Chapter 24: "A Hold on Things"

Like the leather jacket, Calypso was dressed in plum. As to exactly how much, only her tailor knew, and Colinaude remarked that it somehow seemed less than before. Cassie pleaded ignorance and then claimed it was all in the interest of providing herself with an advantage. A distracted foe was a defeated one, feminism be damned. That was the rationale, anyway. Colinaude was enough of a professional to not be distracted himself, and actually found himself wishing Cassie wore a little more, in almost a fatherly instinct, which was a little absurd because they were not that far away in age. Regardless, Calypso and the Eidolon united to seek out Viper, whom they mutually considered to be the Cad’s most imminent threat.

"I think I’ve been working a few things out," Colinaude said.

"That’s good to hear," Cassie said. "So you won’t have anything getting in your way? Nothing to distract you, I mean?"

"That’s the hope," Colinaude said. "Although I’ve been dealing with this stuff for a long time. And all day. I’ve been managing."

"Managing is not really good enough," Cassie said. "You can do better than that."

"I could think f a few things you can do better at as well," Colinaude said.

"I really wish you wouldn’t go there," Cassie said.

"I think I’ve said that today too," Colinaude said. "I’m concerned you’ve been making your own compromises."

"You wouldn’t know the first thing," Cassie said. "I did research. You’re making assumptions."

"But they’re assumptions," Colinaude said, "based on intuition. It’s hard to go wrong with intuition. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. Tell me about Mr. Dawes."

"Bobby is none of your business," Cassie said.

"I could have said that dozens of times," Colinaude said. "In fact, I more or less have. And that never stops anyone. You want to say it’s none of my business? I think I’d like to make it."

"Please," Cassie said.

"No," Colinaude said. "You wouldn’t be able to trust me if I didn’t."

"That’s absurd," Cassie said.

"It’s the truth," Colinaude said. "And you know it. So tell me. Tell me about Bobby."

"There’s nothing to say," Cassie pleaded stupidly. They were engaged in Colinaude’s traveling technique. Despite the fact it was after dark, he always traveled that way, as sort of an insurance card. He was mildly surprised Cassie was able to keep up, but he also found it perfectly natural for her to be doing so, like they’d been doing this for years. They went on silently, their game continuing. It seemed for every moment they spent probing each other, another moment was spent with each pretending they were exactly what they were: complete strangers who really didn’t know anything about each other. What they did know, it was from seeing it in themselves, and strangely that seemed enough to bridge the moments together. "Okay, so there is.

"Bobby came along at sort of the right moment. I was trying, and failing, to cross from one lifetime to another. Calypso was me, even before I had ever known her, had ever been her. When I made the choice to leave her behind, I realized I was leaving myself behind as well. I had to reinvent myself, experience a rebirth, in order to feel complete again. I couldn’t stand feeling hollow anymore. Cassandra Holweger managed to do that by meeting Bobby Dawes.

"Bobby was a successful graphic artist. Sometimes he designed blueprints, other times greetings cards, but Cassandra Holweger came to know him as the man who created subway ads. She first encountered him on the subway, in fact, as he was admiring some of his own work. Her first thought was that he was a self-absorbed jerk, and when she said so after he caught her staring, she found he was also self-deprecating. That made him charming, too," Cassie said. "Sweet, isn’t it?"

"I suppose so," Colinaude said. "There’s got to be more."

"There always is," Cassie said. "Bobby wooed Cassandra Holweger, and set her on the course to that wonderful new life. In gratitude, she even followed in his line of work. This did not, in the long run, work to their mutual advantage. As it turned out, Bobby’s ego was real, and it was a healthy one, which turned out to be a factor when it turned out I was good at his job."

"So he’s a jerk," Colinaude said.

"I didn’t say that," Cassie said.

"I’m pretty sure you did," Colinaude said.

"It’s something we’re working on, Cassie said. "We’re working on it. Don’t worry about it."

"I will," Colinaude said. "Worry about it. In the meantime, we have the Cad to worry about."

"The Cad," Cassie said. "Yeah, so I’ve got a contact we’re going to see who will be able to fill us in on a few things. You might be familiar with him. Don’t call him Sandy. He hates it."

"Nick Sanders," Colinaude said. "A.K.A. Silt, the Sand Man. How did you ever manage to track him down? The guy’s more elusive than even I am. If there’s one hero I’m at all interested in working with anymore, it’s him. But I’ve never been able to find him."

"Feminine wiles," Cassie joked. "You’d be surprised at who hangs around museums. Nick’s mostly in retirement now. Being a Sand Man takes a tremendous toll on the body, something the brochure doesn’t tell you. He’s moved on to more of a support role, but spends most of his time in leisure pursuits."

"I have a reporter friend," Colinaude said, "or at least I hope I still do, who could have easily told me about this. He never did."

"That’s too bad," Cassie said. "What do you mean, ‘at least I hope I still do’?"

"Let’s say he’s being used as a bargaining chip in this tryst with Ramirez," Colinaude said.

"That’s gotta suck," Cassie said.

