The perfume in the room was suffocating, almost to the point of being lethal. The four women seated on the large sofa ranged in age from a few years past puberty to several years beyond menopause. They all looked beautiful if you didn't get too close. Their makeup was so thick it could have been painted on their faces by the drip artist, Jackson Pollock. The ladies' names were Tonya, Ursula, Flossie, and Markiska. I liked the youngest one, Markiska. She just seemed too young to be in that kind of business. I was the only gentleman in the room.
They were no ladies, and I'm no gentleman. I'm a P.I., that is, a private investigator inquiring about the disappearance of Wanda Oleski, one of their business partners. Wanda's husband reported her AWOL the previous night. He said she didn't arrive home from her day job which he said was as a waitress at the Sugar and Spice Café.
He said his name was Pawel. "She never comes home late," he told me. "She's afraid of the dark, you see."
I soon found out that Sugar and Spice wasn't a restaurant.
Ursula, the oldest one, seemed to be in charge. She greeted me with a familiar rhetoric of compliments. "The moment you walked in here, sir, I knew you are a man of distinction, a man with good taste, otherwise you would be with those dirty whores down the street instead of visiting our fine establishment." She spoke with a thick accent. "Flossie, get this handsome man a drink. What will it be, sir."
"Bourbon, neat."
"Flossie, give this man our best bourbon, no ice, no water."
"Yes mother," Flossie replied.
"Would you like Flossie with that, sir? I mean neat, straight up?"
The only thing straight up was between my legs. I couldn't keep my eyes off of Markiska who wore a blouse with considerable cleavage and lots to show for it. The "Guess Your Weight" carnie at an amusement park would guess that most of Markiska's weight was packed inside her blouse. Her long lean legs and dazzling smile completed her sexy ensemble.
"Maybe you prefer to spend some time with someone young like Markiska?"
"Maybe I would. Is she a relative too?"
"Of course. We're all family here. She's my niece, Wanda's daughter."
I took a gulp of their cheap whiskey and said, "Yes, I see. That's what I'd like to talk with you about. I came here to see Wanda."
"Oh, so you know Wanda? I don't remember you from before."
"No, I never met her. She came with the highest recommendation from a friend of mine. I'd like to meet her. Can you tell me where she is?"
"Well, no. Today is her day off. Maybe if you come back tomorrow, she can show you a good time, but then, all of us can do that for you."
I thanked her and said that I'd check back later. Leaving the house with Markiska fantasies, it was time to look for a nearby tavern for a couple of beers to chase down the bitter aftertaste of the whiskey. The truth is, I didn't need that as an excuse to enjoy a drink.
A small Polish tavern hidden behind the corner of Belmont and Central was only a block away from Sugar and Spice. They served lunch and Żywiec on tap, the famous Polish beer. It suited my taste and budget perfectly.
I'd been there for nearly an hour when Tonya walked in the door. She was a woman in her early to mid-thirties, tall, almost six feet, with dark passionate eyes and fair, almost a pale complexion. Tonya sat at the bar talking to the bartender who seemed to know her well. Tonya didn't notice me or maybe she chose not to recognize me.
I was on my third beer and had finished a plate of kielbasa and pierogi when I sat at the bar next to her. She was speaking Polish to the man behind the bar when I caught her eye. "Dzień dobry," I said. 'Hello' in Polish were the only words I remembered from my Army days in Europe.
She answered back, "Dzień dobry. Czy ja cię znam?"
"I'm sorry. I don't speak Polish."
Her eyes glowed with contempt or maybe fear when she asked, "Have we met?"
"No, not exactly but I've seen you around." She didn't ask when or where.
"Are you a cop? You look like a cop."
"No, I'm a P.I.. Can I buy you a drink?"
"Wódka proszę, Jedrzej," she said to the bartender, then she asked, "What's a P.I.?"
I ordered another beer, and told her I was a private investigator. She tossed back the shot of vodka and ordered another.
Tonya wasn't in the mood to talk. More of what she was saying was directed to the bartender. My impression was that Jedrzej was trying to explain to her in Polish what a private investigator did.
"So you snoop around in other people's business," she finally said.
"I don't snoop. I am hired by people to ask questions."
"So you came over here to ask me questions. Is that right?"
"I came here to offer a pretty lady a drink."
"Thank you for the vodka. I've got to get back to work," and she left without another word.
I sat at the bar for awhile longer and asked Jedrzej if he knew Wanda Oleski. He did. "Have you seen her today or yesterday?" I asked.
"She came in last night just before closing. It seemed unusual because Wanda comes in once in awhile but never that late. Some of the independents meet guys here for a drink, then take 'em upstairs for a joyride, but not Wanda."
"Was she with someone, a man maybe?"
"They all come here with a man or lookin' for one."
"Was the man she was with Polish?"
