside them that did not believe Sidewinder could prevail, not in the long run. They told him he would fail. He told them he wouldn’t. He told himself he couldn’t. He waited. He waited ten years. He was building himself up, preparing. The world, he noticed, was changing around him. Baird was not going to stay for much longer. The time was fast approaching where Sidewinder would either make him pay the sins already committed or wait again and see Baird start all over again, sow more seeds. Sidewinder could not imagine being able to live with himself if he allowed that to happen, to the town of Traverse, to the next victims, to his family.

He struck out one night. He had grown impatient. Baird was no longer going to just get away with it. Sidewinder infiltrated his home and found all of Baird’s men sleeping. There was a simple solution. Why couldn’t Sidewinder bring himself to it? He agonized throughout the night, but finally decided to leave his pistol at Baird’s bed and depart. He must have been seen.

It was not long after. Sidewinder found his family slaughtered, his wife, his three children, and his wife’s entire extended family. All of them dead, his anchor wiped from the face of the earth as if it had never existed. He raged, oh he raged. He brought his fury then upon Baird’s men, hesitating no longer in bringing his guns back. One by one they fell, until there was only Sidewinder standing, and Baird. Baird handed the pistol back, and effect handed Traverse to the gunslinger, signaling his defeat at the hands, the guns, of the better man.

Sidewinder’s next action would haunt him the rest of his days. He shot Baird through the heart, the blackened pit that had transformed him as well, a man born in light and cast into darkness, still knowing the light yet never again able to touch its sweet embrace. Baird did not die instantly. He lingered. He taunted the gunslinger, made him realize the price for winning Traverse from the clutches of evil. It was if he no longer needed his heart to live, as though he had never needed it. Yet Sidewinder knew differently. In a final vengeance, when Baird had collapsed into nothingness, the gunslinger sought out the last vestiges of that name. He drove the Baird widow, her children, and her entire extended family to the scene, and made them wallow in its travesty.

He had done it. The story of Baird’s downfall drew Traverse a population such as Baird had always craved, seekers of an emerging legend that told of a bloody reckoning and a whisper of a man called Sidewinder, who had moved on since. Other stories carried his name back to the town, which quickly grew into a city, a word of mouth waltz that continued to cycle people to and from Traverse, marvelers of a triumph that brought about ruin.

To his dying breath, Sidewinder was a champion of the oppressed. He slung his mighty guns against the wicked, fought in causes championed as righteous. He answered calls to rally, and always insisted in his modesty to not be glorified. He was just doing his job. He was just trying to live down his legacy. He was just atoning for his own sins.

He was dying a little more every day. The change he had brought about within himself to defeat Baird had taken its toll. It had not been natural, and he did not take it naturally. He had fooled himself, confused the fiber of his being, and extended himself so far beyond possibility that when he snapped, he would bring everything he had denied himself hurtling back toward the surface. He was a gunslinger. He had been raised a gunslinger, and he was always destined to die one. There was never going to be another way. He had tried and failed to prove otherwise. His only choice had ever been to decide how he would apply it.

There had never been any question. So when he returned to himself, there was going to be no more denying, no more hiding from himself. He had to put his wife, his three children, and his wife’s entire extended family to rest, because he could no longer hide behind them. He had tried to make them make him better. Instead, they had only made him worse. They had decided his path. There was no forgiving. They were not responsible. Baird was not responsible. It was Sidewinder’s responsibility alone. He lived fifty more years with that knowledge.

Fifty long years. They were bitter ones. Twenty-five of them were spent in retirement. He finally put down his guns. By that time, his legend had outgrown him. He was fortunate to be alive to see that, but he didn’t appreciate it. He was humbled by it, not in the way a good man is humbled, but in the way a bad man realizing his worst fears was. Sidewinder was no longer a man, but the man saw this and finally decided he could no longer continue. The change he had sought, that had ruined him, that had never truly come, finally did, twenty-five years too late. He could no longer appreciate it, no longer had a reason or a way to. He wrote his memoirs then, and spent the rest of his life locked away in an institution, the man left behind by his enduring legacy, no longer able to pretend he could live up to it.

He had crumbled. The pages he had written, however, told a different story. In this imagining, Sidewinder had stood up to the forces Baird represented, like a man stands against the wind. He struggled; he pushed himself forward. The wind was not something he was making progress against, but rather he was making progress over himself, his own inadequacy. The Sidewinder retired, pulled himself away from the struggle, having realized, finally, what the struggle had really always been about.