"I hope it sucks more for me than for him," Colinaude said. "It’s one of the reasons I’m anxious to close the deal on this villain."

"Villain," Cassie said. "Do you use words like that often? Was I a villain? It sounds cartoony, like something you’d read in a comic book."

"Well, this is no comic book," Colinaude said. "But sometimes you have to call them as you see them. If it sounds funny, then that’s just how it sounds. Rodrigo Ramirez, the Cad, is a villain. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a super villain. But compared to how heroes like Godsend see him, I suppose he’d be."

"You dodged one of my questions," Cassie observed. If she sounded breathless, it wasn’t from their pace, brisk though it was.

"Did I consider Calypso a villain?" Colinaude supposed. "I guess under the circumstances, I would have to say yes. But there are always degrees. Villain is a generic term."

"So is hero, I guess," Cassie said.

"I’d call you a hero," Colinaude said.

"I’m flattered," Cassie said. "In a generic sense."

"That’s why people should never talk," Colinaude smirked. "Their words can so easily be used against them."

"It’s not just words," Cassie said.

"Where are we headed? That’d be nice to know," Colinaude said.

"To the museum," Cassie said, not being aware that she had been leading them, though she had been the whole time. Perhaps neither had noticed. "Didn’t I say Nick liked to hang out there? It’s sort of like a second home for him. Almost a first one now. He says he’s losing form more and more everyday, says he’ll eventually become just another mound of dirt on display. Luckily he hides in the pieces, and not on the floor. Wouldn’t want a world famous hero being swept up by a janitor and thrown away like garbage."

"Though it would seem an appropriate metaphor," Colinaude said.

"For what?" Cassie said.

"For life," Colinaude said. "I’m one of those people always looking at the bright sides."

"I believe it’s called pessimism," Cassie said.

"You’re being generous," Colinaude said. "Most other people would have suggested fatalism."

"I’m a generous person," Cassie said.

"Most people who knew the Cad would probably say the same about him," Colinaude said.

"Then I mean it in the generic sense," Cassie said.

"Touché," Colinaude said. "I suppose Nick has something for us."

"He said he did when I talked to him last," Cassie said. "It sounded urgent, like he was almost afraid."

"That seems to be a common reaction today," Colinaude said. "Cad has an associate, whom I believe is the reason he’s elevated himself so quickly, who has elicited the same kind of reaction from a contact of my own."

"They don’t call them villains because they’re nice people," Cassie said. "Which I would suppose would mean I’m suggesting I wasn’t nice myself."

"Correction," Colinaude said. "Cassandra Holweger wasn’t nice. Cassie Dawes is."

"And I thank you again," Cassie said. "You’re a regular sweet-talker. Which means I shouldn’t trust you."

They were approaching Traverse Memorial Nicholas E. Poliquin Museum. It only seemed fitting they were there to meet someone named Nick, considering. Cassie was on intimate enough terms with the building to know alternate ways in, some she’d learned in her previous incarnation as Calypso, and some she’d learned working there as Cassie Dawes.

"There’s one thing I don’t understand," Colinaude said. "You told me before that Bobby wasn’t the reason you’d been able to turn your back on your previous life."

"I meant that," Cassie said. "Do I really have to spell it out?"

"No," a new voice said. It belonged to Nick Sanders, and Silt the Sand Man was pouring himself through a keyhole. "I’ve unlocked the door for you. Please come in without further delay."

"Hello," Colinaude said.

"There’s no time for pleasantries," Nick said. "Rancor is dead, courtesy of our friend Rodrigo Ramirez. I’d say our stakes just got bigger."

Colinaude did not need to be told twice. Those illusions of his were about to be shattered.

Chapter 23: "The Night, the Night"

Another shift ended at Tin Can. Colinaude recovered the costume he always had stashed away in the employee closet and left the bar behind a new man. In many ways, a new day was beginning for him as well. He stepped outside and saw there was no moon; it had been obscured by clouds. No matter. He considered his new charge, the city as a haven, and himself as the warden. There were new possibilities all around him for the Eidolon to be needed, a blank slate to be cleaned. Traverse had its share of heroes, but for the Eidolon, there was only one. There was work to be done, in forms he knew eluded most others, not just embodied by the Cad but in hundreds of other permutations. The cover of darkness created this haven, the brood of mischief, and Colinaude had taken it on as his responsibility. Yet it had become an unbearable weight.

All that he saw, cried out to him. It was as if the whole world needed him, and having once pledged to help it he could not carry out that pledge. Not doing so would make a mockery of it, yet there was so much that needed to be done and so little of him to handle it all, things could not help but fall through the cracks. This was not a thought he relished. He blamed himself, and he blamed those responsible, and he blamed the innocent for leaving themselves so vulnerable. How could he possibly be expected to keep this pledge when he knew he failed another with each success, that each success came at the cost of a hundred failures? How could he possibly rationalize concentration, when it meant that he ignored so much to accomplish it? How could he live with himself, knowing the one expecting success and knowing Colinaude would fail was Colinaude himself?

