Charmer, you're up the stairs from the second platform, coming up into the mezzanine proper. Or something like that ... as you step around the corner, there's a sign mosaic-ed into the wall tiles to your right: < MEZZANINE. You follow the arrow, hop the stripped remains of a turnstile, and you're pointed at Vox Populi.
The mezzanine might've once been pretty open and walkable, but now there's all these little stalls and shit set up all over the open space, up against the walls. People sell stuff here more or less 24/7, and when they're not selling they're still living in their stalls, so there's a kind of a constant low murmur all around you, and oily, clashing scents fill the air. Nobody bothers to start shouting at you, offering their goods and services, but that's because it's late and because you're you.
Things are suddenly getting more crowded, though, like you arrived just before some kind of rush, and people are bumping into you as they move by you back into the platforms. They don't all look to be in good shape. A lot of them are missing important articles of clothing, for instance, and you see no few minor cuts and contusions in the half-clothed, stoned-looking people brushing past past you.
And then there's this distant, echoing *bang*. Gunshots carry well down here, bouncing around on all the tile and concrete, and you hear a distinct report. Where's it from? You're not sure. Echoing all over the pace.
Also, a detail: there's some kind of altercation going on behind you. The end of the corridor/aisle has some open space around the door to the barbershop: scratched plate glass spilling flickering yellow light out into the spottily lit mez. Above, a red and white barber pole.
You can see a couple of Rolfball's girls inside, lit up for viewing like they're in some kind of terrarium, and Rolfball himself is there standing in front, smoking with a guy named Been. Or they were. Now, Rolfball's arguing about something with a pair of thugs you don't immediately recognize: a broad, weathered woman and a short, scarred man. You catch Proper's name being mentioned.
That gunshot, and all these retreating people? You're not where you can see Vox Populi's front doors yet, so you can't be sure, but it might be that all of the above emerged from the club.