The book was an object of ridicule for years. No one understood its message. They saw a man again. The legacy had shrunk back down to life. The wind was seen as having finally taught the man his place, and the fault in this defeat lay not in the might of the wind but in the weak will of the man. The man had just given up. Sidewinder became forgotten. Other heroes, his contemporaries and successors, found themselves benefactors of the glory the seeds of which lay in Traverse, in graves dug by men of equal guilt who would never be allowed to learn the lesson Sidewinder eventually paid for with his life.

He spent a good long time thinking about it. He went to his grave never having made peace with it, and the world he left behind left him behind, too. The story of this hero ended in tragedy.

Colinaude tread the same path. He was following it all the way to Cad, to a destination that was not really there, that never had been, that never would be. He knew the story of Sidewinder, knew even the parts the book had left out. It had become his mantra. He had no greater motivation than to finally avenge Sidewinder’s legacy, even if it killed him trying. He had no other choice. He had chosen to see himself as the man against the wind who realized the struggle was within him and not against the wind. And it was that struggle that would become, if there was to be one, his downfall. He was fast accepting that.

Chapter 11: "The Battle of Mad Jack's"

He came at them like a ram. Decked in purple with highlights of gold, including his hair, Godsend hurtled toward Colinaude and Ratbeard with his cape flapping madly behind him. He wasn’t really Godsend, but rather someone who had taken advantage of an inviting situation, much like those he was headed for. His approach sent Colinaude, the Eidolon, into action.

"Get down," he shouted toward the woman dressed as Eidolon who had come around the back of the dealership for an innocent smoke. "Get down," he shouted at Ratbeard, who had apparently not realized he should be doing the same. The man was petrified, so Colinaude shoved him down and out of the way, and just in time. The assassin dressed as Godsend had leapt the remaining feet as he prepared for his opening strike.

Colinaude rolled out of the way and threw out blows of his own, hoping his fists would catch the rebounding assassin off guard. They did, but the assassin, while flipping his cape over, blocked them harmlessly away. They took a moment to regroup.

The woman was shepherding Ratbeard to safety as Colinaude flung himself at the assassin for another go of it. They exchanged blows that seemed to have no mutual effect, but they continued all the same. The assassin flipped backward and Colinaude rolled forward again, trying the same maneuver as before and having the same luck. The assassin had a better reply this time. He flipped Colinaude onto his back, holding onto a wrist as he did so, which shot searing pain up that arm. Colinaude ignored it and attempted to kick his way out, but the assassin held strong. Next he tried twisting his way out, but that had no effect either, so he threw a punch at random and connected, sending the assassin away for a breath.

He came back with another kick that sent Colinaude flying, crashing against the station with a thud. But he landed near a pile of buckets, filled at the moment with buttons that read the slogan for the promotion Mad Jack’s was currently celebrating, oblivious to what else was going on in the lot. In an instant, he had relieved them and spun around, swinging two while kicking the third toward the assassin, who batted it away but had no reply for Colinaude’s new assault. The Eidolon was now on the offensive, and he was backing the assassin further away from the lot, and from Ratbeard, whom the redheaded woman had now ushered away from sight.

The assassin continued to try and defend himself with his arms, but seemed to finally realize he had other defenses, turning around and kicking at Colinaude, catching both buckets and sending them toward his head. He dropped them and then kicked each at the assassin, who deflected one but not the other. He had had a busted lip, and was the type to lick it and wipe away the rest with the back of his fist. "Yes," he said, "that’s more like it," and he proceeded to take his cape off and whip it at Colinaude, who was caught in this snare. The assassin took the opportunity to send him back down, and collect the two buckets himself.

He tossed them both at Colinaude now, as if toying with him. "They are nice, aren’t they?" he taunted. But Colinaude was not going to play that game. He flipped himself back up and they stared at each other for another moment.

"Maybe on the beach," he said. "But it doesn’t look like we’re there, does it? Want me to guess why you’re here, Viper?"

"If you wish," Viper replied before striking again. Colinaude responded in kind, and they went another round of that for a while, until they came upon a fence. Viper caught the same arm he’d torqued earlier and swung Colinaude into it, sending a foot as a welcoming gift. Colinaude responded by flipping over again, grabbing Viper while he did so and slamming into the pavement with a thud.

"You’re here for me," he mocked. "Just a wild guess. But I also have a good idea of who sent you."

