Meanwhile, On the Wrong Side of the Tracks…

Author’s note:

In Part Three, our gumshoes explored the seedy side of town, in search of the drag queen, Shannequa Montage. Jim lost most of his money trying to bribe a bartender, who actually knew nothing. After receiving a good lead, our hapless detectives decided to return to their hotel; however, they found out that their rental car had been stolen. Our story picks up the next evening. How will our brave gumshoes fare today? Read Part Four and find out!

Saturday night…

“I already told you three times.” Jim’s voice was slow and he enunciated each word carefully, much like he did when speaking to the younger students at Ten Acres Academy. He tightly gripped the cell phone he was holding until his knuckles grew white. “I didn’t lose the keys. I lost the car!”

Brian grinned as he watched his friend from across the table. Several of the other patrons in the pizza parlor were anxiously glancing at Jim out of the corners of their eyes. Brian smiled reassuringly at the onlookers, trying his best to convince them that his friend was harmless.

“It is possible to lose a car,” Jim argued, his voice growing a bit louder with every word. His face flushed a deep crimson as he listened to the response of the employee from the car rental agency on the other end of the line. “I know it’s possible to lose a car because I did it!”

Jim inhaled deeply, counted to ten slowly, took one more cleansing breath, and then decided to count on to twenty. “May I speak with your supervisor?” He nodded and made an exaggerated, patronizing face. He covered up the mouthpiece and muttered to Brian, “She’s getting her boss for me to talk to. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was dealing with that ditzy actress chick we met last night.”

Brian chuckled and placed another slice of pizza onto his plate. “I thought Punky Brewster was busy practicing lines for her dumb musical.” He snorted and took a bite. “A musical about a serial killer. What’ll they think of next?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said into the mouthpiece. “Yes, I’m Jim Frayne…. Yes, that’s correct; I rented the black Mercedes Benz… Yes, I’m quite positive it’s gone… I don’t know. I guess it was stolen…”

Jim scrunched his face in disbelief. “What’s so strange about a car being stolen?... You… uhh… *gulp*… want to know where it was stolen from?” He swallowed loudly, not wanting to answer that particular question. He wanted to tell as few people as possible that he was frequenting drag queen hangouts.

“Well… uhhh… it was… uhhh… Why is that important?” Jim stammered nervously. He rolled his eyes, picked up a napkin from the table, and began wadding it up to relieve his tension. “If you must know, the car was parked on Sixth Street.”

Jim tucked the phone under his ear and began twisting the napkin into a tight rope. “Of course, I didn’t leave the windows or the sunroof open… I’ve told you people a hundred times that I didn’t lose the keys! They’re in my pocket... Well, I suppose the person who stole the car broke in and hotwired it. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time it happened in that neighborhood.”

Jim sighed wearily as he rubbed his throbbing temples with a freckled hand. “Yes, I’m aware that Sixth Street is a high crime area… I don’t see why you’re bringing that up… My rental agreement didn’t say I couldn’t drive it there…”

Napkin shreds began falling on top of the table as Jim violently twisted it tighter. “Yes, I did purchase the extra insurance… Yes, I bought the insurance with the $0 deductible… Well, yes, I guess that is conven— Wait a minute! Exactly what are you saying?...”

Brian took a loud slurp from his Dr. Pepper as he stared in surprise at the frustrated expression on his friend’s face.

“Wh-oa, excuse me a minute, ma’am.” Jim’s ginger brows knotted above the bridge of his nose as he set his jaw angrily. “Let me get this straight. You’re accusing me of renting a car, purchasing the extra insurance, and then falsely claiming that it has been stolen?...” He took several deep breaths in an attempt to keep from losing his temper.

“I’ll have you know that I find your insinuation highly offensive!… Well, I suppose it would be a lucrative career to rent a luxury vehicle, pay for the extra insurance, get the zero deductible, and then claim that the car was stolen— but that isn’t what I’ve done.”

Brian’s slurping ceased as he gave Jim’s conversation his undivided attention.

“Ma’am, I gave you a copy of my driver’s license, as well as my proof of insurance. If you have any questions about my identity, please check the copies you made… Yes, I know that people forge driver’s licenses, but the one I gave you is real… If you’d just check it… No, I don’t guess it would be lying on your desk, but I’m assuming you have access to it…”

Brian grinned as he watched his friend’s expression. Oh, this is gonna be good, he thought as he leaned back in the booth to enjoy the show.

“Ma’am, do you realize to whom you’re speaking?” Jim asked in an authoritative tone. “Please check the copy you made of my driver’s license… Now, have you found that yet, or is that too difficult for you? I assume you can peck out the name and address I gave you on your computer, or would you rather continue insulting my integrity?”

Brian choked on the drink of Dr. Pepper he had just taken. He looked up in surprise as his normally calm friend went postal on the poor lady in the car rental agency.

“On the copy of my license, you’ll find my residence is Sleepyside, New York, my phone number is 914-555-9249, and my social security number is 290-34-8675. If you’ll check all that out, you’ll find that I am James Winthrop Frayne the Second, heir to Matthew Wheeler of Wheeler International. You can read, can’t you?”

Jim’s eyes blazed as he didn’t wait for a response. “I don’t normally tell everyone how much my family is worth, but in this case, I’m willing to make an exception. Lady, can you say biiiillllions?” He drawled out the figure dramatically.

“Well, ma’am, I really don’t give a rip about that over 400 cars were falsely reported stolen last year,” he snapped. “I don’t like for my integrity to be questioned. If you’ll open your God-given eyeballs and read the information on my agreement, you can make a few calls to verify my identity and will find that I am the son of the billionaire businessman, Matthew Wheeler.”

Jim nodded and made a loud, growling noise as he listened to the response from the other end of the line. “Yes, of course I realize I have a different last name than Matthew Wheeler. If you must know, my birth parents died when I was young, and I was adopted by the Wheelers… Ma’am, and I’m using that term quite loosely, if this was a scam, do you think I’d actually be stupid enough to use a name that didn’t match? If I was conning you, I’d have given myself the last name Wheeler!”

Brian’s mouth gaped as he listened in his seat across from Jim. He had never seen Jim so angry.

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation as he made “yada, yada, yada” motions with his hand as the agency’s manager spoke to him. “Look ma’am, I don’t have time to come over and work this out, and frankly, I’m getting sick of the whole thing…”

“I think Dad may even own stock in your cute little company,” he informed the manager. “He owns so many stocks that I’ve lost count. I’ll have to research that when I get home, since I own 25% stock of Wheeler Enterprises and all its subsidiaries…”

“No, I won’t calm down!” Jim yelled into the mouthpiece of his cell phone. “I find it quite irresponsible for you to spout off these accusations without first checking my information. Someone running a business should know better than to make such foolhardy charges…”

Brian, who was greatly enjoying this confrontation, made “sic ‘em” motions to his friend, urging him to not give up without a fight. Jim, however, needed no encouraging.

