The building itself, from the outside, was a site to behold. Its entire façade was made of digital screens that rolled some kind of arty film selling clubbers the dream of what they would find inside. Lights flashed, drinks were filled, heels danced on glowing nightclub floors, people smiled and laughed, lips kissed. Every now and then holograms appeared, projected from the walls, of the young and beautiful, beckoning pedestrians inside with the curl of a finger and a playful smile. A night of fun was on offer, and they were selling it with a very healthy dose of sex appeal.
“Let’s try this one,” she said loudly to Bronte, pointing at it, playing the part.
“Alright. Let’s do it,” he smiled at her.
They moved to where four burly security guards stood policing entry. They wore synthetic suits and full-face helmets made of some kind of high spec clear plastic, and they carried automatic tasers with battery packs at their side. Though Salvi was still uncomfortable that club bouncers were allowed to carry weapons like that now, their tasers had been the trade-off when California tightened its gun laws. The occasional person died of heart failure from being tased, but a lot fewer people died of bullet wounds now.
Salvi and Bronte stood behind the small queue looking to get in. The queue was moving fast, as it wasn’t taking the security long to decide if those in line were eligible for entry. Salvi saw one couple walk straight past the queue, flash some kind of card to the guards, and be waved right on through. She straightened as she realized it was similar to the card that Caine had pulled from his desk drawer that time. She wondered which floor the couple were headed to.
A guy in line before them was turned away by one of the security. When he tried to protest, the guard simply pointed at his shoes. Apparently they were the wrong kind. Huffing, the guy stormed off, as the guard turned his eyes to Salvi. He looked her up and down, then Bronte, and waved them on through.
Salvi smiled at the guard, then exchanged a quick glance with Bronte, before they stepped inside, however they soon learned they had to progress one at a time to clear the secondary security measures.
“Hold,” an attractive young woman behind the cloak check said, holding up her tattooed hand. She glanced at a screen, then waved Salvi closer. “Okay, step forward.”
Salvi looked at the rectangular box before her, and knew it was a scanner. She stepped onto the plate, pressed her fake ID against the console on the wall and held still while the machine scanned her for weapons, and a separate laser confirmed her face to match the ID. She hoped to hell the IDs provided by the Cyber division were good enough to stand up.
Turns out they were. The woman ushered her forward and asked if she’d like to check her coat. Salvi agreed and handed it to her, while Bronte underwent the scan.
When they were both cleared, the woman asked them to each hold out their wrist and stamped them with invisible ink, telling them they now had access to the first floor.
As she stepped inside the club, aptly titled Ground Zero, the music reverberated inside Salvi’s chest, rattling her bones. She marveled at the soundproofing, given she could not hear this outside the building. Spread out before her, the club appeared to be split in half. To the right were tables where clubbers could enjoy the music while eating a five-star dinner, in dim lighting. To the left was the main club with a dance floor in the middle, where lights flashed and swirled, with lounges and booths spread along its periphery. There was a definite color theme to Ground Zero, as everything was bathed in a neon pink.
Bronte, playing the part, grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd toward the bar which sat nestled between the two areas. They ordered drinks from the handsome waitstaff, dressed in glowing pink outfits, similar to Salvi’s, then they turned around to scan the place for somewhere to sit.
“So,” Salvi said leaning over to yell in Bronte’s ear, “I guess we just find a spot and look like we’re having a good time, right?”
He nodded, then broke into a smile and a laugh like she’d said something funny. “That’s it. Except places like this were never my thing, so we’re gonna test my acting skills tonight.”
“That’s alright,” Salvi smiled. “I’ve been in a few like this over the years. Give me a few drinks and I’m sure it will all come back to me.”
Bronte looked at her curiously.
“I had a life before becoming a cop,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she smiled again, “and that’s all you need to know about that.” She hooked her arm through his and led him away from the bar.
Hours had passed and Salvi and Bronte were starting to feel a little buzzed, but doing a good job at acting more drunk than they were. It helped to take their drinks to the bathroom, tip a little out and fill them up with water. Still, to keep up the façade, they needed to keep going to the bar. They were good at pulling each other up if either had their cop face on, carefully studying the other patrons. A tap on the arm, a pat on the knee, a nudge with the elbow, or flashing each other a huge smile, would soon remind the other of their cover.
The patrons themselves were young and beautiful, as to be expected. Most of them were trying too hard, though, Salvi thought. Clearly, these were the ones who