It was a mortal hindrance. He knew no way around it, least of all the one suggested by Cassandra Dawes, and by every other rational voice he’d heard this day, and all the days before. What was this concept, perspective? What was rational? Was not his charge irrational in its very inception? Was not perspective irrational? Was not the world irrational? Was not himself? How could he trust any of these things to give him relief? It was a fool’s errand.

He knew; he saw; he understood. This was the life he had chosen, and only catatonia was going to change things. Colinaude couldn’t. He couldn’t. He knew no other way; he saw no other way; he understood no other way. Save one: madness. Yes, he was quickly slipping into that.

A couple of vandals there by the corner of that building. They carried spray paint with them. The Eidolon swoops in and sends them on their way.

A burglar, breaking into the convenience store. The Eidolon swoops in and sends the burglar on his way.

Two gangs advancing on each other’s turf. The Eidolon swoops in and sends them on their way.

Three separate incidences, and all the Eidolon does is stopgate them. What more could he do? What more could be expected of him? Mold their lives like a tyrant, end their lives like a butcher? Madness. There was that direction, and then there was retirement. Madness. And yet without the one there would be inevitably the other. They never said how heroes ended their careers, save the noble sacrifice, and for those not blessed with that ultimate gift? There was only uncertainty, and madness. Colinaude supposed that most of them got along well enough keeping busy in their work, never giving it thought enough to worry. They knew exactly what they were supposed to do, and so they did it, happily, selflessly, unendingly, tirelessly. For a long time Colinaude had done that. Yet he had reached the other end. That was never supposed to happen. It was like a fatal illness, and there was no cure because no one had ever studied it.

He looked into the cloud-dampened darkness and that was all he saw. He had never known innocence. Dawes, at any rate, was waiting for him. She too had another identity, and that was Calypso, born a hero, slipped into cat-burglary, and now reborn a hero once more. He could only imagine how that progression had occurred. She had told him it happened when she tried to enter the heroic life too quickly. If this was true, then she made a rapid transition from understanding the world of opportunity heroes attempted codifying along the lines of good and evil to immersing herself into it, because she became overwhelmed. Colinaude told himself the Eidolon was not overwhelmed not by the responsibility of the charge, as Calypso had, but by the charge itself. It was not a matter of semantics, but of, ironically, perspective.

As he understood it, Calypso had taken the road of opportunity with least resistance, until she realized how soon that road ended. Because she had started from the parallel road, she understood immediately what she had done, and what she would need to do to correct herself. For most others, reaching the end of that road failed to come with the same realization, because they had never known any other way, and so when they reached the end, they redoubled and traveled down the same road again. Such were the likes of the Cad. And yet, with others, the most dangerous kind, they knew the two roads, and consciously chose the one with least resistance because they thought its advantages outweighed its detriments.

For that kind, the rulebook was not only thrown out, it was ignored with contempt, a thing to be scorned and detested. They were the most dangerous because they no longer cared for anything but their own benefit. The Cad could always be depended on for those in his own community. He wasn’t trying to fool anyone.

Which did not mean Colinaude held out any sympathy for him. On the contrary, he despised him all the more. He and Calypso were about to embark on a systematic clampdown, the kind that would be seen as premature, by the likes of Godsend and just about everyone else, after all the Cad had not really done anything yet, unless one counted the aligning with Neville and the disappearance of Peter Cooley. Even before those developments, Colinaude had already made up his mind to deal with Cad. With them, not only did he have some sort of justification, but added incentive on top.

The first order of business, he had decided, would be tracking down and eliminating Viper from the Cad’s employment. Cassie claimed she had a number of contacts that would facilitate this. Ending that particular threat had become more important ever since Mad Jack’s, when it had finally dawned on Colinaude how ridiculous the continued dance with Viper had always been. Strangely enough, that was the kind of burden he cared the least to continue carrying, when it seemed to be the only concentration for most other heroes. He imagined it was easier to create such a cadre of serialized foes when you were better known, and since the Eidolon had spent most of the time since the days with Godsend working in the truest sense as a rumor, most of that type probably assumed he was no longer operating. This in turn meant that there were no opportunist villains being created specifically to take him on, at least none past Neville, and Colinaude still knew too little about that one to gain a proper handle on him. Barracuda? That’s what Ratbeard of all people had called him. He still didn’t know what to make of that.

Yet he was pleased that he could do at least that, prevent opportunists from emerging, to help society, in his new, much-maligned capacity as a hero. This would have made a good argument to use against Godsend, if only he’d thought of it then. There was always the next time, and with Godsend, there would always be a next time to count on. Sometimes it was the constants like that which allowed Colinaude to keep going, the steady regularity. As depressing as everything else was, there were always things to pick him up again. Were they enough? In hindsight they seemed to be, but in the moment, not a chance. And that was the big catch.

He needed something to break that fall. He knew he wasn’t going to find it hunting the Cad, but he also knew he couldn’t leave Cad be, not now. It had become his commitment, perhaps his singular commitment. Perhaps it was an obsession. And maybe that was Colinaude’s problem; not that he didn’t have perspective but that he had transformed his role as a hero into an obsession, a charge into an obligation. That he’d lost perspective not on what he was doing but in how far he had to go to do it. And in that, he had to admit once more that maybe Godsend had bee right about him. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn back.