“Just for the fun of it, I might buy your Podunk agency with my pocket change just so I can fire your snippy little butt, so why don’t you back off?”

In an effort to muffle his chuckling, Brian laid his head in his arms, which were resting on the table.

“Oh, well, glad to see it all checked out,” Jim said sarcastically, a smug smirk on his face. “Uh-huh… No, thank you… No, I’m not interested in renting another car. I think I’ll stick with cabs. Believe me; riding around in smelly taxis with rude drivers is far more appealing than giving you my business. For that matter, crawling down the streets on bloody, scabby knees is more appealing than giving you my business.”

Unable to stifle his laughter any more, Brian lay back in the booth, covering his face with his hands. He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I’ll have to think about that, ma’am,” Jim replied curtly. “As a matter of fact, I did find your accusation derogatory. Anyone who knows me can attest to my integrity… Yes, I’m sure false claims have been filed before, but as I said earlier, you should’ve verified my identity before spouting off careless accusations. I could buy 50 luxury cars, better than the one I rented from you, by just using the change in my piggy bank… Well, it’s a little late for that… And ma’am? I’ll be sure and drop the keys to the Benz off to you before I leave for New York. Not that you’ll still be the manager there… Thank you.”

Jim hastily punched the “end” button of his phone with his index finger. Finding that action not nearly satisfactory enough, he repeatedly banged the cell phone on the table, a frustrated grimace on his face.

“Feel better now?” Brian asked cheerfully after he sat up, trying his best to keep a serious expression on his face.

“Oh, loads,” Jim mumbled. “Remind me to buy a car rental agency when I get home. And to fire Laverne and Tiki.”

“All righty.” Brian dug in the pocket of his charcoal gray pinstriped suit jacket, pulled out his notepad, and scrawled down Jim’s requests. “Buy car rental agency. Fire Laverne. Fire Tiki.” He paused for a moment as his brows furrowed in confusion. “Tiki? How do you spell that? T-I or T-E?”

Jim shrugged. “It’s not going to matter. I’m going to fire her valley girl-butt anyway, so it’s not like I’ll have to write her name on any paychecks.”

“Good point,” Brian said with a grin. “Fire T-I-C-K-I-E.”

“No, that’s ‘Tickie’,” Jim disagreed, frowning. “It would be T-E-K-I-E.”

“Nah, that’d be like a computer ‘techie’. It’s T-E-E—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim interrupted, gulping down his last bite of pizza. He pushed up the sleeve of his brown suit and glanced at his watch. “It’s after seven. Do you want to go see if we can catch Shannequa before she goes on at the Funky Monkey?”

Brian grinned. “Sounds good to me. I’m willing to do anything necessary to keep from going back inside that drag queen hangout.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Jim said, a crooked smile on his own face. He stood and retrieved his brown fedora from the booth. After placing his hat on his head, he reached into the back pocket of his suit pants and got out his wallet. When he glanced inside, he looked sheepishly at Brian.

“Think you can get this?” Jim reluctantly asked. “Bribing Al drained most of my funds last night.”

“I thought you could buy that rental agency with your pocket change?” Brian quipped with a mischievous grin. After noticing the furious expression on his friend’s face, he decided to forego any further teasing. Biting back his laughter, he picked up the bill from the cheery red-and-white-checkered tabletop. He placed a generous tip where the bill had lain. Afterwards, he scooped up his own black fedora from the booth and sat it on his head.

After hailing a cab, the gumshoes got inside and told the driver they wanted to go to West Street. The men settled in the backseat and pulled out their photographs of Shannequa Montage to carefully study.

Jim and Brian had slept late the next morning, and after brunch, they wandered the streets around the clubs, looking for their informant. They were quite disappointed that she was nowhere to be found.

“I hope we find Shannequa before she goes into the Funky Monkey,” Jim murmured. He carefully examined her picture. “One visit to a drag queen bar was more than enough for me.”

“To quote Mart: ‘Natch’,” Brian agreed with a wry smile. He took the photo and held it closer to his face. “You know, if Shannequa decided to impersonate Michael Jackson, ‘shim’ would make a bundle. Look at that nose.” He pointed to Shannequa’s strange nostrils with a grimace. “Definitely looks more like Michael Jackson than Diana Ross.”

Jim snorted as he peered over at the picture. “You’ve got a point there. Hey, back in the early 90’s, did you ever notice that Michael and his sister Janet never had a hit album at the same time?”

Brian shrugged his broad shoulders. “So?”

“So, I always wondered if they were the same person. When he wanted to feel pretty, he was Janet. When he wanted to be ‘bad’, he’d be Michael.”

“Janet was definitely ‘badder’ than Michael,” Brian hooted. “But I guess that ‘wardrobe malfunction’ proved your theory wrong.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed with a nod, “that and the fact that Janet’s nose never caved in.”

The cab pulled to the curb of West Street. After handing the driver the fare, Brian and Jim got out of the taxi and nervously looked around. They cased the street outside of the Funky Monkey, hoping for a glimpse of their would-be informant; however, there was no sign of Shannequa Montage.

Suddenly, a car passed them as it headed towards Franko Street. The tinted windows of the car reverberated, almost as if they were repulsed by the loud rap music echoing from the stereo system inside.

Jim frantically gestured to the black Mercedes that passed them. “That’s our rental car!” he squawked.

“Are you sure?” Brian asked, adjusting his fedora.

“Positive! Except for those bullet holes in the back glass, it’s just like it, right down to the dings made by those baseball bats.” Jim turned to Brian, his green eyes burning with challenge. “Let’s go get it.”

“Whoa,” Brian chuckled, grabbing Jim’s arm. “Did I hear you wrong, or did you just say ‘bullet holes’?”

“Aw, come on, Brian,” Jim muttered. “We could take those scrawny little punks.”

Brian snickered. “I’m sure we could, until the ‘scrawny little punks’, as you called them, pulled out their ‘nines’ and ‘busted a cap’.”

“Your gansta-lingo is horribly outdated,” Jim guffawed.

“Sorry, it’s been a while,” Brian apologized, his voice dripping with cheerful sarcasm. “However, the sentiment remains. We’re here to find Shannequa Montage, not get our rental car back. And we’re definitely not here to get shot.”

“But what about the Benz?”

Brian shrugged. “Let the agency worry about that. Besides, you’re going to buy it anyway and fire Laverne and Tiki. Remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Jim said with a nod. “Mustn’t forget to fire heifer Laverne and her snippy little assistant, Tiki.”

