Meat, this surreal erotic thriller is set in a flesh-filled and violence-prone butcher shop. A large, lustful butcher, used to living out his sexual fantasies in the shop, becomes interested in Roxy, his young female apprentice. The girl, documenting everything with a video camera, enthusiastically gets involved with him. But when the butcher is murdered and a police inspector, who looks exactly like the dead butcher, investigates the crime, the story takes on a dreamlike quality. A visually explicit, beguiling tale – think Peter Greenaway’s The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover, meets Gaspar Noé’s Carne by way of Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Delicatessen.
Mondo spends a very long time luxuriating in the shower, before she emerges squeaky-clean. Toulon is waiting for her on the bed.
Toulon enjoyed wearing the girl a lot. Not as much as niffin, but still it was an extraordinary wear. Now, she will have to “procure” another suit-of-clothes. Toulon is sober and dressed for work. Flats. Ugly support stockings. Sternka, sternns, a Kaye, her Parts, perls, prudz, and no underwear if you don’t count her strap-on as underwear. With her being a Crone, her hair is geriatric, and thus streaked grey and a “dirty” white bordering on grey. Heavy, harsh makeup. Vain and envious to a tee, she craves that Mondo were still wearing that disfiguring makeup.
Mondo shows no evidence whatsoever of having been worn, let alone worn as hard as she was. She gets dressed in her usual outfit. As if she’s a twenty-something Borg-Vampire version of Sarah Louise Palin. Careys. Bare legs. Her grune yanked back up into a sternka, i.e., a grune-sternka. Elster readers with Miles Kimball eyeglass chain, i.e., elster-miles. Koo. Bra and panties. Prudz. Non-geriatric yellow blonde hair. Bolshoi that is again subtly-applied, beguiling, and most becoming—the no makeup barely-there makeup look—i.e., bolshoi-bare. She’s completely reset in look and personality. Although, being a serial kaller, her real personality is pretty much Slut’s personality anyways.
Post script. When you’re no longer a wearable. The “hooks” [of being worn] remain afterwards. These hooks are the backdoor Toulon exploited to take Mondo, 48 hours ago.
“Tell me about Councilwoman Marshall.”
Mondo sits beside Toulon on the bed. They briefly French kiss. Acutely aware of the time. Both need to be somewhere else very shortly.
“We have four heads of security, officially. Councilwoman Marshall was the de facto fifth. She was very paranoid. Didn’t trust anyone. But. She was brilliant at finding holes in our security.”
“Like the niffin one?”
“You just answered my question.”
“I … emphatically … did … not.” Translation: Bullshit! I did not!
“Deductively speaking, you did.”
“Where is this going?” Toulon asks, suspiciously.
“If I were Sherlock Holmes, which I’m not. I might further deduce that the niffin ban was the reason for Councilwoman Marshall’s untimely and violent demise.”
Mondo’s thinly-veiled accusation spurs Toulon’s mercurial temper to the forefront. She speaks before she thinks through what she’s about to say and how’s she’s about to say it. Her heart rather than her head chooses her words and their tone.
“Are you implying that I had something to do with killing Penny?! And that my motive was her authorship of the ban on the wearing of niffin in the LC?! That Houdini was the tip of the spear and I was the hand that wielded it, so to speak?!”
Mondo’s next words are as cold and detached as Toulon’s were molten-hot and personal. In her anger, Toulon slipped up and inadvertently called Councilwoman Marshall the familiar of Penny.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Mondo pauses for effect. “When someone is murdered you look at those closest to the victim for your first suspects. As a Skinwalker who craves to wear niffin and as her forbidden love who obviously would have felt betrayed by her proposing of the ban, you had the strongest motive to either kill Councilwoman Marshall by your own hand or hire someone like Houdini to kill her.”
“Yes, I crave wearing niffin. I freely admit it. But. Your statement that Councilwoman Marshall and I were an item … I deny that.”
“Your very strong emotional reaction, plus your Freudian slip of calling her Penny, confirms my suspicion that you two were an item. And, for obvious reasons of caste and station in life, you two kept it hush-hush, just like you’d be expected to—the councilwoman and her dirty secret. Every one of us has our place in supernatural society and we’re expected to keep it at all times.”
Toulon reins in her emotions. She’s no longer wearing them on her sleeve. A much cooler head has finally prevailed.
“Loyal to a fault. Excellent. Because such a public disclosure would smear her reputation.”
“You’re a smart girl. By denying everything and doing nothing adverse to me as part of a cover-up, you insure there’s no confirmation of your elicit relationship with her.”
“What an odd pair you must have been. A Skinwalker and a girl was paranoid to the nth degree. As a couple, you would have had to be very careful and discreet to evade discovery.”
“Unfortunately, for the deceased and for you, the mere appearance of impropriety is the same as an act of improbity, in this situation. All I have to do is whisper my suspicion in the right ears after having planted some contrived evidence, and the smear will be a done deal.”
“You manipulative kunt.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Go ahead try and to frame me. I’ll discredit any evidence you manufacture against me. And. I’ll go to the grave denying that Councilwoman Marshall and I were ever a couple.”
Mondo smiles mischievously.
“On second thought. I’ve decided that your relationship with the victim is not germane to the case.”
“But you want something in trade to keep it that way?”
“No, I don’t. But. I would like to continue our relationship. No strings attached.”
“And if I say I will never use you again?”
Mondo drops her “bad cop” act. Not that her “good cop” act is much different.
“That’s my loss. No hard feelings.”
Toulon looks Mondo directly in the eyes and believes her.
“Because of your slanderous accusation, I will use you much harder, the hardest I ever have, from now on when I use you.”
“That’s a deal. I look forward to it.”
“And, for the record, I maintain that Councilwoman Marshall and I were not lovers.”
“Duly noted.” Again, Mondo employs a strategic pause. “I have a question.”
“My enslavement was supposed to be unbreakable.”
“A very poor choice of words.”
“My erasure and imprinting was, in effect, permanent. You intended that my enslavement would be unbreakable.”
“A much better choice of words.”
“I still haven’t asked my question.”
“I’m a serial kaller. You noticed that?”
“Additionally, I’m a secondary sociopath and a textbook sadeo-masochist. You noticed that, also?”
“That’s two questions.”
“That’s three questions. I only agreed to answer one.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Bottomline. You employed what amounts to Id sequencing on someone of my ilk. Someone who’s own Id is more or less that of the pseudonym’s.” Another pregnant pause by Mondo. “What gives?”
“You ask that like I had a choice in the matter.”
“We’re all slaves to our teachers and our betters.”
Mondo’s somewhat cryptic response tells Toulon that Mondo has correctly read between the lines. So. Toulon responds in kind.
“Ain’t’ that the truth, sister?”
Now, Mondo knows for sure why in the bedroom of a Pango there stands a special, enchanted wardrobe which the current occupant of this apartment should have no bloody use for. No storage use for that is.
The presence of that wardrobe …
That wardrobe is the reason why after having been extensively worn in the most depraved fashion by a Pango who has an unsurpassed talent for enslavement, she is now and forever will be the investigative equal of a cross between Batman the caped crusader and Sherlock Holmes the gifted amateur detective, and she’s possessed of all of their attendant eccentricities. The most profound and twisted eccentricities of which she already possessed before her being worn by Fraulein Toulon.
The powers-that-be needed a much better detective. She is now such a person, and forever will be. And she’s permanently at their disposal. Literally. At their beck and call.