Where's Wanda? free porn video

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.

My appointment with Markiska was in the afternoon the next day. She smiled when I arrived, and led me to a room that looked familiar since I had spent some time there with Tonya.

"What have you got for me, darling?" I asked lighting a cigarette.

"The day before you came here asking about my mom, a man about your age asked for Wanda. Mom wasn't feeling well, so she was at home. Ursula told him that Mom wasn't here and said I was her daughter and would be happy to help him. I took him into one of our rooms and started to undress. He was sort of rude. The man grabbed me and pushed me on the bed. I just thought he liked doing it rough, but that wasn't it.

He scared me and wanted to know where my mom was. I didn't tell him at first. He got really rough and twisted my arm. It hurt so I told him about Pawel's place. I didn't see him or Mom after that. I think he kidnapped her or something."

"What did he look like?"

"He was a little taller than you, tough looking with a mustache and scar near his left temple. He wore a nice suit and a wide tie. The knot seemed too small for the tie."

"Was he Polish?"

"I'm not sure. He had a slight Chicago accent, but it was hard to tell if he was Polish."

She gave me a light kiss on the lips. "I like you P.I." Then she came back and made it a proper kiss, a passionate kiss. "Do you like me?" I took that as a rhetorical question. It was obvious to me that we weren't going to the prom until I had more dancing lessons.

I don't know what she called it, but it wasn't a waltz and wasn't in three-four time. The army called it double time but this was faster, much faster. Whatever it was, my heart was keeping time with the tempo. I had misjudged the difference in our ages. Age matters when you're fucking a young woman.

We both were drenched with sweat when we finished. If Markiska was sexy naked, she was even more so with a flushed face and droplets of perspiration streaming down her breasts. I was just a middle-aged man out of breath.

"That was nice, Cliff. You have a nice kutas. It's really fat like a good Polish sausage. I hope you don't mind, but I've got a 2:30 appointment and need to take a shower. Maybe we can get together when you find out something."

"One more thing, doll. I need a picture of your mom."

"I think Pawel has one. Check with him."

After two visits at Sugar and Spice, my wallet was a lot lighter, but there was still enough beer money to help me recover from interrogating Markiska. Then I checked in with Songbird. Stella was putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She had nothing new to report except to say, "I've got a gig at the Blue Note. Ya wanna take me there?"

"Sure but I can't stay. There's a pawn missing in the chess game I'm playing, and I think Pawel might be holding it."

It was quarter past nine when I stumbled out of Jedrzej's place to pick up Stella. I was hoping the man Markiska described might drop back in the bar with Wanda. They didn't show. If I hadn't spent quality time with Markiska that afternoon, I would have been tempted to go upstairs with one of the "independents," as Jedrzej called them. Three of the women were there for more than a casual drink. Tootsie was by far the most popular girl propositioning customers. She was young, hardly twenty, buxom, blonde, and flirtatious. Each time going upstairs with a john, she or another hooker came to the bar to get a key from Jedrzej , then returned it with a twenty dollar bill. He had a nice arrangement with the ladies, and took in a couple of hundred while I sat at the bar. Half of it was from Tootsie.

It was nearly ten when Songbird came on stage. She looked great. Songbird always looked great on stage. I was her cheerleader even if I was the only one cheering. After two songs, it was time for me to find Pawel, hopefully at home.

There were no clouds, a crescent moon and only a stirring of a breeze that night. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree. I rang the doorbell twice with no response. A third time didn't do the trick either, so I went around back to look in a window that was only partly closed with drapes. I had a front row seat for what appeared to be party time. Flossie was the party favor for three men including Pawel. It didn't seem a good time to ask him for Wanda's photo.

As I watched each man take a turn at groping Flossie's tits, one pulled up her skirt to inspect her panties. He wasn't disappointed. There were none. Flossie opened her legs so that he could explore her youthful charms. He pulled apart her pussy lips, then freelanced with his tongue on her clit while another partygoer pulled off her tank top. Flossie was naked except for her short skirt hiked up past her waist.

Some would call me a Peeping Tom. I prefer to call it undercover work.

Each man helped themselves to her nipples that poked out from two sumptuous mounds. Her face didn't remind me of any whore I'd seen before. She was a China doll, with skin as smooth and blemish free as a baby's. Despite her innocent looks, she knew what to do when the men pulled out their cocks and extended them toward her hands and mouth. Taking turns, she sucked each one while giving the others hand jobs.

