by Rick Polad
“Oh, Spencer, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” I took a drink of wine.
“Was that the drug story about the race track?”
“Yes.”
“Manning. I remember. Was that you who figured it out?”
I laughed. “Well, I had a hand in it. But I had a little help.”
She squinted. “There was something strange about that time.”
“There was? What?”
She buttered a roll. “At the same time there was a very bizarre story about the mayor’s wife. Seemed like she just disappeared.”
I nodded. “It did seem that way, didn’t it?”
She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Why do I get the feeling you know something about that?”
I shrugged and swirled the wine in the glass. “Perhaps because you are a shrewd woman.”
Taking a bite of roll, she asked, “And are you going to explain?”
“Maybe someday when I’m old and gray.”
“I’ll look forward to that.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath. I doubt I’ll live to be old and gray.”
She laughed. I didn’t.
As we ate, she said, “I can’t stop thinking about Martin. I wish there was something I could do.”
I thought about the photo. “Well, I’m getting a photo of Martin and I’ll make posters to put up around the neighborhood. If you’d like to help spread them around?”
“I’d love to. And Billy can help.”
She looked excited. It’s always good to have something to do. Helpless is a bad feeling.
We finished eating and I drove her to her sister’s to get her son, Billy, a sandy-haired eight-year-old who beamed when he saw his mom.
Carol hugged him and introduced me to the family.
I gave them a ride home and Billy shook my hand when we said goodbye. When Carol put out her hand, I gave her a hug. She hugged back.
“Thanks for a lovely day, Spencer. I had a great time.”
“Me too. Drop in any time.”
“I may just do that. Don’t forget about the posters.”
I watched her disappear into the stairway.
***
At a quarter to nine, I turned my Mustang south on Ashland and headed for chez Stosh. Lt. Powolski greeted me with his usual loving charm.
“Another peaceful evening shot to hell.”
“Good evening to you, too.”
“I knew I was in trouble as soon as I heard the rumble of that Mustang.”
“If you mean because I’d go to the kitchen and get two beers to save you the trouble of getting up, you are correct.”
I handed him a Schlitz as he turned down the volume on the Cubs game. They were leading the Cards six to one.
“To what do I owe this visit?”
“To your charming personality.” I took a long drink. “And to my having some questions.”
“Of course.” He sighed. He waggled his beer bottle at me. “Whaddya got?”
“A missing kid.”
“Check with Stengel in the morning.”
“Rosie already has and I’ll call her later.”
“So what do you need me for? I was watching the Cubs win for a change.”
“The kid is a nephew of Johnny Ray.” That got his attention.
“Okay, tell me about it.”
“Sixteen-year-old kid named Martin. Got a job at Riverview a couple weeks ago. Lives on the south side and takes the bus to work.”
“Long way to go,” he said as he took a drink.
“Jobs aren’t easy to come by.”
“Yeah, glad I’m not a kid these days. But they weren’t so easy when I was a kid either.”
“You can remember back that far?”
“You’d be surprised what I can remember. If you want me to dig up some of your childhood and share it around the water cooler, just keep it up.”
“Okay, truce. You ever have any trouble at Riverview?”
He took another drink, set the bottle on the table, and pulled his recliner upright.
“Not usually anything we need to get involved with. They have their own police force.”
That surprised me. “How official are they?”
He shrugged. “They handle everyday things themselves. They can’t make arrests, but they can detain someone and wait for us. I have a feeling they handle problems themselves in ways we don’t.”
“You mean strong-arm tactics?”
“Don’t know what I mean. But there are rumors about troublemakers being dealt with.” He spread his hands out, palms up. “We’ve never had a complaint.”
“Hmm. Who’s in charge?”
“Ex-Chicago cop named Tommy Walters. He made sergeant and then started to throw his weight around; he quit after being written up too many times for his liking... and ours. He complained about what he called the ‘kid gloves’ method of running the department.”
I emptied the bottle. “Hence the rumors about tactics.”
“Yeah, could be. But he did get the job done and he isn’t going to put up with any crap, wherever he is.”
“I think I’ll have a chat. Can I mention your name?”
“Sure, we got along. Mine’s about the only one that’ll get you anywhere. But don’t expect that to buy you a friend.”
“Just a foot in the door is fine. I have plenty of friends. Why are you on his good side?”
Stosh laughed and emptied his bottle. “I wouldn’t call it a good side, but I had an opportunity to help him at one point.”
He saw my raised eyebrows and continued.
“Walters got things done, but that sometimes involved bending the rules, not unlike someone else I know. I was able to cover his back when one particular bend ended up with questions, but also bad guys in jail.”
“Sometimes the end justifies the means.”
He nodded. “And sometimes not. Speaking of friends, did you ever have a chat with Rosie?”
“I always have chats with Rosie.”
“Sure. I’ll take that as a no. I repeat—she cares about you. You need to tell her.”
