The White Shadow 1: The Dancer

Chapter 4

Diane's first shock came when she returned to Darryll's, now disheveled, apartment door.

She had left Nia's bed in the middle of the night, at three in the morning and in a hot and sweaty mess, hastily shoved her clothes back on before taking one last look at her new girlfriends sleeping face. She then ran home, using her cloak to avoid distractions.

And now here she was, facing a hole in the wall where her door had been, blown so wide that the closet and toilet beside the main hallway were, too, visible. In a panic, she dashed through the rubble, noticing some maroon stains, probably blood, over the blue carpets inside, and found Darryll in his room, at his desk with three new guns and many rounds littering his table.
"You're late." He grumbled without making eye contact.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"I don't care why, just tell me what this is." He grabbed one of the guns on his desk by the barrel, and gave it to Diane. She took it by the handle, and observed it. It was a small weapon, sleek and new. The edges were sharp, and the body light. "It's a Glock 15, fires 9mm bullets, carries 15 rounds. Anything else?"
Darryll sighed, and took the weapon back before turning in his chair to face his desk. He found a button on the side of the weapon, and removed the empty magazine. He picked up bullets from the table one by one, and placed them into the magazine. "Our enemy has goons," He started, "So they were probably playing the long game with me from the start. This means that our mole is smart. Did anyone approach you when you went out?"
Diane opened her mouth, but chocked on the realization that whoever's name she said would now be on Darryll's list. "No." Diane spoke too quietly, too quickly. Darryll nodded in affirmation, seemingly ignoring Diane's slight lapse in tone, "Then you're very lucky. I got attacked by three men. Their outfits are on my closet behind you."
Diane turned around and saw the three blazers and two fedoras hanging on hooks outside Darryll's clothes closet. He gestured with the magazine, "Take a look inside the hat." Diane walked over to the black fedora's. She grabbed one from stop the closet, and upon turning it over in her hand, she saw that the velvet inside was stained red. Between the splashes of blood, there was a nametag with no name, and upon it's back was written, "Courtesy of the Dancer, and her kindness"
"Our mole is a woman." Darryll explained, "I didn't let her know that I knew this, better that she doesn't know I searched her goon's suits. There wasn't really anything else though, but I'm not out of options." Diane placed the hat back and turned to Darryll. "What happened to the third hat?" She asked.
Darryll spun his hand, holding a bullet, in a circle in an offhandish gesture, "He tossed a grenade, but I kicked it back. Not very smart." Darryll placed the final bullet in the gun and shoved the magazine inside, rather ungracefully, the plastic producing an ear-grating scratching noise. Diane shuddered at the lack of precision in Darryll's firearm handling. As methodical and obsessed as he was, he really was just a child. Darryll placed the gun to his side and moved into the next gun. "I got the number of our enemies phone." He removed the next magazine and started putting bullets inside again, "I ran a satellite search. Our mole, "The Dancer", has her base of operations in a back alley basement someplace around town. It gets real crowded there during the day, so they won't have extreme defences outdoors. And once we get in, it should be straight sailing."
Diane couldn't help but notice one particular unusual pronoun. "We?"
Darryll nodded, "I need to make a statement that I'm not so helpless that I need you by my side all the time."
Diane looked behind her, through the hall, at the wreckage littering what was once a doorframe into the apartment. "I think they got the message." She turned back to Darryll, who still faced away, putting bullets into his gun. He finished again, and placed the other loaded gun beside the first. He grabbed the third, and began the process again. Diane asked the all important question. "This isn't about Vivàci, is it? About Chromwell?"
Darryll stopped. He put down the unfinished magazine and gun and looked up at the ceiling, letting out a great, deep sigh. He swiveled his chair around, and Diane saw dark hollow eyes, framed in red, crusty edges and carrying dark bags beneath them. Darryll's voice was one of exhaustion. "It's like I always say. You're a smart girl Diane. You know exactly just why a can't let you go alone again. Fool me twice and all that." He leaned forward, and pulled one leg onto the chair, and rested his arm upon it as he leaned over and looked up at Diane with his dead eyes. "You're smart. So notice a pattern. If you fail once, it's a shame. But if you fail twice-"
"I thought we both agreed that that was faulty information!" Diane was incredulous, and very hurt, "We both agreed that that wasn't my fault! You," she threw her arms out and gestured behind her, "You sent me back in! Even with the tarmac and... and-"
"DIANE!" Darryll's voice was sharp, like a knife, and cut through Diane's pent up rant. She stood to attention, as though addressing a drill sergeant. Darryll sighed, and leaned back, "That was faulty information. Now we have no information. I'm not about to risk using any other informants, given that this "Dancer" figure has connections, and all my other informants may also be under her command. So hear this. I'm coming. With you. Understood?" Diane gulped at Darryll's declaration. She nodded, and Darryll replied, "Good. Now get ready. Here's the plan..."

