DETECTIVE Furtwangler trots onto the scene, brandishing the fork like a dowsing wand, Raleigh's hankie tangled in the tines.

Mahalia's bent ninety-degrees forward over the hood of the SUV, and is having her inner thighs ransacked with great thoroughness.

"What do we got?" asks the detective, as if he didn't know.

The female cop, over-excited, reports with Nazi-click of the heels. "Suspicion of solicitation! Sir!"

"Lemme go," says Mahalia, "and I'll tip you off about the lair of a evil serial killer, right here in the neighborhood."

"That makes eight evil serial killer lairs this month," says Detective Furtwangler, "on this block alone. What is it, a running joke between you and your girlfriends?"