Deadmau5

The next morning, Ryan and his group showed up at Harpoon Harry's Bar, a wooden building on the beach. To keep it from being flooded by the tide, wooden stilts raised the structure off the ground.

Wooden railings, wooden stairs, and red life preservers hanging on the walls as decorations—the place looked almost exactly like a movie set. A Beach Bash banner hung from the railing, and the venue was packed with people, despite it being only ten in the morning.

The night before, Ryan had joined the others for a "Wet T-shirt Party." Like most mixers, it used some risqué activities to get the party going, with alcohol to grease the wheels. The ultimate goal was to "find a match fast."

Ryan had indeed left with an upperclasswoman who attended college in Florida. She had thick, wavy hair, a tall figure, and bright red lipstick, with the air of a classic blonde bombshell from Hollywood's golden age. But she had more than a dozen tattoos, which killed Ryan's interest. He turned down her invitation and went back to the hotel alone.

Ryan noticed that the banner listed the guest DJs performing that day. Most of the names meant nothing to him, but one was familiar: Deadmau5, pronounced "dead mouse." He was a moderately famous DJ in North America. The name came from a dead mouse he'd found inside his computer while changing the graphics card. Because of the character limit in IRC chat rooms, he had to use a 5 in place of the remaining letters. His signature look was a mouse head resembling Mitch's, which he wore at every performance. Ryan wondered whether Disney's legal department had noticed yet.

"We need to get inside, quick. The show's about to start, and we've got to find a good spot." Paul draped an arm around Ryan's neck as he spoke, glancing around as if he were searching for pretty girls.

Ryan looked the other way. Abigail was chatting with a few girls from the Cheerleading squad. She was wearing a floral shirt and denim shorts that showed off her legs. When she noticed Ryan looking, she deliberately turned her gaze in the opposite direction. She was probably still upset that he'd "cruelly abandoned" her the night before.

"But it's not even noon!" someone suddenly exclaimed.

"Exactly. Ever heard of a day club? It's a party that starts in the brightest part of the day, and it's got a huge indoor pool." Paul took a few sips of his coconut drink through a straw.

Led by Paul, the group went inside the bar. The first-floor hall was far too crowded, so they went upstairs to the second floor, where they lined up against the railing. There were no seats, but they could look down over the entire party from there.

Ryan watched the scene with interest. The small music festival was more popular than he'd expected. The first floor was packed shoulder to shoulder, and even turning around was difficult.

Paul sent two people to buy drinks. The opening act had already begun, with an unknown DJ scratching records. Ryan thought the sounds were nowhere near as pleasant as Termor's—if anything, they were noise. The crowd, however, seemed to love it.

Ryan glanced around aimlessly, until suddenly his gaze fixed on one spot...

Not far from Ryan, Abigail and a few other girls began bobbing their heads to the beat. Every now and then, she glanced at Ryan, then noticed that he was suddenly staring intently at a corner of the floor below.

Following his gaze, Abigail saw three Black men mingling with the crowd downstairs, trying to hit on women.

They were the three from the beach yesterday! Abigail was horrified and hurried over to Ryan.

"You saw them too, right? Call the police first," Ryan whispered in Abigail's ear. He'd recognized the distinctive dreadlocks at a glance.

Paul had just returned and handed Ryan a large red plastic cup. The liquid inside was green, with a layer of blue floating on top.

"Classic tequila with Everclear and Mountain Dew, plus melon- and green-apple-flavored liqueurs. The blue on top is Blue Curaçao. We call it 'The Swamp'... Oh, Ryan, what's got you looking so serious?" Paul explained, then noticed Ryan's grave expression.

Ryan told him what had happened on the beach the day before.

"Those motherfuckers ought to be chemically castrated as a group!" Paul cursed. "What do we do now?"

Abigail had already called the police and returned. "They'll be here in a few minutes. Let's keep an eye on the three of them for now."

Ryan and Paul exchanged a glance, then called over another member of the football team, a burly defensive tackle named Hank.

The three of them quietly went downstairs and took up positions at the three exits, waiting for the officers to arrive. Abigail stayed on the second floor, watching the trio's movements and keeping in touch with Ryan on her phone.

"The three of them are still near where you are. They haven't moved..." Abigail's voice came through Ryan's earpiece.

A few minutes later, Ryan heard a piercing siren behind him.

All they had to do now was wait for the officers to get into position, surround the three men, and slowly close in... Ryan thought.