The shorter man broke away from the others to find an opening of his own. He made up for being vertically challenged with an enormous erection that found the target between her legs. He wasn't gentle about it, almost brutal. He pushed in all the way in one swift motion, thumping and thrusting hard until cum shot out of him like firing an M1 howitzer. A much taller man became impatient, picked Flossie up like she was his overcoat, bent her over a table and banged into her butt hole with equal intensity. Flossie's imposing tits bounced along the tabletop like a dust rag. Cum streamed down her thighs from the earlier encounter while her ass continued to be punished.

Pawel had a cock that was so hard and purplish, it stood up as of it was searching for something on the ceiling. Precum dripped from its eye and his balls were heavy looking for release. While number two continued to fuck Flossie's ass with incredible exuberance, Pawel stroked his cock in anticipation.

The tall man finally finished with shouts and grunts that were loud enough to start two of the neighbor dogs barking.

Pawel had the Flossie on her knees stuffing his cock down the whore's throat. He was not in a condition to last long. Pawel exploded, bathing her face with an avalanche of hot creamy cum.

With everyone momentarily satisfied, the men lit up cigars and filled their glasses with vodka. Clearly, the party wasn't over. Flossie picked herself up and disappeared in the bathroom. The tallest of the three, momentarily caught my eye. He wore a thin mustache, and it appeared that he had a small scar on the side of his head. He fit Markiski's description but there was a problem. The pieces to the puzzle weren't fitting. It was Pawel who hired me to find Wanda. Why would Pawel be buddies with the mustached man if he was the one who had abducted Wanda? Was this a conspiracy that wasn't going to work out for me?

From what I could tell, the party was far from over, yet this was my chance to have a one on one with the suspect. Peering into the window for the next couple of hours wasn't the best way to spend an evening. Crashing the party wasn't a viable alternative. A beer and a girl seemed like a better idea.

Fifteen minutes later I was asking Jedrzej, "Where's Tootsie?" He smiled and said, "Upstairs. She'll be down in a few minutes. You want something while you wait?"

"Sure, a beer would do. Wait, make that a boilermaker."

It wasn't just a few minutes until Tootsie walked down the stairs with a fat man zipping up his britches. I was on my third boilermaker when she smiled at me, asking if I'd like to buy her a drink. She had a shot of vodka and her hand on my thigh. After what I had seen at Pawel's, I was ripe with desire, and had no intention of playing hard to get.

I walked upstairs resisting the urge to run. She wasted no time once she locked the door behind her. "Sit over there," she told me pointing to a large chair opposite the door. Tootsie pulled off her blouse. She had nice smallish tits. She unbuckled my belt and lowered my pants. Tootsie had the entire length of my cock down her throat while fondling my balls. God those balls ached. I was as hard as a fence post and leaking precum that Tootsie seemed to savor.

"Let's get to it stud," she said and raised her skirt showing me a fully shaved pussy.

My pants were around my ankles when she rolled on a condom, then rubbed a little ointment between her legs. My cock pointed straight at her like a fully loaded gun, cocked, and ready to fire. It fit her like in a well worn holster when she sat on top of me. Thankfully, the drinks downstairs held me back. I lasted longer than would be expected given my state of excitement. She pumped me for long enough to get my money's worth before I fired a round of bullets into the love sock.

"God that was great, Tootsie. I really needed that."

She held out her hand and said, "That will be thirty dollars." We dressed and went downstairs where she began schmoozing another customer.

It was well after midnight when I returned to peek in Pawel's window. They were still at it. Pawel was in her ass, the mustache was in her cunt, and Flossie's mouth was full with shorty's huge cock. I couldn't imagine they could last much longer, neither would Flossie after the pounding she was getting. I decided to wait out in the car until someone left.

I only had to wait a short time when one of them walked out. He wasn't my man. It took five or ten minutes more before seeing mustache leave. He was drunk and walked like a wooden soldier. I opened the passenger side door and told him to get in.

He must have thought I was a taxi because he didn't object. I played along. "Where to?" I asked. He gave me an address. It wasn't far from Sugar and Spice, only a mile north. I parked the car and followed him to the front door.

"What's this? You queer or something?" and swung a fist at my head. I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Let's go inside and have a chat," I said. He was in no condition to resist. He fumbled around to find the keys and unlocked the door letting us both inside. "Sit down and don't move," showing him my .38 to make my point. "We're gonna have a little talk."

I checked several rooms, but there was no sign of anyone in the apartment except for the two of us.

"Where's Wanda?" I barked.

"Wanda? Wanda who?"

"Listen, pal, it's late, and I don't have the patience to play games. Where is she?"

"I don't know who you're talkin' about," he pleaded.