"Is that so?" Viper said. He was coughing, but not getting up again. "I think I’d like to hear that."

"Neville," Colinaude said.

Viper laughed. "Please! It’s a good thing they aren’t paying you to do this stuff."

"And a good thing you are," Colinaude said. "Come on. Who then?"

"Rodrigo Ramirez," Viper said.

"Cad," Colinaude said.

"Yes, Cad," Viper said. "He isn’t really amused by that, you know."

"And you know what? I don’t much care," Colinaude. "But it’s nice that word gets around."

"More than you think," Viper said.

"Likewise," Colinaude said. "I’m a betting man. I say it really is Neville."

"You’re perfect for Vegas, then," Viper said.

"Actually, I already cleaned him out," Colinaude said.

"Must have been difficult," Viper said.

"And you must be stupid," Colinaude said. "Vegas has a smaller operation than the Cad did six months ago. It’s miniscule. When people like you order the starter kit of evil, that’s what they receive in the mail six to eight weeks later. Unless there’s some secret society of scum I should, or would like to, know about, there’s only one other way you’d know who he was."

"And you’re certain about that? How much?" Viper goaded.

"I don’t know, you tell me," Colinaude said. "I’m all ears. Well, under the mask I am. Trust me."

"Oh, I trust that you a load of crap," Viper said. "How’s that?"

"I’m afraid that’s not quite what I was aiming for," Colinaude said.

"Really," Viper said. "Now how could I screw that up?"

"You tell me," Colinaude. "No wait, that’s how we got here, isn’t it? You know, you’re really not cut out for this line of work. You’re just stalling for time. And if you’re not, you’re definitely wasting my time. Which could be an indicator that you really are working for Cad, or that you’re trying to make it look like you are. Or you’re confirming what I already thought."

"Which is what?" Viper said.

"That the two are in cahoots," Colinaude said. "But you don’t need to confirm or deny that. How do you want to finish this up? Making a show of going to the authorities again and taking the good chance you’ll escape again and should I let you go and wait for you to come around again and try to finish your business for real? This is getting pretty tiresome. Hey, want to bunk?"

"Bite me," Viper said. "There’s another option, you know."

"Which is what?" Colinaude said.

"You could kill me instead," Viper said. "But we both know you’d never do a thing like that, don’t we? I’m going to take the option where I leave and wait for another day."

"Suit yourself," Colinaude said. "But dress differently next time. You make a lousy Godsend." Or a good one, he thought as he watched Viper beat his retreat. There was no other way to deal with him, other than the one Viper himself had mentioned and dismissed out of hand, without knowing Colinaude was getting closer to that all the time. Like Rancor, Viper was a fairly regular foe for the Eidolon, thanks to the nature of his business. They were evenly matched, and Viper had no personal motives to foul himself up, making him an ideal candidate for repeat encounters.
He was growing tired of that. He knew he was going to have to find a permanent solution for the Viper problem, but there had never been any good ones given the assassin’s penchant for escape and the authorities’ willing and unwilling facilitating of it. Colinaude couldn’t hold it against them. They were doing their job just as he was doing his. But multiplying efforts, especially a unified one, was always a recipe for allowing cracks to appear, for various reasons that a number of other reasons meant those cracks would never truly go away.

That’s why there were those like the Eidolon out there as well. And even their numbers were far from flawless. Very far. That realization alone was tough for Colinaude to swallow if he thought about it for too long.

But Viper was out there, and he had answers Colinaude needed. The problem was in getting them. Viper was no Random Red. Psychology wouldn’t work on him, at least not any conventional kind. And Colinaude would not be able to track him down as easily. He needed to concentrate on more concrete matters, like the noon appointment. He was already late. Colinaude was already late. Viper had succeeded in that regard. Damn him.

Colinaude rushed off, leaving Ratbeard behind, a distant memory. He was getting angry again, and he was not in the mood to check it. The rendezvous was in the rodent district, but on the other side, meaning Colinaude would have to make his way across the heart of the city, which would eat even more time from his reconnaissance. He had twenty minutes to go and only twelve to cross the distance in. Maybe there was an advantage to owning a set of themed wheels, or some other convenient form of transportation. Godsend flew. Of course he did. He really needed an additional advantage like that.

He was regretting not boosting a car from Mad Jack’s. He was also debating the wisdom of continuing his slight-of-sight act in such an emergency situation. Did it really matter if someone saw him now? Yes, it did. He didn’t need someone following him when he came across Cad. That would ruin things easily enough. That’s the last thing he wanted to deal with now. He already felt as if he would crack again, and that wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do now, either. He needed to remain in control, keep his focus up. To top things off, his arm was still killing him. Viper must have dislocated his shoulder. And there was no time now to set it.