Suddenly his attention was diverted by a large Hispanic man who had approached a Barbra Streisand-esque creature. After elbowing Brian, Jim pointed to the pair down the street. “Looks like somebody’s hitting on another drag queen.”

“Wonder if that dude knows Shannequa?”

“I don’t know, but let’s find out.” Jim walked over to the man, who had just been rebuffed by “Babs”. “Hey, we were wondering if you had ever seen this person.” He offered the photograph to the man.

The Hispanic man looked at Jim and Brian and snorted. “No hablo Inglés. Hablo Español.” He walked away, shaking his head.

“I guess he didn’t speak English,” Brian commented, rubbing his temples wearily.

A minute or two later, they watched as the man slapped his buddy on the back and exclaimed, “Hey, Ricco! What’s up with you, man? Long time no see!”

“Yeah, no hablo Inglés,” Jim muttered with a roll of his green eyes.

Brian clapped his friend’s shoulder sympathetically. “Come on. Let’s go inside the Monkey. Maybe we’ll run into Shannequa before ‘shim’ breaks out the hula hoops. Just the thought of ‘shim’ wriggling and writhing…” He shuddered as he left the thought hanging.

“ ‘Shim’?’ Jim repeated with a grin. “What’s that? You said it before in the cab.”

“A mixture of ‘she’ and ‘him’,” Brian explained. “You know, since Shannequa is technically a male, but dresses up like a woman. I wasn’t sure if I should use ‘him’ or ‘her’ so I combined them.”

“Brian, please don’t use that word in the Monkey,” Jim advised, an evil twinkle in his eyes. “All we need is a lynch mob of drag queens chasing us down Franko Street.”

“Right,” Brian said with a nod, and then gave one final shudder as he imagined the scene Jim described.

The two gumshoes carefully inched their way through the crowd at the Funky Monkey, taking pains not to make physical contact with any of the other patrons. Finally, they arrived at the bar, which was, much to their relief, being attended by Al.

“Hey, Al,” Brian greeted, sitting down on one of the stools at the bar.

The burly bartender looked up, a gleam of fright in his eyes. After he saw the friendly patrons were Jim and Brian, he visibly relaxed.

“Am I glad to see you guys,” he muttered, wiping his rag extra carefully across the counter where they would be sitting. “It’s nice to talk to some regular Joes. Straight Joes, that is. I haven’t been hit on this much since my first week in prison.”

“First week?” Jim repeated as he sat down on the stool beside Brian. “Did the other prisoners give up after that?”

“Well, after showin’ the more persistent nancies Mr. Right Hook and Mr. Left Jab, they left me alone. Now, what’ll you have? My treat.”

“I’ll take a Coke,” Jim answered.

“Gimme another OJ,” Brian replied, looking around the room for any glimpse of Shannequa.

“You boys lookin’ for that dame whose picture you showed me?” Al questioned as he got their drinks.

Jim nodded, and then he took a drink from the glass the bartender placed before him. “We have to find her soon. Our deadline’s Sunday night.”

“Well, I’ve been keepin’ an eye out for her, but I ain’t seen her so far,” Al informed them. “I think Dominique said she was s’posed to be on tonight at nine.”

“Do the performers usually come to the club right before they go on stage, or do they get here early?” Brian inquired.

“Most of ‘em hafta get dressed in their costumes.” Al shook his head with a snort. “And buh-lieve me, these drag queens got some freaky-loo costumes. One of ‘ems got a weirdo bondage outfit that has a Slinky over each cup of the bra. Made me never wanna buy my nephew another one.”

“Slinkies?” Jim repeated with a smirk.

Al just nodded, a grimace on his bearded face. “You oughta see what one of ‘em did with toilet plungers.”

“What’d you do to end up working in a place like this?” Brian asked.

Al shrugged his beefy shoulders. “Not many people wanna hire ex-cons. I had to work wherever they’d take me. This was all the parole board could find. At first, I thought it was my lucky day, gettin’ a job in a club. I shoulda known with my record, it wouldn’t be a nudie bar.”

“I’m checking into buying a car rental agency by LAX,” Jim told him. “You seem like a nice guy and have been a big help to us. If it goes through, maybe you could work there.”

“You serious?” Al’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Sure,” Jim said with a lopsided grin. “I’m a firm believer in giving people second chances. I’ve been down and out a time or two myself.”

“Hey, that’d be great,” Al exclaimed, tossing his rag into the sink. “I’d do anything to get away from these fruit loops. I feel like the head cheerleader standin’ around in her bra and panties in front of the chess team. If you’d gimme a job in that agency, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Well, you give me your number and I’ll see what I can do,” Jim promised.

“This is the first time and the last time I’m givin’ out my phone number in this joint,” Al teased with a chuckled as he wrote his name and number on a slip of paper, and then handed it to Jim. “Thanks again, mister. I’d really appreciate the job.”

“It’d just be working with the cars, but I guess that’d be better than here,” Jim said.

“Got that right,” Al murmured as he looked into the crowd.

“Why’d you go to prison?” Brian asked, lowering his dark brow inquisitively.

“I stole cars,” the bartender answered with a grin.

“Wonderful,” Jim muttered under his breath. However, a minute later, his countenance brightened. “Hey Al, if you happen to see a shiny black Mercedes Benz with a few dents in the back and the license plate number 5T—”

Jim was interrupted by a delighted squeal. He warily glanced out of the corner of his eye and gasped as a person dressed up like Boy George plopped down on the vacant stool beside him. He was wondering how Brian got off so easily, but then he noticed that the seat beside his friend had just been claimed by someone making a valiant attempt to look like Marilyn Monroe.

“Ooh, just lookie at Allie Wallie’s friends,” Boy George cooed as he leaned closer to Jim.

The supple redhead froze in terror, not knowing whether to make a break for the exit or to try “Allie Wallie’s” suggestion and introduce this person to his Mr. Right Hook and Mr. Left Jab.

“So do you either of you gentlemen prefer blondes?” Marilyn purred.

“Jim does,” Brian quipped, pointing to the redhead beside him.

Jim’s green eyes narrowed as he glared at his supposed friend.

“Ooh, Red’s the strong silent type,” Boy George giggled, placing his hand on Jim’s arm. “He’s mine.”

Jim yanked his arm away and scowled at Boy George. “I don’t mean to be rude, but my friend and I aren’t looking for company.”

“Exclusive, are you?” Marilyn pursed “her” bright red lips and admired the two muscular, well-dressed men. “What a shame. Sure we can’t talk you into a little swap?”

