“What’s a wine equity trust?” I said.
Grape Man looked me over. Then he kind of shook his head a few times with a look of utter confusion. “Sorry. Who are you exactly?”
“I’m looking for a girl named Tanya Maggio. I was told she works here.” I showed him my investigator’s license.
“My god, you’re serious.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Grape Man let out a laugh-snort. “I’ve just never met a private eye before. I thought you guys only existed in the movies.”
“Next time, I’ll wear an overcoat and fedora. Do you know Tanya?”
“I’ve never known anyone named Tanya, and she certainly doesn’t work here.”
“What about the other staff members? Maybe they knew her before you arrived?”
Grape Man snorted again. “Ahhhh—no. None of them arrived before me. I hired them all—stole them all, some say. Only people with a proven background and education in serving and tasting wine can work here.”
“Any other fancy wine bars on the North Side, near the river?”
Grape Man’s face lit up. “Any wine north of here along the river is poured from a cardboard box into a plastic cup.” A hearty laugh. I was the perfect straight man. “I put this place out of its misery six months ago.”
“You’re the new owner?”
“Six months ago. That’s what I just said.”
I wondered how long this guy would last in Eddie’s world before someone shoved that pin down his throat. “And the poor huddled masses that made up the staff of the previous miserable establishment? All fled from the black-caped wine taster with the silver spoon around his neck?”
Grape Man gave me a savage look. “I hold diplomas from the Court of Master Sommeliers, the Wine and Spirit Education Trust, and the Institute of Masters of Wine. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk into my wine bar and insult me.” As he continued describing my disrespectful behavior, I put a card on the bar, then bowed deeply as I backed away.
Chapter 3
She worked at a fancy wine bar, I thought while driving. Maybe in Eddie’s Jersey neighborhood wine equaled fancy. After turning back onto Clybourn, I pulled over to answer my cellphone.
“You’re the guy who was just in the wine bar?” a male voice said.
“Yeah. Who is this?”
“I heard you talking about Tanya and I saw your card sitting on the bar. What’s up with her? She in trouble or something?”
“Were you the redheaded kid studying the wine?”
“Yeah. I’m Ted Goldberg. I’m training.”
“How do you know Tanya?”
Ted paused. “Uh, how do you know her?”
“Uh, did you read my card? Under my name it says private investigator.”
“Wow. So she’s in trouble, huh?”
Here again, another kid getting on my nerves. “I didn’t say that, Ted. Some folks are worried. I’ve been hired to find her. Now, be a good lad and tell me everything you know about Tanya.”
“We all worked for the previous owner when it was the Webster Avenue Saloon. I was in the kitchen but I hung out with the waitstaff a lot. Tanya and I were sort of friends but this other guy, James, probably knew her best out of everyone who worked there. Although Spike knew her pretty well too.”
“Spike? The guy’s name is Spike?”
“Tanya told me his real name. Landon ‘Spike’ McFadden. He tells everyone to just call him Spike.”
“Where can I find James and Spike?”
“James works at Arbitrage on Armitage. Spike, uh, I’m not sure.”
“Were James and Tanya dating?”
“Well, I guess they were dating—maybe. She was real pretty and we kidded him that she was out of his league.”
“What would James say about her?”
“He didn’t talk about Tanya much. Although he did tell me once, she never talked about herself. Everyone knew they came from different worlds, you know? She was kind of rough around the edges. Not stupid, just not educated. I think James liked that. He got kind of whipped on her, actually. None of the girls liked Tanya, that was obvious.”
“And what happened between James and Tanya?”
“She kind of blew him off. And then she just disappeared not long before the place shut down.”
I made Ted promise to leave my business card on the bar, but save my phone number in his contact list. Then I promised to do the same.
—
Arbitrage on Armitage, a coffee shop or an exhibit of oxford-cloth performance art. Both depictions worked. I did not approve, however, of the incongruous décor. Antique financial charts should not hang from walls painted earthy tans and warm grays. The choice of chrome, granite, and stainless steel made the place as cozy as an operating room. Rising steam from a coffee-cup silhouette on the staffs’ aprons formed a mallet-wielding polo horseman. This long-established symbol of class privilege contrasted sharply with the uneven angular black hair of the kid behind the counter. He looked like the anti-barista.
