Free Murder in the Marais by Cara Black

goes in default and we'll be liable for an eighty-thousand-franc fine. We're scheduled for arbitration in five minutes!"
    That ate up Soli Hecht's retainer and more. They wouldn't have enough left in the business account for the rent check. She grabbed a taxi.
    As she ran up the marble staircase of La Double Morte, the clink of the metal chains from her leather jacket brought a low wolf whistle from the janitor. He eyed her suggestively and wiggled his tongue as he wet-mopped the steps. She just missed tripping on the slippery marble and clomped heavily up the staircase. The leering janitor approached as if to talk with her.
    Aimee growled, "Watch out, I bite!"
    "Good!" he said. "I like that."
    She hissed, "Get a rabies shot."
    Trapped in her skinhead attire, she wrapped Lili Stein's coat tightly around her. A murdered woman's couture coat, from the fifties and smelling of mothballs, was not the outfit for a meeting with number crunchers.
    Her dressed-to-kill look should have been more along the lines of a gray pinstripe suit. She smoothed down her hair, rubbed off the black lipstick, and trudged carefully up the rest of the stairs. When in doubt, brazen it out!
    Quite a few heads arose from their desks as she darted to the room marked ARBITRATION .
    Rene Friant's perspiring face held a mixture of relief and horror as she entered. His short legs dangled from the seat. Every centimeter of him recoiled as she sat down beside him.
    Eight pairs of eyes, all male, stared at her from across the long wooden table. A glass of water sat at each place. Computer toner cartridges were piled on the table near her, next to an ancient copy machine. Most of the men wore gray suits. One wore a yarmulke.
    "Excuse me," she said demurely and cast her eyes down. "I just received word that this meeting was moved up."
    Silence.
    The one in the yarmulke glared at her, adjusting the short cuffs of his tight-fitting jacket. "I see no records of past income in the file received from Leduc Detective," he said, without taking his eyes off her. "No statement of deductions either."
    He rolled his sleeve up and she saw faded tattooed numbers on his forearm. He'd been in a concentration camp like Soli Hecht. She slipped her hands, covered with SS lightning-bolt tattoos, into her lap.
    The man to her left joined in. "I concur, Superintendent Foborski. I also found no record of these."
    Here was the superintendent—a concentration-camp survivor–and she was dressed as a neo-Nazi skinhead.
    Rene stole a glance at her and rolled his eyes. Under the table she could see his pudgy hands clasped in prayer.
    "Sir, these records—," Aimee began.
    But the man next to her reached for his glass, promptly spilling water and knocking toner all over her coat. Accidentally or on purpose, it didn't matter. The powdery toner turned into a clumpy charcoal mess all over her.
    Even sopping wet and cold, she wouldn't take the coat off. The fake tattoos were probably bleeding all over her chest.
    "Pardon, I'm very sorry," he said. "Please, let me help."
    Lili Stein's coat was ruined. She tried to wipe the mess up.
    "I insist," he said, pulling at her sleeves. "This could be toxic."
    "Leave me alone, Monsieur!" she warned.
    "Are you hiding a weapon, Mademoiselle Leduc?" Superintendent Foborski's eyes glittered. "If you don't remove that garment, I'll call security to assist you."
    Her shoulders sagged. Gently, she pulled her arms out of the soggy coat, dripping and smelling of wet wool. Swastikas and lightning bolts lay exposed through the holes of her tank top.
    Eight pairs of eyes fastened on her tattoos.
    "This has nothing to do with that—"
    "This board will look at no request without the proper forms," interrupted Foborski, "it's impossible to conduct any further business. Consider your tax in default. Penalties will be levied retroactively in addition to a five-thousand-franc fine." He waved his hands dismissively.
    "No!" Aimee stood up and looked him straight in the eye.