The door flew open on the wings of a battering ram and armed women flooded the room. Beatrix simply stared at them, paused in mid-brushstroke.
“Hah!” said the apparent leader. She grabbed Beatrix’s hand, examining it under a loupe. “Just as I thought. Tangerine and chartreuse nail polish! They don’t match each other or anything you own!”
“So what?” Beatrix cried.
“So you’re under arrest!” the woman snapped. “Take her away and book her.”
“Wait, you can’t do this!” Beatrix shouted as she was bodily hoisted up and borne forth. “Who are you?”
The woman-in-charge looked over her shoulder and swept her sunglasses off in a stylish motion. “We’re the Nail Police,” she said. “And we’re polishing you off.”