“Can I help you?” he said, doing his best to smile.
“Are you James, the guy who dated Tanya?”
His smile disappeared. “Why? Who are you?”
“I’m a private investigator. Ted Goldberg told me you worked here.” I handed him a card. He held it like he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t bite him.
“Is she okay?” James asked with a dramatic hair flip.
“I’m trying to find out. A guy at that new wine bar referred me to you. He said you all worked together.”
He nodded while examining my card. “Yeah, a while ago.”
A couple of V-neck wool cardigans with suede elbow patches walked in, took their place behind me, and stared at the menu on the wall. “You got a break coming?”
“What do you want? I haven’t seen her since that place shut down.”
I took out my wallet and dropped one of Eddie’s fifties on the counter. “That’s for nothing. I’ll be over there. If you can get away and sit with me for a few minutes, you get another.”
James looked over his shoulder, grabbed the fifty, then greeted the next in line.
—
My only choice was to sit practically elbow to elbow in the row of two-tops along the wall. I must have looked odd without a laptop or coffee, just The Partisan and a laminated card of barista terminology to keep me company. Arbitrage guaranteed a perfect cup of coffee, regular, skim, or soy, and explained the trials required to become a certified Arbitrage barista. Meanwhile, a row of customers had formed along the counter and looped back around the pole of the rope line. A man closer to my age joined James to help with the rush. The speed and dexterity the two displayed mesmerized me. I watched them dose, tamp, pull, and steam as deftly as most of us tie our shoes.
When the crowd thinned out, James said something to the other guy, who then glanced at me, nodded, and patted James’s shoulder before the kid walked over.
“Holy shit, you guys are good,” I said as James took a seat. “How long does it take to learn all that?”
James shrugged. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Was that your boss? He seems like a nice guy.”
“Yeah, he’s all right. But it could get busy again so—”
“Tanya. You met her working at the bar. What kind of bar was it?”
“Is she okay?”
“Don’t know. She’s missing. I’ve been hired to find her. That’s all I know. Tell me about the bar where you worked together.”
James nodded. He looked worried. “It started out as a place to get local microbrews. I thought we were doing pretty good. We had a lot of regulars. On a Saturday night I could go home with a couple hundred bucks in my pocket.”
“So the clientele were young like you, or more professional types?”
“All kinds. Too pricey for the guys who order Bud on tap. But anyone else could come in and hang out.”
“I heard the place described as a
fancy wine bar.”
James chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far. Like I said, we were doing good. I know Tanya was psyched with the kind of money she was making. But then the owner decided to experiment with wines. He thought he could get more of the highbrow crowd. We all thought it was a stupid idea.”
“The cultivated Chicagoan didn’t come forth.”
“What a moron. Doug Daley just started buying cases of wine. Tens of thousands of dollars of inventory that just sat there. It’s like he thought if he just bought the right stuff, the right people would show up. He pushed out half the beer choices to make room for wine.”
“And during this time, you and Tanya were dating?”
James hesitated. “We were seeing each other.”
I waited. “That’s not the same as dating?”
“I wanted to be dating. Just us, you know? But she kind of wouldn’t go there.”
A lightbulb lit up. “You were sleeping together, but you weren’t exclusively boyfriend-girlfriend.” James nodded. “Okay, tell me about Tanya.”
“She showed up several months before the wine transition began. At first she didn’t really fit in. But she was trying so hard, it was obvious. She was sweet to everyone. Even though we were all waiters and bartenders, most of us had been to college and were just trying to make some money while figuring out what to do with our lives. Tanya was seriously working class. The other girls used to laugh at her accent. She didn’t understand why it was funny, but it didn’t bother her. Sometimes we couldn’t understand what she said and we’d all laugh.”
“What did you like about her, besides that she was hot?”
