Body Work - By Sara Paretsky Page 0,83

tell me why we’ve all left our beds to do your bidding.”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful,” I said, “because, believe me, I am. These goons are the remnant of a whole swarm of creeps who took over the club and started beating up the Body Artist and Olympia. But the Body Artist took off in a borrowed SUV, and I was hoping to follow her when your crew hustled me back in here, not listening to my suggestion that they go after the Artist.”

Terry sighed, exasperated either with me or his crew, I couldn’t tell which, but he asked me for the plate number and phoned in a bulletin asking patrol units to look out for the SUV.

That was when Olympia started her little-girl act, pretending that it was all just a “giant but unfortunately truly dangerous” misunderstanding on my part. The thugs whom the cops had cuffed began to smirk. Even Rodney, who’d been trying to start Owen Widermayer’s Mercedes when the police pulled him out of it, looked as though he might break into song. I wanted to shoot holes in all of them just to wipe the smiles off their faces. They knew they were going to beat any rap I might be able to hand out.

The fire crew chief joined us in the front of the club.

“You the owner, miss?” he asked me. “You were way over code there with the load you were carrying. This was an accident waiting to happen.”

“Thank you, Officer,” Olympia surged between him and me. “This is my building. I’ll get this taken care of first thing tomorrow—today, really, isn’t it? But you know what I mean—when the rest of the world is awake and going to work, you and I are in bed.”

She blinked from the fire chief and his drooping mustache to Terry in what was meant to be a helpless, appealing way. “I’m sorry the Warshawski woman was such an alarmist that she roused everyone, but we’re grateful for the quick response. Let me give you gift vouchers. You and your friends are welcome to come here on your nights off as my guests.” She reached over the bar and fumbled in a drawer for the vouchers.

“No.” Terry’s quiet voice carried authority, and both his team and the fire crew looked stolidly ahead. “Tell me about the fire.”

“The fire on the stage, you mean?”

“Was there another?” A pulse was starting to throb on Terry’s forehead.

“Sorry to be so silly, Detective, but this Warshawski woman’s wild behavior has me so rattled that I—”

“Vic, tell me about the fire.”

I repeated what I’d said earlier, about thugs taking over the theater. “Going by the voices, at least one was a woman, maybe more. They forced the staff and customers to leave, but I hid under the stage. The whole point of the attack seemed to be connected with the Artist’s website—it’s been down for several days, and they wanted her to bring it back up. When she either wouldn’t or couldn’t, they started beating up Olympia and the Body Artist both. I couldn’t take on the whole lot—I wanted to create a diversion while I hustled the Artist off the stage. I didn’t know my intervention would produce such drastic results.”

“So you set the fire?” Finchley said.

“I fused the wires. The open wire set the curtains on fire.”

“Ms. Warshawski, I expect you to pay for the damage you caused here,” Olympia said.

“Were you born stupid, or did you work hard to get like this?” It was all I could do not to grab her and shake her. “You take this to a court of law and you will—”

“I will have witnesses that you did malicious damage to my building.” Olympia’s triumphant tone was startling. “Karen won’t testify for you, and neither will these men here.” She waved an arm toward the handcuffed thugs.

My mouth opened and shut several times, but I couldn’t get any words out.

“Where does this Body Artist live?” Terry asked. “We looked in the dressing room. She’d left her keys, but we didn’t find any ID. We need to talk to her, get her version of what happened here tonight.”

Olympia bit her lips in momentary indecision, then told Terry she’d get it from her computer. I tagged along with them to her tiny office. She tried to keep us from looking at the screen, but Terry pushed her aside and scribbled the address into his notebook. Back in the main room of the club, he ordered one

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