"What happened here?" the cop asked.
"Arson. A lit cigarette in the gas tank of the owner's car."
The cop's eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. "Can you tell me who did it?"
"I can, but don't bother looking for her."
"Why? Can you tell us where she is...
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Though the door was firmly closed, the pounding music from the club still soaked through the paper-thin walls an into the room, a visible stain on the silence. The lighting was dim even in the employee area, possibly due to the fact that the owner was too stingy to replace the bulbs that had burnt out. Twenty years ago, the site had been a fried chicken joint, the apparent fact illustrated by the illuminated menu boards that stood over the ancient counter in the back. The ghoul-eyed, cartoon figure of a chicken mascot smiled down on the room from the board on the far right. When the place had been taken over by the club's owner, he hadn't thought of remodeling the employee area. He evidently hadn't rewired either; the lines that ran the menu boards were also connected to the sole, surviving bulb that dangled precariously from an exposed wire attached to the ceiling. Because of this, the room was washed in a constant, yellow glow.
A girl was standing in the far corner of the room, one foot and her back resting against the wall. She was wearing a netted shirt that ended several inches above her midriff, through which her lacy, black bra was clearly visible. Ripped denim shorts hugged her hips, and heeled, ink black boots swathed her legs to the thigh. Her hair was a curious mixture between blond and brown. It wasn't quite either; in fact, a finer way to describe it would have been gold. Even in the sickly yellow glare from the menu boards, the blond strands gleamed, each piece shining in its glory. Her eyes, by contrast, were frosty blue, and rimmed with heavy black makeup.
With a lazy motion, the girl cast a glance towards the grimy clock that sat high up on the crumbling wall. The ticking from its rusty hands and the electric buzz from the lighting became deafening as the club's music began to fade. It was eight twenty-nine. A calendar slashed across with Xs showed the date; June 11th, 2017. The girl's frosty eyes swept across to the calendar's photo. Images of girls in compromising positions filled the frame. Coolly, her eyes returned to the clock, fixing on it until the numbers began to blur. Half past eight.
The girl dropped to a crouch the moment her gaze left the clock, her fingers tapping down to the zipper on her right boot as she removed the piece of footwear. Her skin itched; even the abrasive brush of the pads of her fingers breathed pain into her pores.
Footsteps broke the silence in the hallway, and the door to the room swung open abruptly. A second girl stormed in, brown hair disheveled. She was talking at a mile a minute, her words almost too rapid to comprehend. "The fucking skank, Juilianna, stole my tips! They were around my pole, not hers, and she came over and took them! Can you even believe this?" She collapsed onto the ancient counter next to a bank of lockers, her fingers fiddling with the dial as she twirled the combination on one.
She was topless, a fact that became increasingly obvious as she removed a pack of makeup wipes, tossed her hair over her shoulder and spun around to face the girl in the corner, whose eyes locked with her own. "Watch out during your shift. She's on until eleven, and that little bitch is ruthless."