Al leaned over the bar and stared menacingly at Marilyn and Boy George. “Get lost. These boys ain’t your type. Now get outta here.”

“Somebody’s in a bad mood,” Boy George teased, a flirtatious look on his face.

“I’m not kiddin’,” the bartender growled, slapping his hand loudly on the counter. “These men ain’t here to find boyfriends. If you ain’t gone in one minute, I’m gonna toss you down this counter, John Wayne-style.”

“That sounds kinda fun,” Marilyn tittered. However, the giggling was halted as he received a warning look from Boy George.

“I don’t think he’s joking, Marilyn,” Boy George whispered loudly. “Let’s go find somebody friendlier to talk to.”

After sticking out “her” tongue to the bartender, Marilyn followed Boy George away from the bar, “her” white dress swaying in an attempt to be provocative.

“Thanks,” Jim muttered, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “I was afraid that if I said anything, I’d get us thrown out of here before Shannequa came on.”

“No problem,” Al replied. “You guys stay here at the bar, that way no more whack-jobs will bug you. I’ll make sure of that.”

“What time is it anyway?” Brian questioned. The nightclub was dark and smoky, so he had to squint to see the face of his watch.

“Ten ‘til nine,” Jim answered, peeking at his Rolex with its indiglo face. “It can’t be too much longer now.”

Brian glanced around the club. “Shouldn’t she already be here?”

“Maybe there’s a backdoor that the performers can come through,” Jim commented hopefully. “Al, is there a special entrance for the entertainers?”

Al shrugged. “I’m not sure. This is only my second day, and as you can probably guess, I don’t speak to these freaky-loos unless I hafta. I don’t wanna give ‘em the wrong idea.”

The men sat silently as the minutes ticked by slowly. Jim and Brian hopefully watched the stage, waiting for Shannequa Montage to emerge. However, the stage remained dark and loud music continued to play over the loudspeakers.

“It’s five after,” Jim murmured after peeking at his watch again. “Where’s the show?”

“I dunno,” Al responded.

“Look, there’s Dominique,” Brian exclaimed, jabbing his friend with his elbow. “Maybe he knows where Shannequa is.”

Last night, Al’s boss had been wearing a Japanese kimono with a magnolia tucked behind his ear. Tonight, Dominique was sporting the tropical look. He was wearing a knee-length hula skirt, showing off his carefully shaven legs. A coconut-bikini top stretched across his chest and tied in the back, and neither Jim nor Brian wanted to know if anything was in the shells. A tropical-print scarf was wrapped around his head, Carmen Miranda-style, and a flowered lei was hanging around his neck.

Dominique cast what was supposed to be a come-hither glance at Jim and Brian, and fluttered his false eyelashes flirtatiously. “Looks like we’ve made some new friends, Al. Glad to see you back at the Funky Monkey, Sugarcane and Panther.”

“We uhhh… came to see Shannequa Montage’s act,” Jim stammered, nervously fiddling with his tie. “She’s coming on at nine o’clock, right?”

“That Shannequa!” Dominique exclaimed in exasperation. “That girl needs her fanny tanned, and although I’d normally welcome the opportunity, I don’t have the strength to do it tonight.”

“What’s going on?” Brian asked warily, fearing he might get more information than he really wanted.

“Shannequa didn’t show up for her act, that’s what’s up,” Dominique sputtered indignantly. “If she’s not here in ten minutes, she’s going to be on the receiving end of one of my hissies next time she shows her Supreme face around here.” Dominique concluded his rampage with a snap of his fingers and a bobble of his head.

“Do you know where she is?” Jim inquired.

“Do I know where she is?” Dominique repeated with a snort. “Sure as I’m standing here, Sugarcane. Only one thing can keep Miss Montage from her adoring fans, and that’s some john asking her to do the nas—”

“So where can we find her if she doesn’t show up here?” Jim asked, his voice slightly panicked.

“Your best bet would be to wait for her on Franko Street and pray that that john drops her off and you get to her before another one picks her up.”

“F-f-franko Street?” Jim stuttered, barely able to utter the words.

“That’s what I said, Sugarcane,” Dominique purred as he caressed his coconuts. “Unless you’d rather go in the back with me and w—”

“We’d better be going,” Jim interrupted. He jumped up so hastily from his bar stool that it fell over and clattered on the floor. “If Shannequa’s not going to be here, then we really must be leaving.”

“See ya, Al,” Brian called with a wave.

“Good luck,” Al yelled.

“Thanks,” Jim replied as he walked towards the exit.

“Mmm-mmm-mmm,” Dominique murmured as he watched Jim and Brian leave. “That Shannequa gets all the best ones.”

Feeling a bit desperate, Jim and Brian reluctantly trudged to Franko Street. They slowly wandered down the sidewalk, attempting not to gawk at the “ladies” of the night they saw trying to drum up business. Several of the suggestively-dressed women called out to the two handsome men, but both Jim and Brian kept their heads down and kept walking.

Finally, the gumshoes found a safe-looking T-shirt shop and decided to sit down on the steps under the doorway and wait for Shannequa to appear. After carefully dusting off the stairs under the awning, Brian plopped down and took off his hat.

“What do we do now?” he asked, setting his fedora on his knee.

“I guess we sit here and wait for Shannequa,” Jim answered. He sat down beside his friend. “I wouldn’t think she’d be gone that long. I mean, how long could it take?”

Brian grimaced. “So do hookers charge by the hour, or what?”

“I dunno,” Jim said with a shrug. “I’ve never… uhhh… requested one’s services.”

“That’s good to know,” Brian snorted with a teasing grin. “Of course, Sleepyside isn’t exactly known for its ‘ladies of the night’.”

“Unless you count Jane Morgan,” Jim chuckled.

“Nah, she’s not a prostitute; she’s just a slut,” Brian corrected with a smirk.

“True,” Jim agreed with his trademarked crooked smile. Suddenly, he sat up a bit straighter and craned his head toward an approaching taxi-cab.

“Is that ‘shim’?” Brian asked, his gaze following Jim’s.

“I don’t know,” Jim murmured as he watched the back door of the taxi open. He exhaled in disappointment as a platinum blonde stepped out of the vehicle.

After several minutes of fruitless surveillance, Jim rose to his feet and began pacing on the sidewalk around the T-shirt shop. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“So what do we do?” Brian questioned, placing his hat back on his head.

“I don’t know.” Jim stood still and placed his freckled hands in his trouser pockets. After several moments of thought, he turned to Brian and suggested, “How ‘bout we ask around and see if anyone knows her… er, him… er, whatever?”

Brian’s dark brow knotted as he mulled over Jim’s idea. “I don’t know if that’d be wise, Jim.” He cast a few pointed glances at the people who were nearby.

