DC's Legends of Tomorrow

- All right. We gotta ditch Hoover's car.

APB's probably already out on the Bullet Blondes.

It's fine.

From here, we'll just hop a train to New York.

- Ugh. Another train, must we?

- By my math, we should have enough left for three tickets.

The other half can hang out in John's portable phantom house.

- I mean, it's technically my portable phantom house.

But, more importantly, does your math account

for Gary's overly generous tipping?

He gave our last waitress 20 bucks.

- $20--that's over a quarter of our entire budget, Gary.

- $20 for a six top seems fair to me.

Okay, so what's the damage?

Do we have enough to get to New York?

- $35, that's enough for one ticket and a few meals,

tipping like a normal person in 1925.

- All right, I call phantom house 'cause I'm over trains.

- We still have to get across town and on that train,

without anyone recognizing us.

Shh.

- Well, then we stopped at the right place.

Huh.

Oh.

I think, yes.

Yes, it's very cute.

But we need to hide the blonde, babe.

How about this? - Yes.

Ah, yes, it worked.

- Oh, no, no, no, no, no. We're in the 1920s.

That is not the look. Okay.

Sir, can we see all your wigs that are bobs?

Um, hello? Potential customer here.

I asked you a question,

which any good salesman would take as an opportunity

to upsell your finest wigs?

Is he...

Um, hello?

Yeah, she asked you a question.

Oh, I'm sorry, miss.

I didn't realize she was with you.

These are the only bobs on display

since most of you ladies chop and style your own.

That's not happening.

- Well, of course, not with those gorgeous locks.

Let me see what I can find in the back.

Racist dick.

I'm sorry.

Let's just get these disguises and get outta here, yeah?

- Yeah, it's okay. Sorry.

Is it just me, or...

- We probably should have ditched Hoover's car

before entering the city.

- Yeah, come on. Come on.

Hey, hey, hey. The police found Hoover's car.

They are onto us. We got to get out of here.

- I've got bobs in the three different shades,

a brunette, a redhead--

We'll take them both.

Oh, there's also a blonde.

No blondes.

- Okay, how much for the two wigs?

Wait a minute.

Are you two-- - No.

They are definitely not the-- whatever you were gonna say.

Guys, we gotta hustle.

- Okay. Here's what's gonna happen.

You're gonna help us sneak out of here unnoticed,

and we will buy these wigs at double wholesale.

Triple.

That is robbery.

- Look, who's talking, Bullet Blondes.

They're crossing the street.

- You gotta be kid-- - Aves.

- Are you serious? - Give him the money.

- Ugh! - Go, just go, come on.

- Wig, wig, wig, wig, wig. - Yeah, here you go.

Here you go. Put it on.

- Thank you. - Good, good, good, good.

- He said they were the Bullet Blondes!

- They couldn't have gotten very far!

- This is literally our only option.

Great, then put the key in.

We can hide out here until the coast is clear.

- Hey. - Hey.

- You looking for the Sapphire String?

- Maybe. - You got the password?

- Wh-- - Uh...

Swordfish.

- So he meant salamander. - Satellite.

Sword fighter.

Are we doing this?

Are we really fishing for a stupid password

so we can get out of garbage alley?

Gang, we're screwed. We have no money, no allies.

This time period sucks for anyone

who's not white, male, and rich.

And only one of us--it's you--

is at least two of those things.

- You said the password. Come on in.

- Wait, what was it? - Password.

Ah, I see what you did there.

- Password. - The password is "password"?

- Welcome to my club. Name's Eddie.

Sorry it's a little quiet right now.

Running a little low on the drinks.

We're at a speakeasy.

A very inclusive one, considering.

Considering what?

- Well, the mob had a tight grip

on these establishments and kept them segregated.

But it looks like we stumbled into one that caters

to everyone, which is rare.

I guess that's why the password is "password."

- You play brother? - I noodle.

Come make us some pasta.

Well...

- What have we got here? E flat?

- E flat, brother. - Classic.

Yeah.

This is so degrading.

This is so exciting.

- Okay, look, we got through step one, sneak onto the train.

Step two is the ride to Chicago.

- Steps? Who died and made you Ava?

- We're going to New York to prevent that from happening.

And that reminds me,

don't talk to anyone any more than we have to.

We can't mess up the timeline.

Okay, Captain Sharpe.

That's Spooner Cruz.

- The most important thing is to avoid any suspicion

for sneaking onto the train.

- Tickets, please. - Crap.

Let's go, let's go.

- Tickets--hey, hey, I need to see your tickets!

You trying to sneak on my train without a ticket?

- What--no, I just had it in my hands.

Yeah, maybe I dropped it while we were moving.

You're off the next stop.

- Stella, why are you bothering this nice ticket man?

I apologize if these three have given you any trouble.

These ladies are with you?

- You're looking at the best pianist, bassist,

and clarinetist you'll ever hear.

Just ask my boyfriend, Mr. Bottoni.

Of course, our train tickets are

all in our manager's pocket.

You're welcome to wake him from his beauty rest.

But I have to warn you, he has quite the temper.

You all enjoy your trip.

I'm Maude.

And we're The Masqueradies.

Welcome to the band.

- Any mention of an exploded Hoover?

- According to this, he's still alive and well

and ready to take on the most notorious criminals,

Capone and the Bullet Blondes.

It's only a matter of time, babe.

He's after us.

- So there's a new and improved Hoover-bot?

Great. What else does the paper say?

- Oh, that we're bootleggers and robbers.

And, worst of all,

we're sisters.

Sisters?

We can't go on like this.

And we can't rob another bank

because it'll call too much attention,

and we have no money.

What are we gonna do?

- Well, maybe it's time to give our other enterprise a shot.

Wow, you made this yourself?

- Plenty more where that came from.

All we ask is access to your storage room for the night

and 25% of the bar.

- What do you want with my storage room?

20%, no questions.

We got a deal.

- All right, let's move some booze.

- The car was impounded an hour ago.

- Your ears to the ground, boys.

Bullet blondes are in Chicago,

and they're bound to make their move soon.

- You really got us out of a sticky situation back there.

- Oh, it was plain as day that you needed a hand.

Believe me, I've been there.

Gals help gals and make new pals.

That's how I see it.

If we don't look out for one another who will, men?

- Men don't look out, they look at,

if you know what I mean.

- You're referring to the rampant commodification

of females by males that is a societal norm

of this decade.

You talk funny.

I like it. My name's Susie Spencer.

Susan Spencer.

Marries Colin Baker in 1928, has four children,

retires in Florida, and dies peace--