"Maybe, I don't know. I never saw him before. He was like you, a guy that looked tough, although he wore a nicer suit than yours."
"Was she nervous or afraid?"
"Look, mister, this is a bar, not a psychiatrist's office. It was a busy night. I wasn't keepin' track of her."
"Thanks. If you see her, tell Wanda that Pawel is looking for her."
My first stop the next day was to the missing person files at the police station as well as checking on recent murders. It surprised me that Wanda wasn't on the police blotter. Apparently, her husband hadn't contacted the police. It was time to find out why.
I rang the doorbell at Pawel's house and waited for what seemed like an hour in the cold Chicago rain waiting for the door to open. When it did, Pawel was dressed like a Sumo wrestler, almost naked except for skimpy European style briefs. He seemed uneasy when he saw me. "Can I come in?" I asked while brushing past him.
"Look, Mr. Bradley, I'm busy," he said. I could see why. A girl was lying naked on the bed in the next room.
"I'll be just a minute although Wanda will be wondering why you've been playing house while she's away."
"It's none of your business, Bradley. I didn't hire you to spy on me."
"Fine, but answer me one question before I leave."
"What's that?" he asked apprehensively. "Are you here to say you've found Wanda, or is it about Markiska and me? It's not what you think, Bradley."
"I haven't found Wanda, and it's not about you fucking your daughter, although it does raise some questions that would have interesting answers at the police station. I want to know why you didn't report Wanda missing to the police?"
"Wanda and I came from Poland with the help of friends. We had to get out of Poland. It was too dangerous to stay. I really can't tell you if we have all the right papers or not. I don't think so. Our sponsors might have taken a few liberties with the immigration rules. So, as you can see, I can't talk to the police."
"So, you're an illegal."
"You catch on quick, Bradley. I needed help finding Wanda without getting the police involved. You can imagine that coming from a Communist country. It's hard to trust the police."
"This isn't Poland, sir. This is the United States, and we do things differently here."
"Maybe," he said. "Is that all?"
"That's it for now, but I'll be keeping in touch."
I was back at Sugar and Spice in the afternoon. Neither Wanda nor Markiska were there to greet me but Tonya was. In fact, unlike the day before, Tonya was friendly and talkative when seeing me. It must have been her business persona. "Hello, Mr. P.I. It's nice to see you again."
"Do you have a moment to spend with an old friend?" I asked.
"If you're the friend, I've got plenty of time. You drink bourbon, straight up. Isn't that right?"
"No thanks, Tonya. My stomach is still recovering from yesterday's best whiskey that Flossie gave me."
"Maybe some vodka or schnapps?"
"No thanks."
"Well, then, maybe you'd like me to show you around."
I followed her to a bedroom decorated like from a palace in Paris. It had French mirrors, gilt furniture, silk curtains, and a king size bed with an assortment of pillows. The room would have looked elegant if it wasn't for the red walls and crimson bedspread. The mirror overhead was a nice touch.
"Make yourself at home, P.I. while I get ready." She wore too much makeup and the perfume was strong enough to aromatize the Taj Mahal. It's easy to overlook a woman's minor flaws when she's dressed like a prince's mistress, wearing nothing but fishnet stockings held up with a black lace garter belt and stiletto heels. She was beautiful in an ethnic sort of way. I was mesmerized by her gorgeous body that hadn't yet suffered the ravages of middle age. Tonya's breasts were pear-shaped, firm and begging to be held. Her pussy was neatly shaved in a 'V' pattern like a one-way street sign. It begged for my attention.
"You seem distracted, P.I. Is something wrong?"
"I'm always distracted when looking at a naked woman. And call me Cliff."
"Maybe if I help you out of your clothes, Cliff, we can be distracted together."
"In a minute sweetheart. First, do you remember yesterday when you said I was a snoop? You were right about that. It's just that right now I need to do some snooping before we do the Good Time Polka."
"I'm sorry, Cliff, I don't play the accordion."
"Sit over here, Tonya, and maybe you can sing for me."
"I don't have much of a voice for that."
"Don't worry about your voice, just so you sing it straight and stay on tune."
"What do you want me to sing?"
"Wanda. Something about your sister Wanda. Where is she?"
"I don't know where she is, Cliff."
"You're singing out of tune, Tonya. This isn't like an opera where the jealous sister betrays her sibling in the final aria. Pawel is worried and needs to know if his wife is safe."
"Ha ha ha," Tonya sneered. "Pawel? Wanda's husband? Now that's a joke. Whoever told you that?" She laughed again. I had never been accused of being a comedian, so I had to find out what was amusing her."
"Perhaps I was misinformed," I said.
"Pawel isn't Wanda's husband or married to any of us. He's a pimp."
"Go on."