“We could sit here all night waiting for Shannequa to come back,” Jim grumbled. “I think we should ask around and see if anyone knows her. Maybe they could tell us where she lives.”

“I don’t think I want to know where she lives,” Brian admitted, his lips snarled in a disapproving expression. “Let’s just go to the hotel and come back here later.”

“No!” Jim disagreed. “What if we miss her?”

Brian looked at his best friend and sadly shook his head. “Face it, Jim. We’re not detectives. There’s no way we’re going to solve this case.”

“Come on, Bri,” Jim rebuked. “Think positive.”

“Okay,” Brian chortled, “I’m positive we aren’t going to solve this case. Let’s call Jack and tell him we’re sorry but we aren’t making any progress.”

“Call Jack?” Jim’s repeated in a shocked voice. “Brian, we can’t just give up now! That would be rude to just leave Ralph in such an awkward position. It’s not considerate.”

“I’m responsible, not considerate,” Brian pointed out.

Jim’s eyes darted back and forth as he frantically thought of a way to convince Brian to stay. “Well, it’s not responsible, either! And it would be bad manners to just run out on Ralph.”

“What do I care about manners?”

“You may not care about manners, but my tactful sister does,” Jim told him triumphantly. “Honey has Miss Manners’ book memorized.”

“Awww, ‘Miss Manners’ sucks,” Brian snorted, a devilish twinkle in his dark eyes.

Jim’s mouth fell open, revealing an unobstructed view of his tonsils. “I-I-I can’t believe y-you said that,” he sputtered. He was obviously stalling until he could think of a suitable comeback. “I can just see it now.” Jim grandly framed an imaginary headline with his hands as he continued, “Dear Abby, My boyfriend has horrible manners. I don’t think I can go on…”

“Awww, ‘Dear Abby’ sucks, too,” Brian snickered, obviously pleased that his open antagonizing of Jim was making his redheaded friend squirm.

“ ‘Dear Abby’ is one of the most beloved newspaper columns in the United States,” Jim gasped, desperately grasping for any straw he could. “I am aghast that you would say such horrible, nasty things about such a swe—”

“This isn’t about ‘Dear Abby’ or ‘Ann Landers’ or anyone else, and you know it,” Brian interrupted. He looked Jim square in the eyes, and then adamantly stated, “This is about you not wanting to look like a failure in front of Palmer.”

Jim sighed loudly and sat back down beside Brian. His broad shoulders sagged in defeat as he ripped his hat off his head and buried his freckled hands in his dark red hair. “It’s not just about me not wanting to look like a failure in front of Trixie’s ex-boyfriend. I’m not quite that shallow.”

“What?” Brian prompted. “You want to impress Trixie?”

“No, that isn’t it. Well, maybe I want to impress her a little,” Jim admitted with a rueful smile. “But that isn’t the main reason.”

Brian patiently waited another moment for his friend to tell him the aforementioned ‘main reason’, but since he didn’t, he asked, “What? Is it driving you crazy that, for once, you’re not the best at something?”

“No!” Jim argued with a slight edge to his voice. “I don’t care about that.”

“Then what is it?” Brian urged. His Johnson gene kicked in and made him more curious by the minute.

Jim shook his head as he debated telling Brian what he was thinking. It had always been difficult for Jim to reveal his innermost thoughts, even to those closest to him. Finally he decided to bare his heart.

“I’d be lying if I said that I don’t want to impress Jack and Trixie,” Jim told him. “But I guess the main reason that I want to do this is to show Trix how supportive I am of her.”

Brian studied his friend’s face thoughtfully for a moment. In a serious tone he said, “Go on.”

“I know this case was important to her. Apparently, she did a great job in California for Keenan Investigations. Ralph really was depending on her and Honey to find this informant, and you know how Trixie doesn’t like to let anyone down.”

“I know,” Brian murmured with a slight smile. He knew quite well that his little sister was like a dog after a bone when asked to do something.

“I want to solve this case to show her that I understand how important this was to her,” Jim told him. “I want her to know how important she is to me.”

“She knows,” Brian said with a shrug.

“Do you know she knows?” Jim questioned, one eyebrow raised in doubt.

“I know that she knows, but do you know?”

“I know that you can’t know that she knows,” Jim babbled, his tone quite firm.

Brian chuckled as he tried to make sense of the confusing sentence. “You’re starting to sound like Honey.” He gave Jim a friendly punch in the arm. “Don’t worry so much, Jim.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who almost lost the woman you love forever,” Jim told him, the pain of the past events still fresh in his eyes. “I could’ve lost Trixie because of our lack of communication. I’m not going to make that same mistake twice. I not only want to tell her I believe in her and am supportive of her, I want to show her.”

“You have shown her.”

“Not enough. As you probably remember, we were never very supportive of our sisters when they talked about becoming detectives,” Jim admitted. “We were always teasing them about being schoolgirl shamuses and moll dicks.”

“Guilty as charged,” Brian acknowledged with a grin. “But they knew we were joking.”

Jim frowned. “Maybe. You know, I was always secretly impressed with how they solved cases, but I never told them enough because I was afraid of what you, Mart and Dan would think.” He snorted, annoyed with his fifteen-year-old self. “I didn’t want you to know how much I liked your sister.”

“You shouldn’t have worried about that, Jim; we already knew you were in love with Trixie,” Brian snickered. “Half of Sleepyside knew it, too.”

However, Jim was too distracted by his regrets to pick up on Brian’s teasing. “I tried to encourage Trixie, but at the same time, give her a hard time to look tough for your benefit.” He chuckled ruefully and rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I was so stupid.”

“All teenage boys are stupid,” Brian matter-of-factly stated with a shrug.

“You got that right,” Jim agreed. “Why did we think mercilessly teasing the girls would make them like us?”

“I dunno,” chortled Brian, “but we could ask them why they thought shoving us would make us like them more.”

“It did make me like Trixie more,” Jim lamented.

“Who are you kidding, Frayne? If Trixie coughed up a hairball, you’d have thought it was magical.”

“True,” Jim conceded with a wry grin.

“We always knew how you felt about Trixie,” Brian reassured him. “I think she got teased a lot about how you’d do anything she asked and believed anything she said.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when Mart said you’d believe her if she said there was a dinosaur in the shrubs?” Brian offered. “And how you always griped at us to believe her hunches?”

“Well, I had reason to gripe. She was right about 85% of the time…” Jim sputtered. “I mean, sure, sometimes she screwed up and acted impulsively, but eventually she always figured it out.”

