Eat My Beef

"Shut up with the buttering up," Imelda's caller snapped.

Imelda shifted on her trailer trash chaise lounge. "But as I 'member, darlingggg" she pouted, "you veddy fond of butter. And I no mean on your Vegemite toast darlingggg."

"Shut yer god-damned, collagened-up-the-ass trap. I don't have much time." Imelda's caller had dropped to a hoarse whisper.

"Speak to me darlingggg," Imelda purred. "Make Imelda happy and tell her that Missy Shandalier, she in duh clink."

"You'll be pleased to know that your plan worked like a witch's charm. She's here all right."

"Perrrfeeeect darlingggg." Imelda kicked off her vulva-pink plastic mules and stretched out like a 10-buck Hong Kong knock-off Eartha Kitt. "I knew my plan--"

But Imelda's caller cut her off. "Not so perfect."

Imelda did not like the smirk that laced her crop-haired informant's gravelly baritone voice. "What the fluck do you mean, darlingggg? What happen?"

"Dirk Flynn is what happened."

"Dirk Frynn? Who dat? Who dis Dirk Frynn?"

"Dirk is a six feet four smoldering pile of irresistible, hulking, hunking, muscley, musky manliness with a dash of Eau Sauvage...if you go in for that sort of thing. And from what I just saw, Miss Shandalier goes in for that sort of thing big time."

Imelda crossed over to her retro-60s Ikea bar and poured out some of that fake Scotch she nabbed the last time she was in Honkers buying her new tits. It was rough shit but it did the job. She slammed a gulp down her throat. "So darlingggg, what are you saying...?"

"Dirk Flynn is the best prober in the business. Give him ten minutes with Miss Fabulous in there and he'll have her on her knees begging him to let her give him more."

"Sounds rike a nice position to be in, if you ask me, darlingggg."

Imelda could hear her caller drag her thick sausage fingers through the spikes in her heavily-gelled hair. "Not more of that. I mean more information. I'm telling you - Flynn is like a walking lie detector test. He's going to know within the first five minutes that Shandalier is innocent and has no connection with the fire at Thai Me Up."

Imelda's lips - a mad mess of Maybelline - pouted again. "But what about Black Magic, darlingggg? That is the perfection of my plan. She was caught with a dead body in her bathroom. If we don't get her for arson, we get her for murder. Either way she's history, darlingggg, rather like your sensible shoe collection ought to be, but I fear it is not."

Imelda's partner-in-cahoots gave an earthy grunt. "From what I know of Miss Shandalier, she can wiggle out of anything. Except for maybe a Size Four. I say let's get her. Let's get her good."

Imelda slugged another mouthful of Honkers firewater down her gullet. "Just because she dumped your sweet little brother for some new meat in town--"

"She broke his heart! He was never the same after their backstage affair and I'll never forgive her. NEVER!"

Imelda sighed at these amateur dramatics. Honestly, do these dykes really think they can pull off high drama better than drag queens? Hardly. "So what do you suggest, darlingggg?"

"It's meal-time in 20 minutes. I could slip something into her beef stew. Couldn't be easier."

Imelda's eyes squinted down into sleazy slimey slopey slits. "Even better darlinggg: why don't you give the beef stew to Mr Frynn. He can take it into her. The poor bitch must be starving by now. He can play the White Knight and deliver the stew right into her mouth...as well as...well, whatever else..."

* * *

"Fuck I'm starving," Sandalier muttered to herself within the shadowy confines of Cell Block H. At least the lighting is low in here, she thought, I must look positively tragique. And with that divine Flynn creature within blowing distance, tragique is not the look I'm going for.

Just then the cell door swung open and in walked Dirk Flynn, in his meaty hands a tray and on the tray a large steaming bowl. "Why Mr. Flynn," Shandalier fluttered her two inch false eyelashes, "all that and you cook too?"

Flynn flashed her one of his disarmingly charm-laden smiles. That's not all I hope you'll be flashing me, she thought. "I thought you'd rather get it from me, rather than Vera Head," he said.

