Terry lingered on the corner, watching two Gotham City cops, who were watching the entrance to Club Nytro. Pounding music poured out of the entrance. A doorman with a foot high Mohawk and eyes genetically spliced to look like a cat watched the cops, oblivious to the noise. An air of contempt passed between them. They both knew the situation. The cops' body language said that they expected trouble inside; the doorman's said that if there is, we certainly don't need you. But the cops would go inside anyway. There was trouble here every night, and they both knew it.
A beeping came from Terry's pocket. He flipped open the phone. "See anything?"
"I see a girl wearing a dress made out of plastic wrap." Through the phone, Terry could hear a louder version of the same music across the street.
"Does she look like DeeDee?"
"Not like the pictures you showed me, no."
"Great," Terry sighed. "It's almost time for me to come in. Act like you don't know me. And be careful, Max."
"You too."
Terry hung up the phone. It hadn't been much of a plan. Max had gone in forty-five minutes earlier, done up in a minimal disguise: a hoodie to cover her hair, dark glasses, and without her habitual nose ring. They figured on scouting out the territory. But she hadn't seen anything.
The wisdom of bringing Max along escaped him now. She couldn't help spot DeeDee any better than he could alone. And she was a liability. But she had insisted on coming. And it somehow made him feel better to have her here.
Terry turned back to the club. Both the cops and the doorman were staring at him now, suspicious. He glanced at his wrist. Five 'til eleven. Time to go.
He walked across the street, pulling a credit token from his pocket.
DeeDee watched from the balcony as holographic digits, hovering over the crowd, ticked off the time. 22:58. Any minute now, and he'd be here. She focused through the smoke on the front door, the only door into the place except for the fire exits. She only needed to wait.
She thought idly about why she'd called him here. Vanity? Ego? It was a risk, exposing herself to him, but she was curious to see what he'd do. Curious to see how he felt. To see if it was really tearing him apart inside. The way she hoped.
Besides, the opportunity to make trouble for him here was almost unlimited. The cops ended up raiding this place every other night. And at least half the people here were current or former gang members--people who, like her, and unlike Terry, knew how to get out of here when the hammer came down. McGinnis was out of his element, coming here without the suit. There was no way this could end well for him.
She'd already spotted that black girl, Max, moving through the crowd on the main floor. She had a lot to learn about disguise, DeeDee thought contemptuously. Max never spotted her in the black wig, leather jacket, and cop's hat she wore, even when she'd walked right by her on the balcony earlier.
DeeDee hadn't counted on her showing up. But, come to think of it, it played into her plans beautifully. It gave her an idea for a new approach. Now she just had to wait for Terry to show up...
A new clutch of people drifted in, and then there he was: brown jacket, loose pants, and searching the crowd intently. DeeDee withdrew from the balcony's ledge. Time to put things into motion.
He walked into the mouth of the giant: a tremendous, impenetrable roar of noise, smoke, and moving people. Club Nytro was on Batman's regular patrol. Terry had never come here as himself. It wasn't even the sort of place he and Dana would--
Terry shut the thought out of his mind, not wanting to think about her, about what DeeDee might have done, about what his life had become in the last forty-eight hours. The fear would drown him if he let it, and he couldn't afford that. He needed to stay focused. Dana's counting on you, he thought. Keep it together.
Terry moved through the crowd, focusing on faces. The bodies moved to a punishing beat, blaring from unseen speakers. Lights danced in a movement that was playful yet menacing: blue, then yellow, then red, then blue again. Holograms flickered on the dense smoke, from cigarettes or something else, Terry didn't want to know. It was nearly impossible to make anything out. But Terry had to. Somewhere, in here, was Deidre. Somewhere, in here, was his only link to Dana.
The music ebbed away, a leather-lunged disc jockey filling up the space in the sound. "Alright everyone, it's time for another shoutout! Let's hear it forrrr....Luuu-cinda!!"
Another voice took over the mike, that of a young girl. "Hey, yo, I'm here with my crew from the north side, where y'all at?" A spotlight shone on a group of people on the floor, who cheered and waved. "We come here to get it on, and I just wanna say...let's get this party staaarteddd!!" A cry went up from the throng, and a new thumping beat took over.
He bumped into a girl in a dress made of yellow plastic. Before he could speak, someone grabbed his arm. "Whaddya think you're doin', dreg?"
Terry spun to face the speaker: six feet and nine inches of muscle and snarl, topped with hair dyed to look like a cheetah. Terry raised his hands protectively. "Nothing. I just--"
"You want to start somethin'?"
"No, I don't, I'm only looking for--"
"Then beat it, dreg!" The punk gave him a rough shove. The girl in the plastic dress giggled.
Terry drifted away meekly, putting distance between him and the punk. His eyes probed through the darkness.
Where was DeeDee?
Max saw Terry enter, but did not go near him, even though she felt an urge to talk. After talking to him on the phone, an idea had occurred to her.
But it could wait. No point in risking our cover, she thought. Besides, now that he was here, she could take care of something that had been calling her for the last ten minutes.
The bathroom was tiny. It was also packed, filled with the scent of stale sweat, staler nicotine, and fresh human waste. A line of people filled the mirror with reflections of women brushing their hair, applying eye shadow, and reattaching earrings. With a sigh, Max pushed open the door of the only empty stall, dreading what she might find.
A few minutes later, she went to the mirror. Two girls stood facing each other, one applying lipstick to the other. A third, clad in a motorcycle jacket and a leather hat over jet black hair, lingered over the sink with a tube of mascara.
The girl applying lipstick to the other turned to Max. "Girlfriend, you got a bottle of that eyeliner you wearin'?"
Max shook her head. "I'm...not wearing any eyeliner."
The other girl shook her head. "Damn, gettin' so a girl don't even help a sister," she muttered under her breath.
Max turned to the mirror and put her hands under the stream of water. She raised the water to her face.
"Nice to help out a friend, huh?"
Her eyes popped open. In the mirror, Max saw the girl to her right, with the long hair, holding her mascara bottle to Max's throat. Only she could feel it against her throat, and she knew what it really was: sharpened steel.
DeeDee grabbed her from behind, forcing her left arm up but not moving the knife. "No sudden moves, sweetcakes. Just come with me. Don't want to keep Terry waiting." She pulled them out of the bathroom.
Max cried out. "Help! Help me, please!"
The girl who had been applying the lipstick turned an eye to her, then shook her head again. "You get what you give, sugar." She turned back to the other girl, stroking on eyeliner.