"You've been seen waltzing around the block with her so let's have it." I pointed the gun at his head showing him I was serious.

"You've got it all wrong." he insisted. "She was just a whore I used."

"From the looks of things tonight, you are rather fond of whores."

"That's right. I'm a detective on the vice squad." He showed me his badge.

"Oh really. So that gives you a pass to fuck 'em."

"That's not exactly it. Pawel and I have a business arrangement. He invites me to his parties, and I look the other way at his establishments. It works for both of us."

He went on, "Look, I met Wanda at one of Pawel's parties, you know, like tonight. I liked her, and we spent some time together. She was my favorite. She trusted me and asked me for a big favor."

"Go on."

"Hey, I'm tired, and it's a very long story. The short story is, she's not here. Meet me at the station on West Grand at eleven tomorrow. You might be surprised to find out I'm not such a bad guy after all."

I was tired too and in no mood to hear the long version. We met the next morning.

"You up on your history, dick?" he asked like I'd never made it past the fifth grade.

"Whose history are you talkin' about?"

"World War Two. You might have heard that the Nazis overran Poland in '39. The Polish army put up a good fight for a few weeks until they were overwhelmed by Germany's Blitzkrieg. The captured Polish soldiers were either shot or taken to concentration camps. Wanda's husband was one of them but he was an officer, so they took him to a transit camp south of Munich. The Germans called it Oflag VII-A near the town of Murnau am Staffelsee. He was treated well as far as we can determine."

"How do you know all of this?"

"Hang onto your hat, pal. I'm getting to that. Back here, the girls at S&S are a great fuck, as you no doubt have found out. As a repeat customer, I'm sure you understand when I say that Wanda is special that way."

"You keep track of their clientele?" I asked.

"Of course. We've had our eye on you since you first walked in the door. It's a service we provide the girls to make certain their clients do them no harm. You're lucky we didn't pick you up for solicitation."

"And you get a cut of their profits in return?"

"Sure and an occasional quickie for one of my men when business is slow."

"So where is Wanda now?"

"Back in Poland."

"Why?"

"That's what makes this story sound like a novel. Wanda thinks her husband is still alive."

"How so?" I lit a cigarette and took a long drag waiting to hear the rest of the saga.

"That's what makes this so interesting," he continued. "It seems we are at a point after the war when the Swiss are releasing the names on unclaimed bank accounts. Apparently, Wanda's parents' had an account in Switzerland. They died during the war. Their name was released and a man, claiming to be Wanda's husband, said he was next of kin since his wife had been gassed in Auschwitz. He had a copy of their wedding certificate.

"The individual that claimed to be Wanda's husband introduced himself as a Kapitan Oleski from the Polish army. That rank and his uniform matched the wedding certificate. The thing is, he didn't look anything like who he said he was. He explained that the picture was taken before the war, and he was tortured while taken prisoner at the concentration camp.

"That got the attention of a bank employee who knew that Polish POW officers were taken to an Oflag and treated rather well. Torture did not take place there."

"Then how did you get involved," I asked.

"Purely by accident. A missing person report came to the police station. I normally don't pay much attention to them, but this came through a different channel. It was an international request. Immediately I recognized the girl in the photograph. The picture was taken more than fifteen years ago, but it was Wanda. There was no mistaking her irresistible face."

"So did you tell Pawel?"

"Of course not. If he smells money, he's all over it like a fox on a rabbit."

"Why not tell Markiska?"

"Wanda didn't want her to get her hopes up thinking her dad was still alive."

"Then why did you strong arm her?"

"Wanda wanted it to look like a kidnapping."

"So the other women at the S&S don't know either?"

"Ha," the vice officer smirked. "They're no better than Pawel when it comes to money."

"Do you think Wanda will come back with a basket full of her family's wealth?"

"I can't say if she'll come back, but she's got a good chance of inheriting the money."

"If she does, where do you fit into the picture?"

"How does a finder's fee sound?"

POSTSCRIPT

The Swiss bank manager took it upon himself to learn more about the fate of Kapitan Oleski. Thankfully, the Germans kept rather good records, and he found Wanda's husband listed as a prisoner near Murnau am Staffelsee. That's how Wanda found out where he spent four years of the war until 1943.

While returning to Poland, she learned that her husband died of typhoid fever. The imposter had met Oleski at the Oflag. When Wanda's husband died, the con-artist took Kapitan Oleski's papers. That's how he managed to have their wedding certificate.

Wanda eventually got back to Chicago with her inheritance intact. Cliff was rewarded with an afternoon at the Sugar and Spice, compliments of Wanda. Who says there isn't a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?