He would try, that was as much as he could promise himself. He would have to reclaim himself from this obsession, reclaim the Colinaude that resided inside the figure of the Eidolon. There was an ideal he claimed to stand for, and was now going to have to try and live up to. If the Eidolon was an impersonal challenge, he was making a personal challenge for Colinaude. Yes, he was fighting himself, and damned if he was going to let himself lose. Because there really was no other way, no matter how he would manage to rationalize it. There was the night before him, and the Cad, and Cassandra Dawes, too. He struck out to embrace it.

Chapter 22: "What Lou Saw"

There were some things that were yet to be, and some things that already were. Lou’s experience was among the latter. The proprietor of hotdogs across from Glengarry Park, mutual contact to Colinaude and Peter Cooley, had told Colinaude of witnessing the Cad making a spectacle of himself in a manner that included ‘interesting plates.’ This is that experience.

It occurred a little after noon. Every once and a while, a biter rival sought to complicate Lou’s life by having his vending license challenged. Breaching the subject of his age and how he sometimes forgot things usually accomplished this. Officer McAlester, as always, was dispatched to review the paperwork, which was what Lou was in the midst of when the Cad rolled along. His car had government plates, or rather, the car he was driving in did, and Lou made a note of this because he had never known the Cad to provide his own transportation. So this car with government plates pulled up behind McAlester’s, and out came the Cad, a blonde beauty, and a shuffling man, but no one who looked or acted like they came from the government. Lou had a suspicion who Shuffling Man was, but for the moment he was more concerned with McAlester, and proving once more he had every continuing right to rain on someone else’s parade. Every time the challenge came around, Lou would adopt his most stoic behavior, coupled though it was with some of his grumpiest. McAlester never failed to notice. Lou never failed to make sure McAlester realized the source of the attitude.

As McAlester pulled away and Lou put away his papers, glaring at the vendor he knew to have provoked the challenge, he overheard the name of the blonde beauty, Delia, and heard her giggle over something that in all likelihood was not that funny. For the moment, Delia, Cad, and Shuffling Man were standing around, enjoying a smoke and sharing in piffles of conversation, the kind that left Delia continuously giggling. It was clear they had other matters on the agenda, but that they enjoyed delaying in the meantime. Lou wondered why McAlester had not investigated the distinct lack of a government representative in the government-plated vehicle. There was no driver waiting inside. Shuffling Man had been behind the wheel.

Finally, the Cad tossed his cigarette butt aside. Shuffling Man took the opportunity to smudge it out with his own foot. Delia went back to the car and opened the trunk, producing the group’s own papers, which seemed to be fliers. She handed them to the Cad, who proceeded to a junction in the park that saw the most flow of pedestrians. Lou couldn’t hear anymore, but he could see that Cad was now giving some sort of spiel, gesturing with his hands and handing out the fliers. Delia stood by his side, but Shuffling Man waited off at a distance, below a tree, obscuring himself in its shadow. He appeared to not want a large part in this presentation. Whatever Cad was selling, either Shuffling Man was confident of or peripheral to. What he clearly was not doing was making it his business.

Soon enough, a crowd had gathered around the Cad and Delia. Delia posed for a few pictures. Cad continued his rhetoric, and even elicited cheers. He began to blow kisses, and to embrace some women and deliver real ones. Lou could have been mistaken to assume Cad was running for public office, but he knew better. Had this been an official event, McAlester would not have gone but been joined by a fair number of his brethren.

Delia was sent back to the car to retrieve something else, which turned out to be a rolled-up poster of some sort. She brought with her a stand to display it on, and though the setup was facing the wrong way for Lou to see properly, the sun shined through the poster well enough for him to make out what it had on the other side. Lou saw the Eidolon, encircled by red, with a line slanted through. There were some murmurs then, and some deserters, but others stayed and cheered. A second car pulled up not far away, and the presentation gained some new faces.

The most prominent one was a gang member with a red cap, and he was trotted out in front of the others, where he no doubt made a statement Lou couldn’t hear. He evidently was the showstopper, since when he was finished the second unit left and the Cad, Delia, and Shuffling Man came back to their own car, the Cad blowing more kisses with grand gestures of the arm to those who were still congregated. Delia returned the presentation materials to the trunk, but the Cad did not enter the vehicle immediately. He came, with Delia and Shuffling Man trailing him, toward Lou, beaming like a little child, his hands clasped and his lips moving, ordering three hotdogs, with relish.

Lou hesitated, but only for a moment. He was still a professional, but he didn’t say a word, not even his customary greeting. After having prepared all three dogs, he handed them over, and received from Delia, at Cad’s beckoning, a large clip of bills. Lou refused it. The Cad took the clip back himself, and gave Lou a polite nod, bowing out of the rest of the line’s way. He and Delia returned to the car, then, but Shuffling Man lingered. He was not as polite as his associate was. He glared at Lou and then followed his companions.

