The Da Cinchy Code

A high-pitched shriek sliced through the night air. "What the hell was that?" Franklyn was through the doorway before Shandalier could stop him. In several manly strides he crossed over to Shandalier's bathroom and burst open the door. Shandalier heard Franklyn gasp. "It's Black Magic! And she is dead."

"What?" Shandelier pushed Franklyn's ridiculously handsome frame aside and strode into her impeccably fashionable bathroom. She took a moment to admire the new white high gloss tiles and frameless shower screen before kneeling down to check on Black Magic. Her rather large frame was sprawled across the floor in a crucifix-like pose, her funky faux fox fur hood pushed over her face and adding to Shandelier's discomfort a rather large pool of blood was spreading over the new tiles.

Shandelier wasn't going to be fooled by this blackmailing, limelight-seeking, half-Koorie/Pakistani princess. Black Magic was no more dead than Shandlier was a bible-toting choirboy from Boiling Springs...anymore.

Shandelier sighed as she leant to pull back the hood, "You can cut out the theatrics my tinted sister and you'd better hope like hell this fake blood comes out of the light-grey grout...Jesus, Fuck, Christ, Holy Mary Mother of God..." Shandelier screamed as she pulled the hood back to reveal that Black Magic's neck had been slashed.

"Fuck Franklyn, pull your Saba shirt on and call the cops, an ambulance and Carmene... this is serious."

Franklyn made the call while Shandelier held Black Magic's hand, "Honey, I don't know if you can hear me but hang on if you can, hang on, help is on its way." Shandelier knew it was hopeless, Black Magic was gone and she was never coming back. There would be times for tears later, right now Shandlier had something to do. Shandelier muttered the words as her other hand reached for Black Magic's Mandarina. She rifled through the bag and found her knickers and smiled, "Black Magic, you cheeky devil, there was no stain on these."

Shandelier shoved her knickers in her pocket but as she was closing the bag something made her stop. She let go of Black Magic's hand and gasped again, there were more secrets in Black Magic's bag and secrets that didn't answer any questions but simply raised more.

A Mysterious Visitor

Black Magic pushed back the hood of her fabulously funky faux fox fur so that her dusky cheekbones fell into the light. She pressed a bejeweled finger to her shimmering Revloned lips. "SH!" she insisted in a low whisper. "No one must know I am here." She gripped the edge of the hood and pulled it forward again, casting her face back into enigmatic shadows.

Oh puh-lease, Shandalier thought, I simply don't have the time for Black Magic's amateur Mata Hari theatrics. Come to think of it, she realised, she never would, and certainly not since she accidentally discovered that Black Magic, Sassy Palms' resident nigress, started out life as Nigel Blick, born to a Koori half-blood and some Pakistani tourist with an excessive fondness for garlic and Fosters. "Black Magic," Shandalier said, "now's just not a good time. Perhaps if I called you in the morn--"

Black Magic thrust out a size 11 Manolo Blahnik knock-off and prevented Shandalier from closing her front door. "We must speak!" she demanded.

Shandalier made a dramatic show - one that Helen Keller couldn't miss - of looking at her watch. Nobody knew of the occasional assignations between she and the impossibly handsome Franklyn and that situation must not change. Jealous accusations of favouritism would fly across the stage thicker than the faux fog during Margot Bourgeois' "I Will Survive" number. Plus, if one of those bitches knew just how glorious Franklyn's abs were to the touch, they'd all want a piece of that action. Franklyn was due at Shandalier's door within moments. Should Black Magic see him, there would be hell to pay, not to mention the probable end of their furtive bonkings. "Really, Magic, whatever it is--"

"I have a certain article of clothing."

Shandalier stared into Black Magic's unblinking, Dior-lined orbs. Reluctantly she swung open her front door and watched as Black Magic catwalked into her spacious loft. "What have you got?" she asked breathlessly.

Black Magic whirled around like a skilled dervish. "It is pink."

Shandalier's eyes narrowed. "What shade?"

"Officially I believe it's known as Summer Solstice Samoan Sunset pink. There is a narrow waistband, darker in colour, more of a Mid-Winter Devonshire Rambling rose. Oh, and there's a stain right where--" Black Magic lowered her double-false eyelashes discreetly. "Well, let's just say there's a stain..."

Magic had described Shandalier's missing knickers perfectly. "Where did you get them?" she hissed.

But Black Magic remained silent as she opened her brazilian tropicale rainforest waterfall-fern green Mandarina Duck knock-off shoulder bag and withdrew Shandalier's secret Victoria's Secret. "I want to make a deal," Black Magic twirled the panties from a bony finger. "In exchange for these incriminating pair of evidences, I want you to demote Iva and give the role of the Sassy Palm's lead drag queen...to MOI."

"You're not half the drag queen that Iva is!"

"And you have no idea what I am capable of. I WANT THAT SPOTLIGHT!"

Just then came two knocks, a pause then one knock: the irresistibly handsome Franklyn's secret "I'm here and I'm horny" knock.

"I need you to do me a favour," Shandalier said.

But Black Magic sneered. "I am not in the mood for favours."

Shandalier pointed at a glossy white door. "If you want the lead spotlight at Sassy Palms you'll go into that bathroom and not come out until I have gotten rid of whoever this is."

Franklyn knocked again. Black Magic pursed her lips and then spun on her cheap heels. "You've got three minutes."

When she opened the door, Shandalier found Franklyn already shirtless. His round, firm pecs, sprayed lightly with a dusting of feather soft hair, shone invitingly in the moonlight. "Oh baby," he groaned, "Frankie needs his sugar."

But Shandalier pressed a hand to a hard, squared shoulder. "I'm sorry", she whispered, " Massive headache."

Frankly held up his broad hands. "Massage!"

"No, really, tonight isn't--"

A high-pitched shriek sliced through the night air. "What the hell was that?" Franklyn was through the doorway before Shandalier could stop him. In several manly strides he crossed over to Shandalier's bathroom and burst open the door. Shandalier heard Franklyn gasp. "It's Black Magic! And she is........."