"We escaped from Poland in '39 just as the Nazi's invaded our country. Wanda, Ursula and I were all young brides and our husbands were officers in the Polish army. They helped us get transport to Switzerland just as the German's overran our town. We were not welcome in Switzerland or anywhere in Europe. Wanda was pregnant with Markiska, and we had nowhere else to go but America. The three of us had saved some money, barely enough to get to here. When the war started, it was the last we heard from our husbands. In 1941 we finally made it to Chicago. There are as many Poles here in Chicago as in Warsaw, so it is a good place for us. We had no money and were terribly poor. If it wasn't for the Catholic church helping us, we wouldn't have survived.
"We worked as domestics, housekeepers, and maids, until we met Powel. He said we were pretty and could make a lot more money by dating rich men. We trusted Pawel, so here we are dating men."
"So you've been dating men for about fifteen years."
"No. We started working for Pawel four or five years ago."
"Where does Flossie fit in?"
"She's our cousin. Flossie introduced us to Pawel. I can't tell you much more than that. Let's do that polka."
I couldn't refuse. Before the afternoon was over, she taught me the Mazurka and the Polonaise along with the polka, never touching the floor. I taught her how to do the horizontal foxtrot.
On the way home, I stopped for a few beers and talk with Jedrzej. "Has Wanda come in?"
Jedrzej ignored my question and served the beer. "I asked, have you seen Wanda?"
"Sorry, I can't help you there."
He seemed nervous and illusive. "Well, maybe someone else has been askin' about her."
"Listen, dick, this ain't no confessional, and you ain't no priest."
"I don't wanna hear your sins, pal, but then perhaps you have a guilty conscience that needs some Hail Mary's."
He refilled my beer glass and said, "Look, I like Wanda. She's a nice lady. No way I'm gonna snitch on her. Go ask her daughter."
I headed to the office the next day. Songbird, my secretary, was in the office polishing her nails. Her name is Stella but Songbird suits her better. She used to sing at Kelly's until Kelly's speakeasy closed down. The Pleasure Palace upstairs moved west of downtown when prostitution was frowned upon in the Loop. That's what you get when electing a reformer for a mayor. Anyway, Stella and I go way back. She had married a piano player at Kelly's. It didn't work out. I was glad to have her back in the office. It's hard to imagine not having her around, although I'd like her better if she didn't change her hair color with the seasons.
Songbird said, "Cliff, there's a girl in your office," as I thumbed through the bills and ads. "She's been waiting for over an hour. I told her not to wait, but she was insistent and wouldn't leave."
"What's her name?"
"She didn't say."
The squeal of the door hinges were as shrill as Pat Pieper announcing "Play Ball!" at Wrigley Field. The sound startled the girl as I came through the door. She turned to look at me. "You need some oil on that," she said.
"We're short on oil these days. It's needed oil since I moved in."
"When was that?" she asked.
"Before you were born. Hello Markiska."
"Surprised?" she asked in a sultry voice.
That wasn't all that was sultry. She was dressed the same as when I first saw her at Sugar and Spice. The word 'alluring' didn't do her justice. On the other hand, I liked her better the second time when I had seen her at Pawel's place. Naked seems less formal.
"Yes, I am surprised, but then I don't need any more Girl Scout cookies."
"I'm not selling cookies, P.I. and as you might remember, I'm hardly a girl scout."
"Yes, I remember unless you and your aunts were having a girl scout meeting at Sugar and Spice."
"Well actually we were waiting for some boy scouts when you marched in asking for my mom, but you ain't no boy scout."
"Thank you for the compliment. Why are you here and how did you find me?"
"I heard you talking to Pawel when you were in the apartment, so I knew you were some kind of a detective. Tonya said you were asking questions yesterday and gave me your name. It's Cliff Bradley, isn't that right?"
"That's what it says on the door. Now, are you here in a working capacity?"
"Yes and no."
"You mean maybe."
"Yes, maybe."
"Okay, where do you want to start?"
"I want you to tell me where my mother is. Pawel won't tell me anything."
"That's because I haven't found her. You might be able to help us. Have you heard from her since yesterday?"
"Mr. Bradley, I didn't come here to be questioned. I just wanted you to tell me where she is. Maybe I can think of something that will help by tomorrow. Come to S&S this time tomorrow. You might feel more comfortable there."
It's hard to turn down offers like that. I was starting to feel more comfortable already.
I helped her with her coat and showed her out through the door whose squeal reminded me that it needed help, and I needed a drink. The bottle of Jim Beam in my desk drawer took care of one of 'em.
The rest of the day was spent checking with the Polish Consulate and the Immigration Office. I was looking for a male, between fifty and sixty, six feet tall, and wearing a thin mustache. I wrote down a list of names. Anyone that spoke good English or had a higher education were at the top of the list. There were dozens of Polish men fitting that description.