This is a horrible plan, Diane thought, as she and Darryll walked through the shopping crowd that ran around town. People chattered, rustling bags and walking briskly from place to place, often in clumps of three or more. Diane had never been a fan of large, crowded areas, so she held her arms, like she usually did when she was uncomfortable, around her chest, and retreated into herself. She followed Darryll, who wore both a fedora and blazer from one of the dead men, as a "message" of some sort. Diane didn't really understand the mental game Darryll seemed to now be utilising against The Dancer, but she went along with it, trusting his judgement enough. She followed him as he weaved between people with precision, Diane barely able to keep up. Eventually, Darryll stopped at a long, dingy alley. It was knee deep in old food, wrappers, needles and other illicit items. Darryll took a deep breath, and charged headfirst into the rancid corridor. With no other real choice, Diane followed, her nose itching from the stench. After a lengthy walk through the pool of filth, the path began to clear, and there were no more dumpsters. Darryll turned a corner left, followed by an intruiged Diane, and the two stopped in from of a double door. Tall, wide and navy green, it was incredibly inconspicuous, but Darryll peered over his shoulder at a doubtful Diane, and said with utmost certainty, "This is the place. Do you have your gun?"
Diane felt for the weapon weighing down her coat pocket. She pulled it out and, holding it in both hands, aimed it down and to her side in a disciplined fashion.
Darryll nodded, "Good." Pulled out both the glocks he had bought with him, and welded them akimbo style. Diane was concerned for his safety, but Darryll insisted that he was perfectly fine. He walked up to the door and placed one of the guns in his armpit to gring out a third gun(!), his faulty revolver, which he aimed at the heavy lock in the door. He cocked the hammer, and began trying to shoot the door. Diane called out over the clicks, "I can just pick tha-"
BANG!
Darryll looked over at his friend with a grin. "You were saying?" Diane looked back with an absolutely done stare. She then peered at the newly unlocked door as Darryll pushed it open. Within the door was the entrance to a wooden staircase. Darryll gestured with one gun, and the two entered cautiously.

Down the spiral staircase, and when Darryll emerged with Diane close behind him, he drew his breath in concern. The two had entered into a large concert hall, and were now stood upon a large round stage, facing rows upon rows of red velvet seats in every direction. There were curtains to either side, and as Darryll looked up, he saw electronic wiring attached to the drawing mechanisms. He turned to Diane, and his voice was panicked as it echoed around the hall, "We've been tricked again-" And then the door to the staircase closed with a thud, and the curtains flew towards one another and snapped shut. Darryll attempted to take control of the situation. "Diane, check behind the curtains," His voice was loud and commanding, as he thrusted his hand toward the curtains. "I'll try the door." Diane had too much adrenaline in her blood to argue. She raced along the stage, her footsteps painfully loud as she made her way to the curtains. She pulled the cloth apart and ducked through, jumping down the set of steps and crossing over to the many seats. She scanned them, but found no one and nothing of note, and so she called back, "Nothing! What do I do now?" And at her words, the curtains flew open again, revealing a tall, ominous figure. She wore a suit comprised of a black blazer with a red collar, and white blouse with a red tie, black gloves and black trousers with red patches on it's knees. Most notably, however, was her perfectly smooth white mask, long, flowing red hair, and her black fedora decorated with a little, unassuming red flower. She stood above, at the edge of the stage, wherein Darryll was nowhere to be found. Diane craned her neck upward at the figure above. As she noted her hair and height, Darryll's words came back to her, "Once is a shame, Twice..." Diane shook her head. Nia wasn't the only tall redhead in existence. And Nia much was too kind for this.

At the edge of the stage, The figure spoke, her voice distorted and broken via some form of device in their mask, "I am the Dancer. I assume Darryll hasn't told you much about me?"
Diane felt herself tense in anticipation. She could try and cloak away, but not without Darryll. "I've heard that you almost cost me my life."
The Dancer began to walk down the steps, her arms open wide in a welcoming fashion. "Oh, it's all just business dear. And I've got a special someone to appeal to, and I need your body, preferably alive, if I am to do it. So," As the Dancer reached the end of the steps, she moved her left foot forward and gave an outstretched hand toward Diane, "Care to dance?"