“I know, Stosh. Just waiting for the right time.”
“Okay. I won’t say any more. Game of gin?”
“Sure.”
We played for an hour and ended with him up only a dime. But anything on the winning side made him happy.
***
I called Rosie when I got home. Missing Persons had the report on Martin but had no leads.
“When’s your next day off, Rosie?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Perfect. How about a day at Riverview? My treat.”
“Only if we can skip Alice in Wonderland. The rabbit scares me.”
“Okay. We’ll do the Tunnel of Love.”
“You scare me too. What’s your plan?”
“With the Tunnel of Love?”
“Nope.”
“Just want to nose around.”
“And you think you can do more than the Chicago Police force?”
“I have in the past.”
“You don’t wear modesty well.”
“Just giving the facts, ma’am. Pick you up at nine-thirty. Wear one of your summer dresses.”
She laughed one of her laughs filled with smiles. She and Maxine had laughs that could fix the world’s problems.
“Hey, I know about the castle—nice try.”
“Party pooper.”
“See you in the morning, hot shot.”
I had no idea what I would find at Riverview, but I knew that just stirring pots sometimes got people excited. I did want to walk through Alice in Wonderland. Mom had read the stories to me when I was five. I thought they were wonderful, especially the silly poems. And when I was under forty-two inches tall, the only things I could get into were Kiddieland, the castle, and Alice. I loved Humpty Dumpty and Tweedledum and Tweedledee. I never stopped to think they were just small people in costumes. And I wouldn’t mind a trip through the Tun
nel of Love. Then somewhere along the way I’d have a chat with Rosie and get Stosh off my back. A year of his nagging was getting on my nerves.
Chapter 5
I woke to an early morning thunderstorm a little before six Wednesday morning. I made breakfast and listened to the radio for the weather. Storms were supposed to move through by mid-morning, so my trip with Rosie was still on.
Miss George—I wondered if I should call her by her first name—was waiting at the front door when I got to the office at five to nine. Prompt—I liked that. I asked if I could call her Samantha.
“Of course,” she said with a smile.
While we talked about what to do with the office, it crossed my mind that both of her names could be men’s names—Sam George. The rest of her wasn’t manly at all. I gave her a key and wished her luck.
I left at nine-thirty to pick up Rosie and drove west down the alley so I could drive back east on Montrose and look at my office from the street. I got kinda choked up seeing my name on the window and wished Mom and Dad could have seen it. I got excited when I noticed Sam on the phone. Business was booming!
***
As we walked to the main gate, Rosie asked if I had a plan.
“Of course! I always have a plan.”
She gave me a skeptical look.
“It’s just not always evident at the moment.”
“Or ever.”
“No cotton candy for you, young lady.”
I had asked at the ticket booth where the police station was, and we made our way down the Midway. As we walked I heard a voice from the shooting gallery.
“Hey pal, step right up and win something for the pretty lady.” The man behind the counter had a big smile on his face.
“No thanks,” I said politely.
Rosie and I had been having a shooting competition for years. The winner was decided not by who had the most bullseyes but by whose hole in the middle of the bullseye was the smallest. I was trying to be fair to the guy behind the counter.
“Come on pal, the little lady deserves a prize.”
We should have kept walking, but this guy was pissing me off and I walked up to the counter. “What about no thanks didn’t you understand?”
“Come on, pal… you’re here to have fun. Lighten up and show the lady what you can do.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea… pal. I’m trying to do you a favor here.”
A crowd had gathered.
He laughed. “What you’re trying to do is not embarrass yourself. Perhaps the little lady would like to try.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea either,” I said.
“Look at this, ladies and gentlemen,” he said with the same smile. He was having a great time. “We have ourselves a male chauvinist here… won’t let the little lady make up her own mind.”
I looked at Rosie. She was doing everything she could to not burst out laughing. And I had had it with the jerk behind the counter. I held out my arm toward Rosie and she walked up to the counter.
The counter man was playing the crowd for all he was worth. “Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. The little lady is going to see if she can shoot a gun.”
I slowly shook my head. I would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t such a jerk. This was going to be fun.
Rosie put down a quarter and picked up a rifle. She aimed at a six inch metal circular plate standing on its side on a post like a sucker on a stick. The plate would spin if you hit it either side of center. To win you had to hit the dime-sized bullseye in the center and then the plate wouldn’t spin.
Rosie took a shot and the plate spun to the right. She looked at me and we both nodded. The sights were off. And Rosie now knew in which direction. Her next shot also spun the plate to the right but it spun more slowly. The next four shots hit the center. She asked for a reload and the counter man handed her a new gun as she put down another quarter.
“I’ll keep this one,” she said in her best little lady voice.
Nervously, the man reloaded the gun and she picked off six small targets. When she asked for another reload he said he was taking a break. He had stopped smiling.