Chapter 10: "Something Snared"

There Colinaude was, sitting in a car in the deep end of Mad Jack’s dealership lot, a promotional celebration getting underway that was going to bring the man known as Ratbeard to him. Company hosts dressed as super heroes were fast proliferating, and the Eidolon himself had an hour to go before the Cad would not very far away be attending what could be a definitive turning point in a case about to be sealed. The wildcard was an agent called Neville, originally assigned to monitor Colinaude and now enjoying a little freelancing, possibly in tandem with Cad and definitely involving hired muscle at this moment making a beeline similar to Ratbeard’s.

There was nothing to worry about. Colinaude was, however, concerned that one of these hosts was going to turn out to be one of the nuisances that wouldn’t have the good sense to leave him alone. Technically he was a duplicate Eidolon, which might not go over well should someone try and make n issue of it, but he was more concerned that an overly zealous associate would not even register his appearance and attempt to try and sell him the car he was currently taking advantage of. He had no such interest, but that was not going to dissuade anyone here. He understood there might be some confusion, but was not at all interested in working that out. He wanted to concentrate on Ratbeard’s entrance, which shouldn’t be long now.

There was more than enough to hold his attention. Colinaude watched as a customer a few rows over made the usual earnest inspection. There was an associate approaching, and he now feared that he would indeed be accosted. He exited the vehicle, knowing full well that this would make him all the more an inviting presence. He was a gambling man, and it served him well. Ratbeard pulled his Sedan into the lot. Colinaude had felt they were headed in the same direction, but he had not seriously considered that it would be this easy to corner this contact, not counting the hour previously spent in the rodent district on seemingly fruitless pursuit.

He made his way to the station. There was going to be a complication here. The other Eidolon, a woman with orange goggles instead of silver, was standing between him and it. Someone had once made a crack about the possibility of an "Eidolonina." Not only was there never going to be one of those, there certainly was never going to be a "Kid Eidolon." Colinaude was in no position to adopt a ward anyway. All the same, this second Eidolon was there, and she had a well-tailored, snug-fitting variation of the original costume. With orange goggles. The closer he got the more snippy remarks Colinaude had swimming around in his head.

"I’m sorry, did I manage to arrive on time for the Eidolon convention? Silly me," he decided on. "I suppose there could be a worse fate."

"Sure," the second Eidolon responded. "Seriously, there was only supposed to be one of each. And Rick said it was fine for me to play this one. Did he change his mind? The creep!"

"Creep indeed," Colinaude said as he continued walking right by the doppelganger.

"Hey, do you find it hard breathing through this thing too? I was just wondering," she called after him, but he had no interest in replying. His version was slightly better designed. It also had silver goggles. But the prototype had been difficult in that way, he had to admit to himself. It was funny to be reminded of that now. He was only a few steps ahead of Ratbeard, so he tucked the thought away and prepared himself.

Everyone in this ship must be busy elsewhere. When Ratbeard made his entrance, they had the station to themselves. Colinaude took the opportunity to startle the contact, and it worked well enough for Ratbeard to jump a few feet and nearly fall over, his weight not allowing him to find his footing again easily. Ratbeard did have a beard, and it was a wiry, thick one, with stray wisps sticking out here and there, as if he’d tried combing it but given up in frustration.

"What do you think you’re doing, you fiend," he stammered.

"I’m no fiend," Eidolon said, "despite indications to the contrary. And even if I were, I’d be one of the friendlier ones."

"Yeah, to the right people," Ratbeard said. He had an oddly entrancing blinking pattern, which had already set about its routine task of lulling observers into compliance. Colinaude was fighting it. "Fancy catching you here. In the market for an official automobile? Don’t you guys get them custom-made? You do that at places like Mad Jack’s?"

"I’m here to see you, Fred," Colinaude said.

"Strange coincidence," Ratbeard suggested.

"No," Colinaude said. "Let’s cut to the chase for a change. I understand you know the current activities of an agent called Neville?"

At the name, Ratbeard pulled him further into isolation, which meant a corner. This was an interesting reaction. "Listen, don’t go throwing that name around," he whispered. "You don’t know what he’s bugged."

"There’s a nerve here," Colinaude whispered back. "I can feel it."