The car drove off. It was not long after this that Colinaude himself appeared. The Cad’s presentation had lasted all of fifteen minutes, and fifteen minutes later, as if by clockwork, Colinaude walked up. Lou understood the implications of what he had seen, understood most of all how much they pertained to Colinaude, but he also understood that if he didn’t say everything he had seen, it would not, in the long run, hurt Colinaude. He had reason to hold back. He was angry at him, angry at the jeopardy the Eidolon placed people in, as much as safety, angry that Peter Cooley had in all likelihood fallen prey to this monster, Rodrigo Ramirez, who was as much interested in his own ambitions as in targeting the Eidolon.

The Eidolon was a lightning rod, as much a force for good as its opposite. Lou cooperated with Colinaude as much as out of respect for his friend Cooley as his general inclination told him to. He knew the Eidolon’s intentions were noble. He also knew noble was not always enough, and he had seen enough of that to know how badly things could go wrong.

So yes, Lou was angry at the Eidolon, and was not afraid to let Colinaude see it, to know it, understand it. Was he in fact abetting the Cad by withholding all that he knew? Maybe so. There was also the fact that he had never been straightforward with Colinaude. He cooperated, mostly begrudgingly, and excused it by saying to himself that the man would find out what he needed to know from others. Lou owed him nothing. That he gave him anything at all was reward enough for that.

What would he do, if Colinaude cost him Cooley? Carry on, as always. Life was cruel. If Cooley was the cost to help Colinaude understand that, Lou could live with it. He wouldn’t be very pleased, though, and he would probably never help the Eidolon again. That would be a small price.

Besides, he trusted Colinaude could put a few things together himself. Give him that the Cad had made a scene. Give him that his car had ‘interesting plates.’ Forget to mention Shuffling Man. Lou only had a suspicion who he was. Why bother with a suspicion? Lou didn’t like suspicions, though he liked Shuffling Man even less. There was something about him, something far more threatening than the malice, the greed, the ambition just below the surface of the Cad’s charm. It was clear he was no stooge. Yet his quality was elusive, and it was this aspect that unsettled Lou the most. He had never met anyone else like him.

Colinaude would learn the rest from others. Lou was confident in that. He gave Colinaude one more thing before what could be the last time they saw each other ended. He allowed Colinaude to understand there was a respect that underlined everything else. He couldn’t deny that, and he had no intention to, either. Someone had been watching, waiting for Colinaude to move on. She walked up to Lou and they discussed him, and Lou convinced the woman that Colinaude needed looking after. This had not been the first time they talked of him. The woman had seemed to be interested in Colinaude for the past few years. Lou didn’t know where the connection had formed, and he didn’t care to find out. He never asked, and she never offered.

It was through her he found out where Colinaude spent his evenings. After most of the vendors had closed up shop, as always, Lou lingered, looking to please a last few customers. He went home, changed, got himself a hat, and then made his way to the Tin Can. When he arrived, he learned that Colinaude was out on his lunch hour. He chatted with the bartender for a few minutes, sopped down a beer, and stayed long enough to hear the legend of Marty Jennings. He vowed to return some day and defeat him. He probably would, too.

But for now, though, he would let things unfold exactly as they would, without anymore participation from Lou than they really needed. That was all he was ever interested in. Let the night take care of its own. Lou had carried his charge, and he figured he’d done a fine job. He’d seen all he needed to see, and said all he needed to.

Chapter 21: "Good News for People Who Like Bad News"

The lunch hour, however long it became, eventually had to end. Colinaude parted with renewed promise from Cassie Dawes and returned to Tin Can, having all but forgotten the point of the meal at Marco’s had been to monitor the Cad. He hadn’t really overlooked that purpose, but the emphasis, the point of most importance, had shifted. He had gained an ally; more than a possibility, more than a means for reference, Cassie revealed herself to be an unqualified asset, someone he could invest what he had so long held, miserly, to himself: trust. As to the reasons why such a connection could have so easily been made, Colinaude would not begin to speculate. It was something he would not ruin for himself.

In a way, it was almost comforting to know the Cad had not really changed. His temperament, his disposition, was exactly as Colinaude had always known it. There was a constant in this moment of transition, an ingredient free from flux. That meant the footing on which Colinaude depended could still be counted on. The Cad was the same; it was his context that had changed. This Colinaude considered to be entirely in line with the rest of his philosophy, and he was comforted, and he became more relaxed as a result.

Tin Can was also now comfortably patronized. This was not good news for Alonzo, but it wasn’t bad news, either. He gave Colinaude an irritated look, then flashed him a smile, when at last Colinaude was back behind the bar. A number of orders needed to be filled on the spot, and they got to work on them right away. The experience of diving back in to the hectic pace sat well with Colinaude, who enjoyed keeping himself busy. If he was in the right mood, and he was, it could almost be pleasing. There was no criticism, not from the patrons and not from some overseer, and certainly not from himself or Alonzo. Pour a glass, mix a drink, serve the shots; it was all reassuringly simple, like second nature. Colinaude could relax into the unmitigated tranquility of it.