Rosie picked out four of his best prizes and gave them to some kids.
As we walked away I said, “Can’t say I didn’t try.”
She laughed. “Some people just deserve what they get.”
Just past the Fireball roller coaster was a small wooden building with a “Police” sign above the door. There was only one long, horizontal window at eye level to the left of the door, and a coating of tan paint was peeling and chipped. It looked like it had been squeezed in as an afterthought between the rides. But then the rides were the money maker—the police were an expense. I knocked twice and opened the door.
A small foyer was empty. The dingy main room held only a desk and a few chairs. A small, oval throw rug covered a wooden plank floor. Two doors opened to the right and left at the back of the space. A woman’s voice called out, “Be right with you.”
I glanced at Rosie and got a what the hell is this? look.
I shrugged.
A fireplug-shaped woman with very prominent cheekbones limped through the left door with an armful of files. She asked if she could help us, but it was obvious she’d rather not.
I gave her my best smile and said, “I’m looking for Chief Walters.”
She dropped the files on the desk and sat with a grimace. “Not here. Do you want…?”
The front door opening interrupted her and a large, imposing-looking man came in. He glanced at us without interest and continued into a room that had a sign above the door: “Chief Walters”.
“I think we’ve found him,” I said with a smile.
She just stared at me indifferently.
I glanced at Rosie who shrugged slightly with a tiny smile.
As the lady opened a drawer, I noticed a diamond bracelet on her right wrist. It sparkled in the little light in the room. She pulled out a form and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“Can you read?”
It was a request for an appointment. “Yup, since I was as tall as this desk. I was an early learner.”
“Good for you. You can use the table.”
Rosie’s smile was widening. I put the form on the desk. “He’s in there and I’m here. How about we skip this step and move right to you asking him if I can see him for a few minutes?”
“Fill it out, don’t fill it out, means nothing to me. But if you don’t fill it out you won’t be seeing chief.”
I filled out the form with my name and the reason for my request and NOW on the date line.
She looked it over and handed it back to me. “Need your phone number.”
“Not if I get the time I requested,” I said with a bit of frustration.
We stared at each other. She kept staring as I filled in my number. She sighed and walked it in to him and was back in five seconds holding out the form. NOW was crossed out.
“Listen, Miss…” I looked for a nameplate. There wasn’t any.
She gave me a penetrating stare. Her face was captivating, not because it was pretty but because it was commanding. Her features were harsh and slightly asymmetrical.
“And listen won’t help,” she said. “If you want an appointment, you need a time.”
“What if this is an emergency?”
“Is it?”
“Might be.”
She just stared.
“I was sent by the Chicago police to look into something. I would like to be able to tell them I actually spoke to the man sitting in the next room.”
She glanced at the form. “Well, Mr. Manning, we’re not part of the Chicago police here. Who sent you?”
“Lieutenant Powolski.”
“I’m sorry. You still need to…”
“Send him in, Belva,” came a gruff order from the next room.
“You can go in.”
“I heard. Thanks.”
Rosie and I started ar
ound the desk.
“Not her.”
“It’s okay, she’s with me.”
“Got that, but ‘send him in’ didn’t mention a she.”
“You’ve gotta be…”
Rosie put her hand on my arm and sat on one of the chairs.
Walters looked up as I walked in. I hadn’t been properly introduced.
“Good morning, Chief Walters.”
He nodded to one of the armchairs in front of a very nice oak desk, and I sat in a straight-back wooden chair with no padding. His chair swiveled and had hand-carved arms covered with dark brown leather. Most of the plank floor was covered with a dark green carpet, and the walls were nicely paneled and covered with photographs of Walters with several large fish. A bronze plaque with “Chief of Police, Tommy Walters” written in large letters hung behind his desk. It didn’t mention anything about Riverview. An autographed baseball bat was propped up in a corner. I wasn’t close enough to see if it was Cubs or Sox.
He looked at me without saying a word. His ‘procedure’ wasn’t very friendly. I could play that game—I didn’t say a word either. That was my procedure.
That lasted for about thirty seconds when he broke the silence.
“The only reason you got in here, Mr. Manning, is because you mentioned Lieutenant Powolski… that gets you one minute and you’ve already used up half of that.”
I nodded and gave in. “A friend of mine has a sixteen-year-old nephew who is missing. I’m trying to help.”
He shrugged. “And that brings you to my office?” He stared at me with a look that made it clear he thought I was wasting his time.
I was usually pretty confident about my attitude but this guy had me intimidated.
“He’s a kid named Martin Lisk. He worked here. Didn’t come home from work Monday.”
Walters shrugged. “So?”
I shook my head. “So there’s a missing kid and the last place we know where he was is here.”
“Okay. But there’s plenty more places in this city. I wonder where he went when he left work.”
I tried not to let my frustration enter the conversation, but it was getting harder with every word he said. “He would have gone home. He had a long bus ride.”