“Jim, you’ve just proven my point,” Brian said with a grin. “You’ve always been Trixie’s biggest supporter, and deep down she knew it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’re too hard on yourself, buddy,” Brian interrupted hastily. “That’s part of your problem. You think you have to be perfect.”

“She deserves perfect,” Jim declared, his expression making it obvious that he wasn’t prattling vain sentiments.

Brian’s face softened as he studied his friend. After a moment or so, he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You’re as perfect as they come, Jim.”

Jim looked up at Brian, his green eyes filled with feigned alarm. With a slight grimace on his face, he muttered, “You’ve spent waaay too much time in that gay bar.”

Brian chuckled heartily. “I’m speaking for my sister.” However, a devilish twinkle made his brown eyes sparkle, and he continued with a lisp, “Although now that you mention it, Woody…”

Jim jumped up from the stoop and assumed a fighting stance. “I told you not to call me that!”

With a chortle, Brian stood and stretched his lanky legs. “Come on, Sergeant Friday. We’ve got a drag queen to track down.”

Jim and Brian carefully studied the pedestrians on Franko Street. Before asking any of the “ladies” questions, they wanted to be sure an undercover cop was not watching them. The last thing they needed was to be arrested for soliciting a prostitute.

After several minutes, a late-model Cadillac pulled up to the curb and allowed two women to get out. These females were obviously hookers returning from a job. Once they had gotten out of the vehicle, a man dressed up as Liza Minnelli stopped to talk to them.

Jim elbowed Brian and nodded towards the trio, whose backs were turned to them. “How about we talk to those call girls.”

“Do you think they’ll be safe to talk to?” Brian questioned, his brows furrowed in concern.

“As safe as we’ll find here on Franko Street,” Jim murmured. “At least they aren’t cops. And if they’re talking to that cross-dresser, maybe they know Shannequa Montage.”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “Sounds logical to me.”

After ensuring that no undercover policemen were watching them, Brian and Jim ambled up to the two prostitutes just as Liza walked away. Neither seemed anxious to begin conversation. Jim nodded to the pair, his eyes silently pleading for Brian to step up to them, while Brian waggled his brows to give Jim his cue.

Finally, with an exasperated sigh, Jim nervously cleared his throat. “Ummm… excuse me, ladies, but we were wondering if you could offer us some assistance.”

The two women turned around and, with a practiced eye, began sizing up these potential customers.

“We can offer you anything you want, Handsome,” one of the prostitutes purred, as she batted her large brown eyes and ran a hand through her dark hair. “Any thing, any way, any time.”

Jim choked at the blatant proposition. His cheeks turned a bright red as he attempted to sputter out a response. “I-I… uhhh… we…”

“What my friend is trying to say is we just need to talk to you,” Brian explained.

The other hooker, a curvaceous redhead, sidled over to Brian, her hips swaying seductively. “If you want to spend your hour talking, that’s up to you,” she whispered in a husky voice as she ran her index finger along the lapel of his suit. “But it seems like a shameful waste of time and money…”

Brian’s cheeks turned crimson as he tried to back away from the provocatively clad woman. “You don’t understand,” he squeaked nervously as he peered down at her. However, his gaze fell on her ample cleavage, not so subtly peeking at out from the low-cut halter top the hooker was wearing. He quickly looked up and made sure to keep his eyes above her head. “We… uhhh… we don’t uhhh…”

“You don’t have money?” the ebony-haired call girl inquired incredulously. With raised brows, she appraised the expensive suits the men were wearing. However, the more carefully she examined Jim’s broad shoulders, the less the fee mattered to her. With a sultry smile on her face, she wiggled closer to the russet-haired man, and discreetly writhed against him. “I’m sure, just this once, Peaches and I could make an exception.”

“We have money,” Jim stammered as he tried to step away from the too-friendly hooker. “But I mean… we don’t want to… you know…” His voice lost its deep pitch with the final two words.

“Don’t want to what, Handsome?” the prostitute with dark hair murmured in a silky voice. “Don’t want to…” She leaned closer to Jim and whispered the rest of the sentence in his ear.

Jim immediately flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. He stared at the woman in disbelief. “That would be impossible,” he scoffed in embarrassment.

“I have pictures as proof, if you want to see for yourself that it is possible,” she offered as she unzipped her large tote.

“N-n-no… th-that’s fine,” Jim stuttered in a squeaky voice, as he stepped backward to keep a proper distance between him and the woman.

“You and your friend seem nervous,” the redheaded Peaches said with a come-hither smile. “If you’d come home with Mona and me, I guarantee we can relax you.”

“That’s very nice, miss,” Brian politely replied, “but I have a serious girlfriend, and Jim here is engaged.”

“I won’t tell your girlfriend if you don’t, Tiger,” Peaches promised, teasingly brushing the top half of her body against Brian.

“Didn’t you just get back from a job?” Brian inquired, one dark brow quirked in query.

“Yeah, but that was business.” Peaches winked flirtatiously at him. “This would be pleasure.”

“Having more than one sexual partner per evening can be considered high-risk behavior,” Brian admonished, studying her with his kindly “family physician” expression.

“What?” the hooker burst out with an incredulous laugh.

“Surely you know that your profession increases your chances of contracting sexually transmitted diseases, such as AIDS, herpes, gonorrhea, chlam—”

“Are you for real?” Peaches snorted.

“Miss, STDs are serious business,” Brian told her with a frown. “I don’t know if you’re aware of the risk or not, but more than 15 million people in the United States become infected with one or more STDs each year.”

“Is that so?” Peaches said, a bemused smile on her face.

Brian nodded curtly. “Why yes, it is.”

“How do you know?” Peaches crossed her arms in challenge.

“Because I’m a doctor, that’s why.”

Peaches beamed like a lottery winner as she stared at the handsome physician standing in front of her. “You’re a doctor?”

“Yes.” He looked at the young lady much as a doctor would examine any patient. “Miss, did you realize that the U.S. has the highest STD rate in the industrialized world? Did you know that roughly half of all Americans become infected with an STD before the age of 35?”

“No, I did not know that,” the pretty redhead stated with feigned seriousness. “So uhh… you wanna come back to my place, Dr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome? I got some condoms, since you’re all freaked out about VDs.”

“You use prophylactics with each and every partner, I hope,” Brian lectured, still looking at her much the same as her OB-GYN would.

“Of course I do,” Peaches insisted. However, under Brian’s intense gaze, she buckled and added in a contrite voice, “Well, most of the time…”

“Peaches,” Brian scolded sternly, “you must use a condom each and every time you have intercourse, if you want to lessen your risk of contracting something.”

“I know.” The young prostitute hung her head in shame. “I’ll try and do better from now on.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Brian said as he patted her arm. He continued, his voice sounding like an announcer for a public service commercial. “Remember, abstinence is the only foolproof protection, but if you must have sex, use a latex condom.”