This was not the time conversation usually presented itself, not anything more complicated than haggling over what to drink how to pay for it where to go and nurse it. The music was swelling now, as if it were crafting a buffet around the bar, isolating it from the rest of the world; it created the atmosphere at much as the walls, or the drinks. Patrons grew rowdy as much from the alcohol as from trying to keep up with broken hearts and pick-up trucks reveling in serenade. Then there were the games of pool, around which concentrated those looking for epiphanies. Competition had a way of cutting through the everyday milieu, whether it was between players or just one and the table itself. The balls were never the challenge, but rather the means through which the table was conquered.

As it happened, there was a solitary player now. His name was Marty Jennings, and he was not one of the better cue handlers Colinaude had seen in his day. But what Jennings lacked in skill he made up for in tenacity. He never gave up, and that characteristic made him better than anyone else in Tin Can. He was feared despite himself. At the moment, he was negotiating one of the trickier angles, where he had arrived after two unfortunate misfires. The mistakes he made were amateur, like grazing the white ball or missing the target ball entirely. These moments never failed to catch one of the onlookers off guard. They would make a remark to the effect that Jennings’ exceptional streak of victories was over, that he couldn’t possibly rebound because his perceived axis of control had shattered.

And he would go on and win anyway, catwalking the rest of the game as if it were effortless, as if he had no opponent at all except himself, and he had long ago mastered self-discipline. The goosed onlooker would be shamed into silence, back into the aura of awe around Marty Jennings. This time was no different. Colinaude was always suitably amazed, and amused. That was the whole point. Jennings would win a free beer after each win, and from an always-alternating admirer a new tie. The one drawback Jennings consistently followed was a lack of fashion sense, and he was all the more loved for it. He fit right in with the rest of them.
Sooner or later, the streak would end, and Marty would probably never play again. He had as much as said so, and would say that it had been a good run when it finally happened. He was an admirably modest success story. When that day came, Tin Can would lose a little of its luster, but Colinaude had known it before and knew the bar would survive. It could definitely survive without Cotton Colinaude, but for the moment he was as integral as anything else. Well, maybe not Alonzo. Or the booze.

Another patron entered. His name was Buck Bukowski, and he was the only informant who ever set foot in Tin Can. He was under the impression that Colinaude was a relay for the Eidolon, and never seemed to question that conclusion. Buck walked with a limp, a condition he’d had since childhood, and he didn’t know whether to blame his parents, his doctors, or some higher power for the infirmity, but he had long since learned to live with it; in his case that meant a never-ending stream of grumbling, which his familiars had to either reduce to ambience or develop a high threshold for pain. Threshold himself would not likely have put up with it for more than a millisecond. Colinaude could deal with it.

Buck slid his way toward the bar. Normally when he was sliding his leg it meant he had grown interminably irritated with it and was attempting to punish it. Other times the act signified that the pain had increased and he was going to be ordering something stiff, at least twice more than usual. From Buck’s particular gate, Colinaude correctly assumed the case to be the latter this evening. "Give me something stiff," was Buck’s shorthand, in case Colinaude had not already guessed. Stiff in this case would have been enough to satisfy any trophy hunter’s collection.

There was one other occasion Buck drank this heavily. That was when he had something sobering to reveal, and this was normally indicated by the length of time that he took contenting himself before speaking again to his friend. It took him five minutes. He took a few peanuts and took the time to enjoy them as well. "There’s some news, Cotty," he said. "It concerns your reporter friend."

There was only one reporter friend Colinaude had. Buck had gotten to understand the connection between Colinaude and Cooley during one of Colinaude’s marathon sessions with the paper. His studies had not been going well, and he had decided it was because the "Traverse Tracks" editors had left out significant portions of the stories he was interested in. He’d called Cooley. It was the only time he ever did. Buck overheard, brought it up once, and remained mum about it since. Until now.

"Word has it that he’s gotten himself into some trouble," Buck said. "He went poking around where he shouldn’t have, and got bit. I’m not saying I know whether that should be taken literally or not, but that’s the way I heard it. Either way it swings, that doesn’t sound good to me. If you ask me, trouble in this iteration boils down to trouble in the literal sense. You might find a report on him tomorrow. Understand I don’t say that lightly."

Colinaude understood, and he knew what had probably happened, or at least how Cooley would have gotten to that point. This after what had gone on between them the last time they spoke. It must have been Hopper’s paper. "I appreciate it," he finally said.

"Hey, don’t take it so hard," Buck said. "These things happen. It’s the sadistic nature of things. You can either deal with it or boil under. And you really don’t want to go and boil under."

"No," Colinaude said. "No…Do you have anything else?"

"Not about your reporter friend," Buck said, "and not about anything else. And as of now, not of my drink. But I’m already feeling the effects of that, so I’m going to back off now. You really do have the best poison in town. Keep that up, will ya?"

"I’d love to," Colinaude said. "Thanks as always."

