THE MILE HIGH CLUB

No wonder Kinky Friedman is feeling a little agitato. Khadija Kejela, his lissome seatmate on the flight home from Dallas, has vanished without a trace except for the bag she asked him to hold. And while the country musician/sleuth is still staring at the pink imitation-leather satchel—“left over,” as his off-again girlfriend Stephanie DuPont sniffs, “from the Louie Vuitton Death March”—he gets calls from American Airlines and the State Department’s Office to Combat Terrorism looking for Khadija, both claiming to have her luggage. It’s clearly a dangerous situation—so dangerous that Kinky decides to forget about it and help his buddy, freelance journalist Mike McGovern, field test private eye Steve Rambam’s new surveillance equipment by following Stephanie and listening in on the sweet nothings her date is murmuring. By the time Kinky and his Vandam Street Irregulars, awash in Jameson’s and their trademark nitwit patter, have mellowed out enough to turn their attention to the pink bag and its dire contents, it’s disappeared. But it’s still being sought by Khadija, by the feds, and by a bunch of impatient, gun-toting terrorists from every corner of the funny pages who leave behind on Kinky’s toilet a gruesome reminder of what happens to innocents who are too brain-dead to play ball with them.

No mystery to speak of, and the digressions, though often hilarious, don’t rise to the sublime heights of Spanking Watson (1999). But the Kinkster’s loyal fans won’t rest until they see whether their hero gets left holding the bag.