A Susan Slutt Mystery: Peril Over the Carport

Breathlessly, the three girls ran toward the crash, praying there would be survivors. Yet to their surprise, though the plane looked mangled beyond all repair, they saw three passengers alight with nary a hair out of place, as if nothing had happened.

“Well done, Tony!” said the first, a striking young blonde woman wearing the smart, crisp uniform of a flight stewardess.

The second passenger exiting the plane was dressed the same as the first, only instead of being blonde, she had an unruly head of red curls. “Yeah, ducks, way to go!”

The third passenger coming behind them -- who had clearly been the pilot of the plane -- was dressed identically to the first two, except where the blond and the redhead wore smart stewardess hats, this passenger wore a pilot’s cap. This person also had short, thick brown hair and, oddly enough, a handlebar mustache that was the biggest Susan, Ashleigh, or Butch had ever seen, easily three feet long from curled tip to curled tip.

“Ta!” the blonde stewardess was saying to the three girls, walking over with her hand extended. “‘Allo! I’m Shirley Flighty. These are my friends, Wendy Morehead” -- as she said this Shirley pointed to the redhead -- “and Tony Suckworth. We are ever so delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“Are you all right?” Susan asked, her concern for the three crash victims overriding her excellent breeding and manners and momentarily causing Susan to forget to introduce herself to the trio.

“That must have been a terrifying ordeal,” Butch added sympathetically.

But the flight stewardesses were laughing. “That? Blimey, that’s nothing,” Shirley replied. “We’ve crashed our plane so many times it’s old hat to us by now! Why, we crashed in the desert over Saudi Arabia, we crashed into the ocean near a deserted island in the Pacific, we’ve crashed at Heathrow Airport --”

“Don’t forget the time I crashed in the Congo,” Wendy Morehead interrupted.

“That’s right-o,” Shirley said. “And of course we’ve been forced to ditch the plane in the wilds of Australia, in the frozen tundra of Canada, off the coast of Africa ...”

“I can’t believe how much you’ve crashed!” Butch exclaimed. “You must have the most incompetent pilots working today!”

Shirley Flighty’s eyes blazed. “You take that back!” she spat. “If it wasn’t for the skill of our pilots, we wouldn’t keep surviving these constant crashes. After all, what’s a more important skill for a pilot, the ability to fly and land a plane without incident or the ability to handle an emergency when the pilot incompetently flies into a hurricane, or a typhoon, or a nor’easter, depending upon what part of the world we’re in?”

Susan couldn’t argue with that logic, so she tactfully changed the subject. “I just love your uniforms!” she said. “They are such a striking shade of fluorescent orange. What airline do you work for?”

“Tranny Continental Airlines,” Tony Suckworth spoke up. Susan was surprised such a deep, manly voice emanated from someone whose legs were as smooth as a baby’s bottom. “We’ve just started daily flights from London to Porkerville. Since all of the blue law crackdowns in England, the porno palaces and houses of ill repute here have made Porkerville a hot tourist destination!”

“We’re just ‘appy to be ‘ere!” Wendy exclaimed, a wide smile on her face.

Ashleigh was amused. “My, my, my,” she murmured, “I do declare, I’ve never heard such a funny way of talkin’ in all my life, fiddle-dee-dee!”

Shirley Flighty turned to Susan. “Well, if I were to guess, luv, you must be Susan Slutt.”

“How do you know that’s Susan Slutt?” Butch asked incredulous.

“Easy, silly,” Shirley replied. “Her father gave us a perfect description of her. Let’s see, how did he put it? ‘Flawless skin, ravishing titian-colored hair, gargantuan breasts, peek-a-boo bra and panty set ...’ I’d say he didn’t do you justice, dearie, but I’m no dyke, am I?” she added with a laugh.

Susan smiled. It was evident Shirley was no dyke -- she was English, after all, not Dutch.

“Well, I am!” Wendy Morehead spoke up. “Despite me last name, I prefer muffdiving over knob-jobbing any day o’ the week!”

“That’s good to know,” Ashleigh said as she idled closer to Wendy.

“Hmph,” Tony Suckworth sniffed. “You don’t know what you’re missing, Wendy. There’s nothing I like more than gettin’ some bangers with me mash!”

Susan smiled. These British people certainly had a colorful way of talking!