Hip-hop music buzzed from the Silver Blaze. Clubbers were already lined up outside the door, eager to get through the bouncers and dance.
I’d parked two blocks away. We approached from the other side of the street, keeping our faces forward, not making eye contact with anyone we passed.
Rachel and I had our Tasers and pepper spray. Mason had his stun gun, and he was carrying the Masters’ container in a brown paper shopping bag.
We stopped and looked across the street. A chain link fence blocked the narrow alley behind the line of waiting would-be partiers. The building next to the Blaze held a shoe store on the ground floor, with apartments above it.
Down the block another alley headed away from the street. Maybe we could reach the back of the nightclub that way.
We crossed, walked past the shoe store, and made our way down the alley. I used my phone as a flashlight. The pavement was hard under my feet.
We turned, turned again, then stopped and went back to try a different direction. Ten minutes later we rounded the corner of the shoe store building from behind and found our destination.
The woman was tall, in her 50s, with gray hair, in slacks and a long jacket. Two men were with her, younger, guarding a stack of plastic boxes. Two empty ones lay on the ground, covers tossed aside.
“Naomi?” I stepped forward, turning off my phone. A light over the EXIT sign behind her illuminated the alley with a yellow glare.
She looked me over. The door behind her opened, and a young woman in a black leather miniskirt and high heels emerged. “More.” She slid a big purse from her shoulder and held it wide.
One of the men, Hispanic with a beard, opened a box, pulled out a Master, and dropped it into her purse. Without a word she spun around and headed through the door, back into the nightclub.
“The bathrooms are best,” the bearded man told me.
His partner turned. Pelz. He reached into the box for a Master and held it out to me.
I glanced at Rachel, then looked at Naomi. “How many so far?”
“I don’t know.” She pulled up the sleeve of her jacket and looked at an expensive wristwatch. “We’ve been here an hour. Get going.”
We had a plan. Not a great plan, but better than nothing, I hoped. I saw Rachel reach for her Taser. I had my hand in my pocket around mine. Mason stood back, hands at his sides, ready to jump in if we needed help.
But before we could spring into action, a sudden shout burst from the sidewalk in front of the club.
Through the fence, the line was breaking up. A young guy lifted his hands and flipped his middle fingers into the air. His girlfriend pulled on his arm, yelling at him. One group of friends headed across the street, talking loudly with angry gestures. A man in black jeans and a vest just stood motionless on the sidewalk, looking confused and frozen.
“What is it?” Naomi asked.
The door opened again. The woman in the miniskirt stumbled out, almost tripping in her high heels. “They closed the front door. There are people looking for us.”
Out front a man ran through the crowd, pushing people away, waving his arms desperately, trying to flee like a mugger with a cop behind him.
“That’s Amir,” Pelz said.
“We should leave.” Naomi pointed to the boxes. “Pick them up and get to the car.”
“Where to?” I asked. Knowing where they were storing the Masters could be useful.
“The source. Come on.” She picked up a box.
The source? That sounded important. I looked at Rachel. She nodded.
Mason stared at me. Would he give us all away? It wasn’t fair to expect him to go along with this change of plan, especially since I could recognize how suicidal it seemed. Go with a bunch of controlled humans somewhere with a bunch of Masters looking for hosts? Running might be smarter—if he could run fast enough.
Instead he shrugged and helped Pelz with the boxes.
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