sculpting rather than starving herself on rabbit food.
The money she saved walking the eight blocks to work and back every day would add up, she assured herself. And God knew she spent nearly nothing on food anymore.
What she wouldn’t give for a couple bubbling slices of pizza with the works and a calorically prohibitive beer.
“Here, Lydia.” Cellie with her perfect cupid’s bow mouth smiled sympathetically. “Have half my sandwich. Half doesn’t count.”
“I’m fine.”
“You should join my health club.” The smoldering, smoking Brenda had a salad, too. A huge one with an ocean of creamy dressing, seasoned croutons, and golden slivers of cheese.
At that moment, Lydia hated her.
“I don’t have time, and I don’t have the money. Anyway, I’m not hungry.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself, Lydia.” Cellie, big brown eyes radiating sincerity, rubbed a hand up and down Lydia’s arm. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’m fat,” Lydia said flatly. She hated herself, hated Cellie and Brenda. She wanted to slap the stupid, tasteless salad right in Cellie’s face.
“I look fat, feel fat, am fat. And I’m going to fix it.” Annoyed, Lydia shoved the salad away. “I’m not hungry,” she repeated, “and it’s too noisy in here. I feel a headache coming on. I’m going to walk for a while.”
“I’ll go with you,” Cellie began.
“No. Stay. Eat. Eat, eat, eat. I’m in a bad mood, and I want to be alone.”
She stomped toward the door, squeezing through the spaces between tables while her temper spurted up like a black, oily fountain.
She reached the door, yanked it open. Glanced back.
Her eyes met Brenda’s, just for an instant. In them she saw the same vile dislike she felt, the ugly truth of it.
She always knew Brenda was a bitch. Always knew it.
For a moment she wanted to turn around, stomp back, and punch smoldering bitch Brenda in the face. Then claw her nails down it. Draw blood. Drink blood.
Instead, she slammed out the door, shoving her way down the sidewalk.
And lived.
9
They were under five blocks away when Dispatch notified Eve. She hit the lights and sirens.
“Run the owner,” she ordered Peabody. “Now.” And soared up to vertical to skim over vehicles with no respect for a cop running hot.
She took a right, hard, blasted the horn as a clutch of pedestrians swarmed the sidewalk. They scattered like ants, and as she bored through, a woman in needle-heeled boots and towering blond hair took the opportunity to flip her the finger.
“Privately owned,” Peabody called out, voice cracking only a little as Eve skinned by a loaded maxibus. “Greenbaum Family LLC.”
“Building, too.”
Eve slammed the brakes, fishtailing as she squealed to a stop. She jumped out, and into pandemonium.
She spotted two uniforms and a beat droid scrambling to secure the scene, tape off the area from the crowd. People shouted, pushed. A couple of guys wrestled and rolled on the ground, trying to land punches. She saw a woman huddled on the sidewalk, weeping hysterically as another woman tried to comfort her. A man lay flat out while another administered CPR.
Several stood or sat, bleeding, eyes dazed.
Through the open door she saw the heaps and tangles of bodies—including the one facedown half in, half out of the cafe.
“Get that barricade up. Peabody, call for MTs.”
“We got them coming,” one of the uniforms shouted. “We called for more backup, Lieutenant.”
“For Christ’s sake.” She grabbed one wrestling man by the shirt collar, dodged a flailing fist, didn’t quite dodge a jabbing elbow to the ribs. “Peabody, goddamn it!” She managed to get a boot on the chest of the second man, rocked as he bucked. “Stop! Cut it out or I swear to God I’ll knock your empty heads together.”
She ignored the expected versions of “He started it.”
“Make a move, and you’re in restraints and headed for a holding tank. One move. Don’t test me.”
Ribs throbbing, she turned. “Listen up! I said,
“People are hurt!” someone screamed.
“Medicals are on the way.”
“Fucking cops stunned unarmed people. I
“And I’m here to determine what happened. My partner will take your statement.”
“Then cover it up. Fucking cops.”
Enough, Eve decided, and stared hard into the bystander’s eyes. “Pal, I’ve got people bleeding on the ground and officers in harm’s way. Record this.” She held up her badge. “That’s Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Get the badge number? This fucking cop is telling you to clam it until my partner takes your statement. If you continue to attempt to incite a riot you’ll be restrained and charged, and transported to Central.”
When he opened his mouth again, her eyes went to ice. “Go ahead, say something. Once you do, get ready to tag a lawyer.”
She waited until he broke eye contact and stared at the ground.
“Officers will take statements, but anyone who’s a doctor or medical professional please step forward, and this officer will enlist your aid for any wounded. Call in the rest of the team. Start talking to people,” she told Peabody. “Get statements, keep them talking, and make sure you confiscate that asshole’s ’link for evidence.”
“Yes, sir, and won’t that be a joy.”
“Who owns the damn building?”
“Not Roarke.”
“Small blessings. Keep that line secured,” she ordered the droid. “And you”—she gestured toward the second uniform—“report.”
“We were on patrol and observed several individuals running from this location. One ran into our vehicle as we pulled to a stop. He stated people were killing each other inside Cafe West. We called it in, approached the scene.”
He took a breath.
“Lieutenant, when we opened the door it was crazy. People were lying on the floor getting trampled while other people were fighting. Bare hands, knives—Jesus—forks, broken glasses. People screaming, howling like animals. Some of them laughing like mental defectives.
“We called out warnings. Some of them came at us. That guy didn’t lie, sir. Some of them weren’t armed, but they were coming at us, and still going at each other. We had to deploy stunners.”
“Is there going to be anything on that asshole’s ’link vid you can’t stand up to, Officer?”
“No, sir, Lieutenant. No, sir.”