"It’s always my pleasure," Buck said. It was odd, too, because he always seemed to come with rotten news, and leave with a more pronounced limp than before, as if the weight of what he had to say didn’t leave him after he relieved it but rather only increased. Perhaps it was some kind of curse, inflicted upon him for transgressions he was never able to determine. His grumbling, like a heavy cloud, left with him. Another cloud lingered, from the smoking the patrons of Tin Can were allowed to maintain long after most other establishments had banned it. Colinaude couldn’t help but note that none of the Cad’s party had ever lit up, and neither had himself or Cassie. Other diners had, though, and it was as if the mere presence was enough to sustain those who were not partaking. As if they had a reason to indulge, even if it was vicariously.

If there was a cloud over Colinaude now, he had good reason for it. After the experience with Lou, he had already known something was up with Peter Cooley. What he had needed was confirmation, but after having gotten it he wasn’t sure he had really wanted it. What he hadn’t needed was for this day to escalate its stakes any further. And yet, they had. Colinaude had to accept that. But he didn’t have to like it.

Chapter 20: "Dinner, Lunch, It's All the Same"

The reports of femme fatales dressing provocatively turned out to be greatly exaggerated. Well, most of the time. Cassie was waiting outside the back entrance of Tin Can in much the same attire, decidedly not that of Calypso, Colinaude had seen her in earlier, except she was wearing her leather jacket again. The first two times, at the subway and around Lou’s, she’d been wearing it, but not in the bar. She was relaxing then. "Ready," she told him. He found it remarkable that Cassie was slipping back into this kind of life so easily.

"On to Marco’s," Colinaude said.

"Where?" Cassie said.

"Marco’s," Colinaude reiterated. He was pretty sure she was playing with him, which was another remarkable development. The only time they’d danced before, it was around each other. Now they were waltzing in the general direction of the Cad, together. Cassie was not volunteering as much conversation as before. He wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Perhaps that was how she normally operated. Whatever the case, they traveled in her car to the restaurant, and she was silent then, too. Colinaude had timed it so that, according to his intelligence, they would arrive approximately ten minutes before the Cad and his party. He had an hour; that was probably not going to cover all of it, but definitely the pre-meal conversation, which was hopefully the most of what he would really need to hear. And if he really needed to, he could count on Alonzo to cover, begrudgingly, for some additional time, both behind the bar and in the books. That had happened before, and Alonzo never questioned it.

"I hope your bar money is good enough to cover this," Cassie said, waiting to be seated. "I know my paycheck isn’t."

"It’s good enough to go this one time," Colinaude said.

"And you’re fool enough to do it," Cassie said. "But we’re not making any personal judgments here."

"Of course not," Colinaude said, smiling to the headwaiter. "We’re all friends here."

"Of course we are," Cassie said. He assumed she was feeling some anxiety based on how they were dressed, and how the other patrons were. Under the jacket, she didn’t really look out of place, though, and Colinaude had slipped on a polo shirt. She took the opportunity to slip out of the jacket and place it in the coatroom. He hadn’t brought one, and in fact, rarely wore one. This, however, did not seem to calm her.

"Look, we’re fine," Colinaude said.

"You wished to dine in the smoking section?" the waiter confirmed.

"That’s correct," Colinaude said.

"Right this way, then," the waiter directed. Before long, they were seated.

"Smoking, huh," Cassie said.

"Not us," Colinaude said. "Him. But I brought along a cigar or two just in case we start to feel too much out of place."

"We wouldn’t want that," Cassie said. "I’ve been trying to quit for years. This is not the best way to go about that."

"I’m sorry," Colinaude said. "It was the only way. Speaking of habits you were trying to break, depending on what we learn this evening, how much farther do you want to go?"

"It’s something I’ve been thinking about," Cassie said, chewing on a complimentary bread stick. "You could be getting me in a whole lot of trouble."

"Which would be different how?" Colinaude playfully jabbed.

"I’m serious," Cassie said. "I know what the story is. I know who we’re dealing with, who else we’re dealing with, and what you’re dealing with."

"This has got to be the worst-kept secret ever," Colinaude said.

"I’m not talking about issues other heroes, other authorities might have with you," Cassie said.

"I’m talking about the kind of involvement you’ve been steeping yourself in. What those other guys have? It’s a personal beef, and it scratches the surface, but it doesn’t come near the real problem. Believe me, I know how far that involvement can go, where it can take you. Calypso didn’t walked with angels, but she did start off that way. And it happened because she started too hard, too fast. The opposite is even more dangerous."

"This is awkward," Colinaude said.

"It’s not just awkward," Cassie said. "It’s something you’re going to have to deal with. Same as me. What do you think had to be going through my head, when you brought this up? Some kind of button, some kind of control panel switched me from good girl to ambiguous girl, just like that? Don’t think it’s a coincidence that you saw me in three different places in one day."

"Actually," Colinaude said, "I had assumed that I just happened to be noticing you today."

"Providence," Cassie said. "Well, that’s some way of viewing it. Another way would be that I was seeking you out."

"I would say that’s another way," Colinaude said. "Yeah. But I see you all the time at the subway. That’s nothing new."

"You’re seriously attempting to rationalize remaining on the same train of thought," Cassie said.

"Look," Colinaude said. "I’m dealing with a lot here."

"So is everyone else," Cassie said.

"It’s not the same," Colinaude said.

