With Civil Hearts and Hands: A DHB Story

Chapter 7: Crimson

Connor stood on the roof, staring down at the neon sign at the front of the building across from him. It reflected off the golden poles supporting the red velvet ropes that created the cue leading through the narrow door into the club. A line of patrons stood outside, waiting as an armed guard checked their invitations and ID's. Each patron wore masks, ranging from simple coverings across their eyes to veils and ornate headdresses. The bodyguard was an android, but Connor wasn't close enough to fully discern the exact model. However, based on the size and build, it was likely to be a TR400, or another similar model. The android towered over the other patrons, his plain black mask fashioned in the shape of an animal with a long snout and branching antlers. Connor narrowed his eyes, enhancing his vision in the dim light to better see what the mask resembled. An elk, he realized. He looked closer and noticed that the android guiding the patrons into the cue had a similar mask, as did another guard just on the inside of the door. So whoever owned the club likely had ties to the Elk, or was the criminal himself. Curious, Connor analyzed the other masks, searching for one like a fox, but he saw none.

As he observed, he noticed a commotion at the front of the line. A man tried to push past the large android bouncer, shouting loudly, but the bouncer shoved the man aside sending him tumbling over the velvet rope. The man sprawled out on the asphalt, stunned.

"No invitation, no ID, no entry." The bouncer spoke loudly, shouting to be heard over the heavy music from beyond the entrance as he scanned the line of patrons. "That goes for the rest of you too."

The man drew to his feet, straightening his clothes as he glowered at the bouncer, but he didn't try to push back in. Other patrons watched as he walked away, muttering softly to each other. Two other people broke away from the line, heading in the same direction. Perhaps they too lacked invitations.

Connor watched a little longer, but no other patrons tried to break past the guard. This was the second night he'd observed the club, and from what he'd seen, it was heavily guarded. Massive android bouncers manned every exit, all armed and alert. Cameras monitored as well, and from what Connor saw, they were positioned in such a way that there were no blind spots. Whoever ran the club clearly wanted to make sure they knew about every single person who went in or out. Connor didn't doubt that he could get in and out without too much trouble, but he'd likely have to fight, and if he fought, there were likely to be casualties. Stealthy, non-violent infiltration would be nearly impossible given the level of security.

Connor's observation had confirmed that he had likely made the correct decision in asking Clara for her help, even with the danger she could be in by coming with him. At least with her invitation, they should be able to get in and out without any trouble. And hopefully he'd be able to discover something useful about the traffickers.

A notification flashed across his vision. A text from Clara.

What are you wearing tomorrow?

Confusion flickered through him as he read the message. It was nearly midnight. She should be asleep.

How is that relevant? And why are you still awake?

Her answer came quickly. Depending on what you're wearing, I thought we could match. She didn't answer the second question.

Brows furrowing, Connor mentally ran through his meager wardrobe. He settled on a patterned button down he'd gotten from Hank and dark pants, one of his few civilian outfits, and sent the images over.

There was a pause, as the typing indicator flashed. Several long seconds passed before Clara answered again.

You're not wearing that.