"You’re darn certain there’s a nerve," Ratbeard said. "Some of us have heard quite a deal about him, not at all things we like."

"‘Some of us,’" Colinaude said. "Why Freddy, do you have some other business you’re into?"

"None of your business, as a matter of fact," Ratbeard said. "And stop calling me that."

"It’s better than some of the alternatives," Colinaude said. "Okay, ‘Fred,’ what’s got you so worked up?"

"Neville," Ratbeard said, reiterating. "He’s dirty. He’s ruthless. He’s someone you don’t want to mess with. And I don’t think he’s been an agent for years. Unless he’s working in the entertainment industry, or possibly in some football program. If he is, good for him, I say."
"You sound upset," Colinaude said.

"That’s because I am!" Ratbeard said. "You would be too if you knew several of the unsolved murders in this state are the direct result of crossing Neville. They’re calling him Barracuda. You don’t get a nickname like Barracuda by playing nice. I might end up being one of those unsolved murders myself for this."

"I’d know," Colinaude said.

"Oh, great comfort," Ratbeard said. "Listen, my feet are killing me. Let’s sit down somewhere. This place is probably bugged up the wahoo. Oh god, I’m dead. I can see it already."

"See what?" Colinaude asked. They both sat in one of the offices the associated had abandoned. There were donuts lying around. Ratbeard helped himself, and to a cup of coffee that was someone’s, but not his.

"The obituary," Ratbeard said, slurping. "It’s actually a pretty good one. Lots of people are mourning over it."

"I’ll bet," Colinaude said.

"There’s a back door right? There has got to be a back door," Ratbeard said, powder now staining his whiskers. "Maybe there’s a company car, too. With keys in it."

"Don’t worry," Colinaude said.

"That’s easy for you to say!" Ratbeard gasped, possibly choking on the crawler half-eaten in his hand. "Mr. Hero! Some of us can be counted as ordinary folk!"

"Some of us," Colinaude said, "but not you."

"I could be normal," Ratbeard said.

"In some circles, yes," Colinaude said.

"Ones with halos and wings," Ratbeard mused, setting the unfinished coffee aside. "That’s a terrible brew. My god, do you think it’s poison?"

"Neville would have to have remarkable foresight," Colinaude said.

"Which would not be a stretch, believe me," Ratbeard said, trying to spit up the unpleasant taste. "That was really awful, just awful. It should be a crime. Can you do something about that?"

"I’m afraid I’m not on Java patrol right now," Colinaude said.

"But you are on Barracuda watch," Ratbeard said, wanting to be reassured.

"I am," Colinaude said. He watched as Ratbeard got up and looked for the alternative exit he’d been so anxious about. "Are you going to take your car?"

"Oh, no," Ratbeard said. "I can get another one. I need to get as far away from here as possible."

"And you’ll do that on foot," Colinaude said.

"I didn’t say I’d thought it out," Ratbeard. "I’m in a panic, here! A justly deserved one! Are you going to help me or not?"

He wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. "I suppose I could."

"And I suppose you should! Here we are," Ratbeard announced, finding his exit. Colinaude followed him. They emerged out the back of the station, and found the second Eidolon there, taking a smoke break. She’d removed her mask to reveal red locks.

"Fancy meeting you again," she said. "Where’ve you been? That creep Rick will not be very happy with you."

"He probably won’t be," Colinaude said.

"What is this," Ratbeard said, "some sort of Eidolon convention?"

"He showed up on time for a change," the smoking Eidolon said. She laughed after exhaling, or while doing it rather. Colinaude was not interested in this conversation. He tried herding Ratbeard away quicker.

"I’ve got a business card," Ratbeard announced, fighting Colinaude’s efforts. "Maybe we could strike some sort of deal?"

"I bet we could," the smoking Eidolon laughed again.

"Maybe some other time," Colinaude noted. "We are in something of an emergency. Do you know where you want to go?"

"There are many places," Ratbeard said.

"Choose one," Colinaude said.

"Perhaps he could choose for me," Ratbeard said, having turned around again for a last look at the second Eidolon."

"He? There is no he," Colinaude said.

"There is," Ratbeard protested. "It’s Godsend and he’s coming to greet us."

"Godsend? Oh," Colinaude realized. Then he turned around to see for himself and realized that Ratbeard was mistaken. Oh, the man was dressed as Godsend, but it wasn’t Godsend. It was Colinaude’s phantom, and they were now in a lot more than theoretical trouble.