"It is," Cassie said. "Whether you want to see it or not."

"Where’s the waiter with our orders?" Colinaude said.

"We have to order them first," Cassie said. "There he comes, and there comes someone else."

The Cad, along with a blonde beauty and another couple, Jewish by the looks of them, sauntered in and were seated, not far as it happened from Colinaude and Cassie. They were joking. Cad was already working his charms, on both ladies. The business associate did not seem to notice, or did and had assuaged to the notion that this was something he just had to deal with. Colinaude looked toward Cassie, and saw that she wasn’t interested, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was now deciding on what to eat, having already chosen a white wine for the both of them.

"They’re like children," she noted.

"Someone could confuse a line like that for jealousy," Colinaude said.

"Hopefully you wouldn’t be one of them," Cassie said. "No limits?"

"The wine might have already broken that ceiling," Colinaude said. "Go with what looks good."

"Actually, I prefer the taste," Cassie said.

"That’s what I meant," Colinaude said. He’d already made up his own mind. He didn’t like to waste time if he didn’t need to. "How are you at listening and talking at the same time?"

"The man with the same hair color as mine has just mentioned Taipei," Cassie said.

"What about it?" Colinaude stammered.

"It seems everything went well there," Cassie said. "They’ve already turned the conversation elsewhere. That’s all I got."

"That could mean any number of things," Colinaude said. "Have you decided?"

"Oh," Cassie said. "I did about five minutes ago."

"Good, because it’s not like we’re under any time constraints," Colinaude said, motioning toward the waiter, who appeared promptly. Over the waiter’s shoulder he could see the Cad’s table. This was the only way he was allowing himself to look there. The Cad was helping himself to the bread sticks, while his companion got up to use the lavatories, bringing with her the associate’s wife. Colinaude knew it was the associate’s wife because he recognized the associate himself, Herman Schwartz. His close friends called Herman Logan, for reasons Colinaude didn’t know. He had no contacts that close. None of his contacts, in fact, were moles, which made the information he got all the more remarkable. He knew from personal experience that moles did not last long in Traverse. Why Traverse was singled out in that regard he didn’t know, and probably never would. He concentrated instead on giving his order, after allowing Cassie to give hers first. They cracked the wine open.

"There’s nothing else important being said," she remarked.

"I could have guessed that," Colinaude said. "Herman here is a relay man. Most of Cad’s men are relay men. That’s what kept his operation small for so many years. He preferred to keep instead a low profile, which always seemed to work. It appears that his relay men finally scored him something. He wouldn’t be talking about Taipei unless he was dealing with Rancor. I should have known if that rat was up to anything."

"Maybe he wasn’t," Cassie offered.

"Well, we’ll know soon enough," Colinaude said. "There’re other things I’d like to know."

"I think you need me," Cassie said.

"I don’t need anything," Colinaude said. "Nobody needs anything."

Cassie minded her glass. "That’s not really true."

"It’s gonna be a long wait for our food," Colinaude said. "Just thought you should know."

"I knew," Cassie said. She studied her glass for a moment, knowing Colinaude was following her eyes, waiting to hear what else she had to say. "You don’t have to do it."

"I don’t know what else to do," Colinaude said. "It’s my life. It’s been my life, longer than the world has known. These things don’t just happen. You didn’t just flip a switch to be here. I didn’t just decide one day to become this. It’s been a process, the whole way through, from the idealism to realizing the idealism was a myth I’d created to justify myself, to justify what I had become and what I was becoming. I realize what’s happening to me. I really do. But I can’t stop it, not without doing something drastic. And the thought of that scares me, more than the thought of where I’m headed if I don’t…

"Pleasant dinner chat," he smiled, raising his glass.

"Pleasant dinner chat," she said, meeting his glass. "That’s the way it goes."

"Yeah," Colinaude said.

"It sucks," Cassie said.

"That it does," Colinaude said. "And he makes for a lousy dinner date."

"The only one I know who could carry on so casually," Cassie said. "Apparently they’re both lousy golfers as well."

"Serves them right," Colinaude said.

"Without a doubt," Cassie said. "And he keeps staring at me. That makes him irritating, too."

"To give the man some credit," Colinaude said. "That’s not hard to do. Staring at you, I mean. If you don’t mind my saying."

"You get a free pass," Cassie said. "You kept me out of prison. That puts you in favorably enough with me, foibles and all."

"I don’t know what to say," Colinaude said.

"Try this word. It’ll do you more good than I ever could," Cassie said. "Perspective."

"All I can say is that I’ll try," Colinaude said. "It’s the best I can do."

"And it’s the best you could hope for," Cassie said. "I’ll help however I can. Cad here won’t be bothering you for much longer. We can see to that."

It was a good thing about Alonzo. Colinaude was going to have to count on him again, because this was going to be a lunch hour he was not soon going to let slip away. He had made up his mind about Cad. Tonight was going to be his night, and from then on there was going to be a new Colinaude. He finally allowed someone to help him see that he could no longer avoid that. Yes, he was going to enjoy the rest of his time at Marco’s, and he hoped Cad did as well.

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.