“It has to be latex?” Peaches asked.

“Yes,” Brian affirmed positively. “They are the most effective.”

“Is there any brand you’d recommend?”

“Trojans are good,” Brian suggested. “They’re America’s number one condom, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that,” Peaches answered in bewilderment. “I’m gonna write that name down…” She hastily dug into her bag as she searched for a pen and paper. She handed Brian a red vibrator and a can of whipped cream to hold as she looked for some paper.

Brian slightly grimaced at the risqué objects he was holding, and then added as she scrawled down his instructions, “They make some with spermicide for extra protection against pregnancy. And remember, condoms aren’t foolproof, and there’s still a possibility of contracting some STDs, especially genital herpes and warts.”

“Right,” Peaches nodded, as she chewed on her lower lip.

“If you’d like, you could make an appointment with the local health clinic,” Brian advised her gently. “They could give you some suitable prophylactics to get you started. The clinic could even screen you to make sure you haven’t already contracted something.”

“I’ll make an appointment next week,” Peaches promised.

“That’s good, miss.” Brian sighed proudly, satisfied in the knowledge that he might have saved a life. A moment of panic seized his heart as he wondered how Jim was faring. He cast a fearful glance in his friend’s direction.

“And this is Trixie at her junior prom,” Jim was saying as he held out the photograph section of his wallet.

“Oh, she’s so pretty,” Mona cooed. “That color of blue she’s wearing is just perfect on her. And I love her curls!”

“I like them, too,” Jim told her, a goofy smile parting his lips.

“I bet she spends a fortune on perms,” Mona commented.

Jim shook his head, then informed her, “Nope. They’re natural. She’s not overly fond of them, but I sure am.” He leaned closer to the prostitute, and then whispered, “I like to tug on the one that hangs in the middle of her forehead.”

“How sweet,” Mona sighed.

“And this is her senior picture,” Jim continued, a lovelorn expression on his handsome face.

“Look at those eyes!” the dark-haired hooker exclaimed.

“Aren’t they a gorgeous shade of blue?” Jim hurriedly flipped through his pictures until he found the one for which he was looking. “China blue, I believe they’re called. See how they match this blue bathing suit?”

“Oh, what a pretty place! Where was that taken?”

“Cobbett’s Island,” Jim answered. “We had a great time there as teenagers. And this one was taken at Blackwater Falls…”

“Beautiful,” Mona said. “Hey, why are the girls all one side, standing far away from the boys?”

“It’s a long story…” Jim shook his head. “Oh, here’s a recent one of Trixie and me together. We had this taken after we returned to Sleepyside from LA…”

“You make such a sweet couple.” Mona sniffed back a few tears. “Have you set the date?”

“Not yet, but we will after Brian and I get back from this trip,” Jim answered. At that moment, he looked up and saw that Brian and Peaches had walked closer to him and Mona.

“Everything okay, Bri?” Jim asked in an apprehensive tone.

“Hunky-dory,” Brian replied, trying to hide his amusement. “And you?”

“Just fine,” Jim said with a grin. “I was telling Mona how I met your sister.” He turned back to the prostitute, and said, “You be sure and check about getting that GED like we talked about, Mona. Once you do that, you could apply to a junior college and take some classes.”

“I’ll do it first thing Monday morning,” Mona vowed, tears glistening in her dark brown eyes.

“Well, we’d better go home,” Peaches told them. “Thanks for all your help.”

“No problem,” Brian said with a humble smile.

“I just don’t know how to thank you!” The redhead threw her arms around Brian’s broad shoulders and hugged him exuberantly.

Mona followed suit and tearfully embraced Jim. “I’ll be sure and say hello to my mom for you,” she sniffed when she finally pulled away. “You’ve really shown me the light, Jim. I’m going to call Mama as soon as I get home.”

“It was nice to meet you, ladies,” Jim said, tipping his hat in a gentlemanly fashion.

“Take care,” Brian called as the two reformed hookers jumped into a cab and disappeared down the street.

“Doesn’t it feel good to know that you’ve encouraged someone to change their life for the better?” Brian asked.

“Yes, it does.” Jim sighed in contentment. “Mona ran away from home when she was sixteen. She hasn’t spoken to her mother in over eight years, but she promised to call her when she got back to her apartment.”

“That’s wonderful.” Brian straightened the lapels of his charcoal gray suit. “You know, Peaches is going to the clinic next week to be tested for STDs. That could quite possibly save her life, as well as the lives of all her customers.”

“That’s super, Brian.” Jim gave a proud sniff and adjusted his fedora. “Nothing better than doing a good deed.”

Brian’s broad chest puffed out. “Yeah, it sure feels great,” he agreed with a nod.

“We’re such nice guys for taking time out of our busy schedules to help those misguided prostitutes,” Jim commented with feigned humility, as he adjusted his belt.

“Yes, we are nice guys, aren’t we?”

“Regular Boy Scouts,” Jim added, patting his friend on the back.

“Boy Scouts? Huh!” Brian snorted, patting Jim’s back in return. “We’re Eagle Scouts, my friend.” However, any further comments were halted by a loud yawn.

“Are you tired?”

“A little,” Brian admitted wearily. “I guess it is late.”

Jim had to stifle a yawn of his own. “How about we go on back to the hotel and get an early start back here in the morning?”

“Sounds good to me. You got the cab fare, or do you want me to handle it?”

“I don’t know,” Jim told him as he reached for his wallet. “I may need to find an ATM tomorrow. Let me check and see how much money I have.”

Jim patted the pocket in which he normally kept his wallet; however, nothing was there. He then checked his other back pocket, but found nothing there, either. He muttered in confusion as he stuck his hands in his front pants pockets as well as his jacket pockets.

“What’s wrong?” Brian inquired nervously.

“I can’t find my wallet,” Jim murmured. “I just had it. I was showing Trixie’s pictures to Mona…”

Brian held his breath as Jim did a more thorough search of all his pockets. “Did you find it?”

“No,” Jim answered, confusion apparent in his tone. “I don’t know what could have happened to it…”

“She stole it, Jim!” Brian yelled. He slapped the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Mona took your wallet!”

“No, she wouldn’t do that,” Jim disagreed. “She’s going to straighten up and get her GED and—”

“And she’s going to use your money to do it,” Brian finished with a roll of his eyes. “I can’t believe you were so stupid! How could you just stand there and let her pick your pocket? Didn’t you feel anything?”

“No!”

Brian chuckled ruefully. “Well, at least you’d already lost most of your money to Al. She didn’t get much.”

