Rain began falling over Gotham's East End at eight that night. Streetlights lit up the puddles, as though the city had just washed its face and flushed its conscience down the drain in the process.
If it had one.
Chen Mo crouched on a rooftop across from an adult club, watching the little red door in the back alley.
The club was called Red Velvet. The name sounded like a dessert shop, but the posters outside proved in practice that it had absolutely nothing to do with dessert.
The neon lights flickered with all their might, flashing with that Gotham spirit of "broke but still flashy."
As for why Spider-Man was crouching outside a club like this...
Chen Mo had memorized the meal crate numbers at the cafeteria during the day, then followed the trail over walls, rooftops, and back alleys that night.
He had expected to find a gang warehouse. Instead, he found an adult club. Reality had won the absurdity contest yet again.
Two security guards stood outside the back door. One was built like a refrigerator; the other looked as though his neck had never come installed.
They were smoking, with a blue meal crate at their feet. A white Wayne Foundation label was still stuck to its side.
Hanging upside down beneath a drainpipe, Chen Mo lowered himself little by little from the rooftop.
"Why's this damn thing still got the foundation label on it? Didn't the manager tell you to peel them off properly? Don't let the customers out front see. They're here for fun, not a charity lecture."
"Then you peel it off. This shit's fucking impossible to remove."
Having reached just the right height, Chen Mo released his feet and landed lightly behind them, sounding as enthusiastic as a door-to-door salesman. "Good evening,