The bass from the Sterling Club rattled her teeth before she even got out of the car.
She walked past the line of people waiting behind the velvet rope. She went to the alleyway around the back. There was a camera mounted above a rusty steel door.
She held up three fingers. Then two. Then a fist.
Buzz. The lock disengaged.
Jules was waiting inside. He was wearing a purple silk suit that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. On him, it looked dangerous.
"Edythe."
They didn't hug. They bumped fists.
"You look expensive," he said, eyeing the dress.
"Camouflage," she said.
He led her through the kitchen, past the vats of grease, into a soundproof office in the back.
He poured two shots of tequila.
"Arthur," he said, sliding a flash drive across the desk. "He's broke. The company is bleeding cash. That's why he needs the Mullen merger. He's been bribing FDA officials to fast-track a new drug that doesn't work. If that comes out, he goes to federal prison."
She took the drive. "This is it. This is the nail in the coffin."
"Be careful, Edythe. Arthur is a cornered rat. Rats bite."
Suddenly, the music outside stopped.
Screams.
"Someone call 911!"
Jules cursed. "Not tonight. I have the mayor's son in the VIP booth."
She was already moving. She pushed past him, out of the office, onto the balcony overlooking the dance floor.
The strobe lights were cutting through the darkness. In the center of the floor, a circle had formed.
A man was on the ground. He was clutching his chest. His face was turning blue.
"He's overdosing!" someone yelled. "Give him Narcan!"
A bouncer was trying to do CPR. He was pushing too fast, too hard.
She looked at the man's neck. The veins were distended. His chest wasn't rising on the left side.
It wasn't an overdose. It wasn't a heart attack.
It was a tension pneumothorax. A collapsed lung. Probably from a broken rib in the mosh pit.
If the bouncer kept doing CPR, the pressure would build up and crush his heart. He would be dead in two minutes.
"Stop!" she yelled, but her voice was drowned out by the panic.
She looked at Jules. "I have to go down there."
"You can't," Jules hissed. "You're Edythe Mullen now. If you get caught on camera doing something crazy, your cover is blown."
"If I don't, he dies."
She didn't wait for permission. She grabbed a napkin from a table and tied it around her face, covering her nose and mouth.
"Kill the lights," she told Jules. "Give me strobes only."
Jules signaled the DJ booth. The house lights died. The strobes went wild, turning the room into a flickering nightmare.
She vaulted over the railing. She dropped twelve feet, landing in a crouch. Her ankles protested, but the adrenaline masked the pain.
She pushed through the crowd. She shoved the bouncer away.
"Get back!" she roared.
She knelt beside the dying man.