“No,” Jim retorted sarcastically, “not much at all. Just my credit cards, my debit card, my driver’s license…” He staggered over to the doorway where he and Brian had been sitting earlier. Suddenly he crashed onto the steps in despair.

“She got my picture of Trixie at Cobbett’s Island,” he moaned. “That was the only copy we had, and I have no idea where the negatives are.”

“You should’ve been more careful,” Brian reprimanded. “We’ll call the police as soon as we get back to the hotel. Unless you have your cell phone with you…”

Jim anxiously patted the jacket pocket which should have contained his phone. He gulped noisily, and then admitted, “She got that, too.”

Brian snorted as he held up his hand to hail a taxi. “It’s a good thing you’re with me, my friend. If I wasn’t here, we wouldn’t have any money.” He shook his dark head in amusement as he teased, “A poor, starving intern having to foot the bill for a rich, billionaire’s son. Well, did Mona know anything about Shannequa Montage?”

Jim scratched his chin, and then shrugged his broad shoulders. “I kinda forgot to ask. I was too busy lecturing her to go back to school and call her mom. And then I started talking about Trixie. Did you ask Peaches about ‘shim’?”

Brian shook his head sheepishly. “I forgot, too.”

As a yellow cab pulled to the curb, Brian reached into his back pocket for his wallet. His heart stood still as his hand pulled out nothing but air. With a sick stomach, he discreetly checked his other pockets and much to his chagrin, found nothing there either. Realizing that he had no money to pay the taxi, he motioned for the driver to pull away.

Jim looked up just as the cab drove down the street. “Hey,” he exclaimed, “where’s he going?”

Brian didn’t say anything. Apparently, the crack in the sidewalk at which he was staring was the eighth wonder of the universe.

“Brian?” Jim prompted. “Why did you send the taxi away? How are we going to get back to the hotel?”

Brian remained silent as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Brian?” Jim’s breath caught in his throat as a thought came to him. “Is your wallet gone, too?”

Brian looked at his friend and nodded glumly at him.

The husky redhead buried his face in his hands and groaned in total disbelief. His broad shoulders sagged in defeat as he rose up and leaned against the railing of the steps.

With an exasperated roll of his green eyes, he despondently muttered, “We are sooo screwed.”

Credits:

This is Jixemitri CWP #3. Required elements used here were: someone losing keys (Jim insisted that he didn’t lose the keys; he lost the car!), a slinky (used by one of the drag queens), and a vibrator (Peaches handed a red one to Brian to hold while she looked for something to write with).

Thank you to my editors, Kaye, Kathy, and Steph H! You ladies rock! Each of you make suggestions that really enrich my stories. Big hugs to each of you!

In an ironic twist of fate, Damon and I rented a car for the first time while this was being edited. It had no bearing on the story, but I thought it was amusing.

The Punky Brewster actress in reference was Starla Gaucherié, who Jim and Brian met in Part Three. Punky Brewster was a TV show in the 80’s featuring a young girl who wore wacky clothes and had a dog named Brandon. Ahhh… memories…

Tiki and Laverne are my creations, so I can be as mean to them as I like. *wink* Accusing honorable Jim of falsely reporting a car stolen… HMPH!

Dr. Pepper is a popular soda, which I thought would be perfect for our aspiring physician to drink.

A hefty thank you to Steph who confirmed that my diabolical rent-a-car-claim-it’s-been-stolen rouse is indeed possible and has been done before. (And no worries. We’re NOT planning on stealing the Buick Regal that we rented for vacation. *snort* ) Apparently, in 1995, 487 suspects were arrested, 265 warrants were served, 464 business inspections were investigated, and 1,414 vehicles valued at $18,646,425 were recovered. So Laverne had reason to suspect Jim, although she didn’t know she was dealing with Mr. Honorable himself. *wink*

Janet and Michael Jackson are two famous singers/siblings. I was a huuuge fan of Janet when I was younger, but I’ve never cared much for Michael. And Jim’s opinion about them actually being the same person was a theory I had as a teenager.

Barbra Streisand and Liza Minnelli are famous singers often impersonated by cross-dressers.

Thank you to Steph who used her college Spanish knowledge to translate for me! My Spanish knowledge is limited to: De dondé es el baño *said in a horribly hick accent* and which loosely translates to “Where is your bathroom?”

Boy George was a famous entertainer from the 80’s who was supposedly a man, but looked like a woman. Sort of. Marilyn Monroe is a famous actress who supposedly committed suicide, but yes, I believe in conspiracy theories. *BG*

John Wayne is a famous actor, who was the epitome of manliness. He starred in several cowboy movies.

Carmen Miranda is a famous singer/actress from the olden days, who often wore a piece of fabric wrapped around her head sort of like a turban. She also wore fruit-filled hats a lot, but Dominique preferred the turban to the fruit basket. He was rather picky to dress. He fought frequently with the wardrobe designer for this movie, over his costume details. *sigh*

Jane Morgan is a character from the books, who I didn’t like much. My opinion of her has also been influenced by her appearance in Carol’s Desperado story. So my apologies to any Jane Morgan fans out there. *snicker*

Miss Manners is a famous etiquette expert, and Abby Van Buren and Ann Landers were twin sisters who wrote advice columns in newspapers in the U.S. And for the record, they do not suck. And Brian doesn’t think they suck, either. He was just being ornery. *G*

Teenage boys ARE stupid. But for the record, teenage girls can be, too. And I was no exception, so don’t take that personally. Just remember to be true to yourself, teenagers, and you’ll fare much better!

The “dinosaur in the shrubs” comment was made in Missing Heiress. And thank you to Susan for bringing it up and to MaryC for letting me know where it was. HUGS!!! Thank you to everyone who offered suggestions. I never did find the one I was looking for, but that’s okay because I had trouble working in one reference, so I stopped with it. But another big thanks to all the suggestions!

Woody was a nickname given to Jim by a pink-clad patron in the Funky Monkey during the previous installment. I don’t think he cared for that name too much… *VEG*

If Brian’s STD lecture sounded a bit like a health class lecture, then I did my job as a writer! *G* That’s the effect I was going for.

Trojan is America’s number one condom, by the way. Well, at least according the box…

The reference to Trixie’s blue bathing suit is of course from the Mystery on Cobbett’s Island, which is one of my favorite books and that I read recently. Thank you to Cathy P for the deluxe. {{{HUGS}}}

The reference to Blackwater Falls is a story in my Here and Now universe that’s being written. If you haven’t noticed yet, I adore giving teasers. J

And I hated making Mona and Peaches so devious, but for the sake of the story, I HAD to… I have many evil plot twists up my sleeve, dear readers. Mwah-ha-haaa!!!