Where you been, Barlowe? asked Art.

Just another case. Say, you’ve smartened the place up.

Yeah, we tore down the ladies’ saloon and built a snazzy food bar.

Looks like the bees’ knees to me. Real swell. What’s the speciality?

GARLIC PRAWN CUTLETS.

I know you cannot hit a pal, not unless you are a low life…..

That doesn’t mean that the desire is not there, even for Barlowe, PI.

I climbed the Thirty Nine Steps to KJ’s office.

Not there!

Where was this babe?

Leeton, they told me.

I had made it in time.

So I left a note:

KJ, DO NOT GO ON AIR AFTER EATING SEAFOOD.

In the foyer I encountered, guess who? The Babe with the Legs that Make Nightmares. She was clutching a parcel of prawn cutlets.

The game’s up, kiddo. Where you’re going you’ll be lucky to have a fried tadpole from the prison farm pond.

I snapped on the cuffs.

BUT I LOVE YOU BARLOWE, NOT AS A PI BUT AS A MAN!

I gave her the eye, colder than a Frigidaire.

Sure, you do, baby, like those poor suckers like the cutlets.

Take that dame away, officer.

Sure, Barlowe. Sure.

And take those damned cutlets with her and put them through Forensic.

This was bigger than big.

Alas, I had taken a delicious morsel myself.

First time ever I encountered a Prawn Mickey Finn.

So it was I found myself passed out on the road en route from Cooma to Sydney.

Was I too late to make it to the SCG? It was Thirty Nine Steps all over again, but this time the steps were to the Members’ Pavilion.

I turned on Grandstand to discover that a beautiful woman was about to present the Prawn Award to Ponting.

That poor dope. Did he not realise that while the Aussies were scoffing Gatorade and KFC the poor Pakis were dining on Poisoned Prawns!

No wonder they snatched defeat from the jaws of victory….

I knew who that beautiful dame was. I could imagine the crowd goggling at the Legs that Could Launch a Thousand Hips.

My head was ringing like an SP bookies’ office on a Saturday, but I decided to press on to Sydney.

It was time to have a head to head with this demon of a dame and her cult.

I cleaned my biretta. Just as well, because it stank of fish oil.

OK, baby, two can play at that game. Nobody, I mean nobody, plays Barlowe, PI, for a punk….

The road ahead was littered with prawn shells. I was on the right trail, like a hound dog.

I found my cell phone and called G.I.N. German, Code Breaker.

He directed me to an address in Ultimo.

Could it be the Thirty Nine Steps to KJ’s office? Was this dame of diabolica trying to recruit the ABC top crime reporter to the Cult?

If so she’d be in more strife than Flash Gordon….

To be continued……

Not unless you believe Mahler was a music crazy on the right track, or that evolution will produce the shell-less prawn, sooner or later.

When I saw Peter, the revolt-rural, on his hunger-strike pole I was reminded that the country feeds us.

Around his protest there were many temptresses offering him offerings…PRAWN CUTLETS! On sticks.

Cooma produces many things. Prawns are not among them.

‘Come down,’ they cried. ‘Let’s PRAWN PARTY.’

Peter was having none of it.

From his persecutory position he sang:

The Yabbie is a holy critter
That goes in salad or a fritter
Not like reffo prawns, the quitters….

A temptress offered Barlowe, PI, a Cutlet.

I confess, I accepted.

After the worst pscho-chem nightmare since Ponting won the toss I awoke with a cool dame, but I had no time to lose.

‘The Test! Get cool baby. Empty your purse. Sydney Cricket Ground is next stop. Taxi!’

To be continued……

They were all on the left of the highway leading to Cooma.

Some low lifes were obviously trying to beat Barlowe, PI to the punch. I had to get there, fast, real fast so I pressed down hard on the loud pedal.

To be continued…..

It should be Heritage listed. Mark Taylor( cricketer) lived there).

KJ has been there, I’ve been to a party there. It was central to the Retro Virgin trade of leeton.

Dear Muza,

KJ.

Some character somewhere along the line had come the raw prawn.

NOBODY does that to Barlowe, PI. No way, nowhere, no how…..

I thought of that dame who had wandered into my life. What’s her game?

Could this be a national or international scam by low lifes like the Shrimp Scam I uncovered in LA light years ago?

That dame was always on my mind, just like those legs that could launch a thousand hips. Boy, was she the goods.

But I was as wary as a coyote sniffing at a trap.

There’s something really darn FISHY about this whole Crustacean Caper.

It doesn’t smell right.

Maybe the dice were loaded. I took a quick snort of JB, turned off the Mahler, jumped into the jalopy and headed for Cooma……

To be continued…..

LEETON: PRAWN CAPITAL OF THE RIVERINA.

We come out of our shell to welcome you!

*Ed’s note: More king prawn cutlets taken last night. Venue: Hong Kong Restaurant, Pine Avenue. Rating: ****

Dear The Dude,

I CANNOT fly but have secured a lift with a real honey, honey. KJ.

This is what happens when people don’t know Bradman’s batting average.

Dear The Old Carnt,

The feeling around Leeton is: Why try to win a game of cricket if you aren’t allowed to have celebratory beers? KJ.