You'll Be Surprised
Author's Note: Just seeing how this goes on FFN because I believe Eichhorst's fan base is broader over here. If it flops so be it.
For every pit bull in a knit sweater, there must be someone who knows him well enough to see that he feels the cold keenly through his deceptively thin coat, who loves the scarred old mutt enough to make or buy the woolly jumper and who is bold enough to thread the garment over those bear trap jaws. Similarly, the vicious beast must be prepared to endure the attentions of the caregiver and suspend savaging endeavours long enough to receive this gift with weary hauteur. Perhaps he would even bow his massive head to facilitate the process. Maybe even obey the timorous "Gimme paw-paw" command so the sleeves can be placed. Possibly, he would comply readily enough to be deemed a "Good boy" and have his ragged ears tickled.
Ah, the proud, mighty beast and the timid, gentle lover who tamed him.
But this is not the story of that relationship. This is something completely different and much less edifying.
It's still not too late to turn back, you know…
Eichhorst's Living Area, Stoneheart Building, Manhattan – The Morning After the Battle at Bolivar's
Thomas Eichhorst sat in the living area of his splendid apartment opposite an enormous television screen showing the news. He was regrouping after a difficult few days. Suited and made up to appear human, the vampire was getting a manicure from a handsome young man in a faceguard, wielding something like a miniature angle grinder. The beauty of Eichhorst's attendant wasn't a sexually-motivated choice but a simple luxury – Eichhorst liked to surround himself with decorative things and the boy was nothing more than an ornament. Michael was the young man's name, he seemed to recall.
Eichhorst had a good memory for names.
Numbers, too, for that matter. And there was one number he would never be able to forget.
He scowled into a mirror as he touched two healing wounds on his cheek. While A230385 hadn't directly given him those, the ultimate blame lay firmly with the old Jew, and so did Eichhorst's lust for revenge.
Abraham Setrakian…oh yes, he knew his name too, although he never used it aloud, only murmuring it softly when he was alone. The old pawnbroker had made Eichhorst look foolish time after time and his Master had begun to lose faith in him. Obviously, he would regain his place in his Führer's trust soon by dealing with his former pet personally. He amused himself during the manicure by fantasising about the different forms his retribution could take.
While Eichhorst obsessed about Setrakian, he completely disregarded another figure from his past. One whose motives concerning him were much less clear. Someone who was potentially even more dangerous than his old adversary.
The manicurist's grinder whined away occluding most of the audio of the report on the bizarre death of the unpopular and incompetent New York mayor, J. Robert Gomez, and the resultant power vacuum due to the disappearance of other key officials. Once Eichhorst's human façade was completely restored, he and Eldritch Palmer would fill that vacuum with a sympathiser of the Master's cause. And if one could not be readily found, he would make one.
The broadcast continued to show the unrest around the city following the collapse of vital infrastructure and services.
Michael finished his work in time for the newsreader's apparently innocuous concluding remarks to be clearly heard.
'And finally, our CEO personally requested we put out a bulletin asking this well-groomed man to come forward for an interview feature we want to commission.'
Suddenly, a still image of Eichhorst's head and shoulders as he left Stoneheart to attack the pawnshop filled the screen. He was the only one shown; his subordinates who definitively did not share his human appearance were not visible. Why? They must have footage of the other vampires. Why not show their white, bald heads and pointy ears and teeth?
The newscaster continued, 'He has been pictured fighting off a sword attack from a crazy old man...'
Now the television showed some video of Eichhorst evading Setrakian's sword swing at Grand Central Station. The quality was much better than you would usually expect from CCTV, although the image of Setrakian's face was blurred and there was no audio.
In fact, none of the clips had any audio, and the footage of Eichhorst in action was quite extensive, although the TV company had stopped short of exposing him as anything other than a sharp-suited crime fighter.
The broadcast went on. 'Here he is dispersing a group of youths causing a disturbance behind The Yummy Dragon Chinese restaurant in Harlem.'
The next video was of Eichhorst approaching Gus Elizalde to retrieve the Master's coffin from the airport. Gus' face was distorted like Setrakian's, but everyone else was seen clearly.
'…and even repelling an attack by two gang bangers…'
Finally, some video of Eichhorst in the sewers beneath Manhattan was shown. He watched himself being punched by Gus, who was blurry again, and disarming Felix, whose image was clearly shown.
The report concluded, 'With all this craziness in New York we really need a hero and, of course,' the newscaster said archly, 'there is an opening in City Hall.'
'So, if anyone out there knows, or has seen Well Dressed Man…'
Eichhorst's smiling face again filled the screen with "WANTED The Well Dressed Man" underneath and a solitary landline number, rather than the usual text and mobile numbers and email, Facebook and Twitter addresses. The presenter read the phone number out with the comment, '…Or if the man himself isn't too shy to come forward, please give us a call on this number: 1-800-WELL-DRESSED.'
Michael finished his work and removed the face protector. With the nail-grinder silent, he could hear the television. Curiosity made him twist around on his haunches to see what the news company was allowed to report. He watched the Well Dressed Man appeal for a second or two and, pointedly not looking at his client, began packing away his equipment.
Michael wasn't stupid, he knew that the Stoneheart Corporation was somehow involved in the unrest and disappearances currently plaguing New York. He also knew that the slightly-built older gentleman whose grooming needs he had been meeting for the past few weeks was not a gentleman at all. His boyfriend had heard something about a late night broadcast by that rogue CDC doctor and Michael believed that Mr Eichhorst was exactly like that poor creature the doctor had been dissecting. He wished he'd asked Raoul for more details at the time but he hadn't returned from his night shift this morning and now Michael feared the worst.
It was a masterstroke on Stoneheart's part to ally themselves with FinchTV, he thought. Everyone believed Finch – impartial, unimpeachably truthful and always resolutely challenging the establishment's spin. He wondered briefly what Stoneheart could have done or said to buy Finch's compliance. Mostly he wondered if there were a reward for any information on the Well Dressed Man.
The Well Dressed Man himself just stared at the screen. It was impossible for Michael to tell if he was concerned about exposure or if his vanity had been massaged by the publicity. Perhaps, he had actively courted it. Or perhaps this was Finch's way of covertly rebelling. He longed to know what effect the broadcast had had on his client but the unpalatable truth was that he was terrified of him. Despite being young and strong, Michael felt intimidated by the aura of suppressed power the smaller man exuded.
The silence grew painful and there was still no movement from Eichhorst. Finally, Michael was unable to resist a glance up at him any longer. He raised his eyes for a moment and they met Eichhorst's looking down.
Oh God! He knows! The conviction that Eichhorst could read his mind hit him like a weight and the urge to flee overwhelmed him. He stood up as slowly and steadily as he could. Eichhorst's unblinking gaze followed him as he straightened and walked quickly to the door. His shoulders relaxed as he turned the handle but it was too soon.
'Wait,' said Eichhorst.
Michael turned helplessly into a face full of edges.