The next second, the pounding bass cut out. Someone shouted, "Panama City Police Department! We're here to arrest suspects! Nobody move!"

Shit! Ryan cursed the idiot who'd blown it.

Instead of getting the crowd under control, the officers' shouts only made things more chaotic. People hurried to leave, and the jostling sparked a scream.

"They're heading for the back door," Abigail said through the earpiece.

Ryan didn't have time to think. He moved to cut them off from the outside, shouting for the officers, Paul, and Hank to follow him.

Ryan was the first to reach the back courtyard. A huge swimming pool filled the space. He spotted the three men hurrying away through the crowd of people in swimsuits, and he and the officers took off after them.

"Move!" Ryan shouted at the people in front of him.

Before Ryan could catch up, the three men noticed the commotion behind them and quickened their pace, then broke into a full sprint. They were fast, and Ryan could barely keep up. The officers, meanwhile, fell farther and farther behind.

Cornered at a dead end, the three men rushed into a room with its door ajar. Ryan charged in right behind them. Besides the three men, a few others were inside: two women in bikinis, and three men in T-shirts and jeans who didn't look like Spring Break students at a music festival. A pile of electronic equipment sat on the table.

With their backs to the wall, the three men had no choice but to charge Ryan. At the same time, Paul and Hank caught up. It was three against three.

All three Black men were muscular, but Ryan's side was no slouch either. They were all football players, and for a moment neither side gained the upper hand.

Ryan faced off against Dreadlocks, who was incredibly strong. He slammed Ryan to the floor. In desperation, Ryan groped around and grabbed something shaped like a "ball." Gripping its edge, he smashed it against the man.

After a few blows, the ball—wrapped in red cloth on the outside, with a mostly plastic structure underneath—split into several pieces. Shards cut Dreadlocks' face. Ryan seized the opening and swung punch after punch, his fists landing solidly on Dreadlocks' face in a relentless flurry. Dreadlocks' head slumped to one side, and he seemed to lose consciousness.

Ryan had only just let his guard down when Dreadlocks suddenly opened his eyes. He locked Ryan in a UFC ground hold, his legs clamping around Ryan's neck. Ryan was instantly unable to breathe. The veins at his temples bulged, and within seconds his face turned purple.

At the critical moment, someone suddenly appeared and stomped on Dreadlocks. A heel came down hard on his face, again and again.

The hold loosened, and Ryan tore himself free. Only then did he see Abigail, who had risked her safety to chase after them.

This time, Ryan didn't let his guard down. He grabbed some kind of equipment from the table and hurled it at Dreadlocks, then leaped into the air and landed a flying kick. Dreadlocks finally stayed down.

Elsewhere, Hank had subdued his opponent, repeatedly striking him in the face with something like a flat metal plate until he knocked him out.

Only Paul was losing. A gash had been cut across his chest, and he could only cling to his opponent with his legs. Before Ryan and Hank could help, the man broke free and ran out of the room.

Fortunately, the officers had arrived by then. Together, they subdued the last suspect, not without a flurry of punches and kicks.

One officer who looked like a police chief shouted, "You fucking bastard!" as he kicked the Black man twice in the stomach. Many people were watching nearby, and someone had even raised a camcorder to film the scene...

Once the officers had the three men under control, Ryan finally breathed a sigh of relief. Then a wave of dread washed over him. If the three of them had been armed—even with guns—he'd be the one lying on the ground now, wouldn't he? If he had the choice again, he'd never get involved.

"Are you all right?" Abigail came up to him at once, looking worried.

Ryan pointed at Abigail's foot. She'd not only run out of her flip-flop, but had also cut the top of her foot.

Abigail, however, was still scolding Ryan for being too impulsive. She'd been so worried about him that she'd ignored her own pain.

"So, this isn't a movie, right?" Ryan heard a voice behind him.

When he turned around, he saw the man picking up the broken pieces from the floor.

Ryan took a closer look, and his mind went blank. The fragments fit together into a very distinctive shape: an enormous helmet with two round ears, like Mickey Mouse from a Disney cartoon.

Now Ryan finally knew what the "ball" he'd grabbed in his desperation had been. It was the mouse-head helmet worn by the DJ Deadmau5.

The man's identity was obvious.

"Mr. Zimmerman, it's your turn..." A music festival staffer arrived at the scene, but when he saw the equipment scattered everywhere, he fell silent.