"Oh, you bet I would," she breathed in her best huskiness.

He laid the tray out in front of her. "I have some questions if you don't mind answering them you eat."

"Oh my good Mr Flynn, I can do many things and eat at the same time." Shandalier continued with the eye-batting. "Mmm, smells quite good." Actually it smelled like last week's horsemeat that's been sitting out in the sun next to the Collingwood City Morgue, but Shandy was too ravenous to care. She picked up the battered spoon that lay next to the bowl, filled it with stew and brought it to her provocatively full lips. "So, what's on your mind...?"

Jail Bait

"The last time" asked Thorne as he raised his perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"Yes, I had trouble some years back. Lets just say there was a misunderstanding with a business venture. To cut a long story short I was incarcerated for 6 months in a... and I use the word loosely... Ladee's Detention Centre. Vile and horrid place that it was, full of loathsome creatures. But I was inno-cent of the wrong doings they accused me of".

"Well" said Thorne "We are simply taking you in for questioning, Franklyn you too, we need to discuss the murder of the ummmm, lady in your bathroom .

"Your jumping to conclusions" snapped Shandy, neither of us have done anything.

Thorne grabbed Shandalier's arm to lead her to the doorway.

"Oh for fucks sake, alright, enough already" snapped Shandy as she grabbed for her Mandarina.

Later, at police headquarters. Shandalier waited in an interview room. Franklyn waited in another. She opened her bag, plucked out her dusky pink swarovski crystal encrusted mobile and hit auto dial.

"Excuse me Miss" said the female police officer in the room with her "You cannot make phone calls" Shandalier ignored her as Iva answered the call "Honey, where the hell are you, have you heard the news"

"Shhhh, I don't have time, get yourself and the girls down to police headquarters NOW, cause"

At that momement the phone was snatched from Shandy by the female police officer, Vera Head. She was a big boned lass, with cropped red hair and a face only a mother could love.

"Excussse meeeee" said Shandy "What the hell do you think your doin".

"I SAID NO PHONE CALLS"

"Well pardon moi CUNTstable, I do believe I am entitled to one phone call" replied Shandy.

"At our discretion and certainly not using this Barbie fashion accessory you call a phone"

"Hmph" said Shandy who was now reapplying her Guerlain Apricot Shimmer No 5.

Suddenly the door burst open, in walked Senior Detective Dirk Flynn. Shandy gasped under her breath as this striking figure of a man moved towards her. He was at least 6 foot 4, she guessed about 50, broad shouldered, well defined physique (which Shandy loved), greying hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Well Miss Wilson, what can you tell us about either the arson attack on Thai me Up or the murder of Rajan Shani Davidson"

"Who?.............Oh yo all talkin about Miss Black Magic, god rest her soul. Well Ive told all I know to those 2 detectives who came a calling to my loft at Rochelle House earlier this evening"

As Detective Dirk leaned in towards Shandy, she felt intoxicated by the distinct aroma of musky man sweat mixed with Dior Eau Savage (yes yes it made sense to Shandy, Sauvage being french for wild and untamed). "I think you need to open up for me, surely you have more to offer........in the way of information".

"Well Detective Dirk, never let it be said that I left a man unsatisfied" (she said fluttering dark luscious lashes framing her hazel flecked emerald green eyes).

Detective Dirk's concentration was broken, not only by Shandy's heaving decolletage but by the raucous commotion coming from the police reception area.

Thorne entered the room. "Sorry to disturb you Dectective Flynn, but its drag queen central out front and they're here to support her" pointing at Shandy.

"Well best we sort this drama out" replied Dirk.

Meanwhile......................In Imelda's boudoir. Imelda lay sprawled on her chaise lounge which was luridly upholstered in blood orange velour with gold flock. She smirked as she placed another hazelnut praline into her mouth. At that momement her phone rang.

"Hurro, who dis, OHHHHHH how youuuuuu darlingggg"