“Once we started talking, I saw that she was very curious. We talked about all kinds of stuff. She asked me a lot of questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Oh, about politics or world events. Then she started asking questions about me and my life. But it took a while for her to talk about herself. It was like she didn’t understand why anyone would be interested in her. Gradually, she opened up to me.”
“What did you learn about her?”
“Well, she grew up in a kind of scary place, near Newark, New Jersey. She said it wasn’t terrible but I don’t know. It sounded pretty bad to me. Her dad was in prison for selling drugs and her mom was a hopeless drunk. She tried to take care of her, but she wouldn’t stop drinking—or couldn’t stop. Finally, it killed her. Tanya won’t touch alcohol. Some of the waitstaff teased her for that. It’s stupid.”
“What happened to your relationship?”
James readjusted himself in his chair. “I don’t know. After a couple of months, she just started cooling things down. She wasn’t mean or anything, but she wouldn’t tell me what was going on. And it got really hard to work with her. Before I knew it, it was like I didn’t exist anymore.”
“What about Spike?”
“Assistant manager. Douchebag. Acted like a guido/wiseguy around Tanya.”
“What did Tanya think of him?”
“She would imitate him and do a more convincing guido. It was hilarious. At first, he got angry, but after a while, he laughed too. Spike was actually nice to her and Tanya seemed to be the only one who didn’t hate him.”
“And the boss? How old was he?”
“Doug? I don’t know. Maybe fifty-something.”
“Besides being a moron, what kind of guy was Doug? What was he like to work for?”
James thought about it. “He was a stupid clown, actually. With me, he’d say, ‘Hi, how’re you doing?’ like we were good friends, even though he didn’t know my name. And he was always hitting on the chicks or joking around to see how they would react. He liked to shock people with bloody magic tricks, like pretending to carve his leg up with a steak knife or sticking this huge needle through his arm. The guys thought he was a jerk.”
My first murder case also involved a man in late middle age clinging to a fantasy of youthful vitality that was irresistible to younger women. “Was Doug married?”
“I don’t think so. He didn’t wear a ring.”
“You think he could’ve been doing anything illegal, like using the bar as a front?”
“I don’t know. And he didn’t talk business with us before a shift like most bars or restaurants do with their staff. He just did what he wanted. No discussion. A lot of times he would be the bartender so he could try out his magic tricks. Tanya said he had a magic-tricks supply business on the side—although I promised not to tell anybody. He was also very involved with some kind of wizard society. That’s the stuff he really cared about. I think the bar was mostly just a hobby. I mean, he was rich, so I don’t think he gave a shit if the place lost money.”
“He hit on Tanya, I assume?”
James didn’t like my question. “Yeah? So? He hit on everybody.”
“Take it easy. She was cute, right? Personable. Inquisitive. Doug was rich, I assume not hideous—”
“She wasn’t fucking Doug!”
“Relax! I’m not saying she was. But I have to ask these kinds of questions.”
Neither of us spoke. James stared at his lap while visions of Tanya having sex with Doug tore into his heart.
I said, “Don’t let idiotic scenarios take over your mind. Trust me. I’ve been there. Some women are vulnerable to an older man with money—it’s a security thing. A desire to be taken care of, they say. But everything I heard tells me Tanya wasn’t like that. She took care of herself. She didn’t want to be kept by some asshole just because he had money. She probably thought the guy was a joke.”
James looked at me. “I saw her sitting in his BMW—once.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I lied. “Do you know where Doug is now?”
“No idea.” He looked around the café. “I’d better get back.”
As he stood to leave I put another fifty in his hand and said, “I’m sure she’s fine and she’s nowhere near that dumbass boss. So don’t waste your time on it.”
James put the money in his pocket and pretended he didn’t think I was full of shit.
Chapter 4
Toxic chemical stink assaulted my nose as I opened the door of the converted Old Town walk-up where I rented an office. New paint, updated lighting, and durable industrial carpeting depressed me. I had grown attached to the original Art Deco time warp of a lobby. I found comfort in the murky light and moldy smell of neglect.
I leaned back in my ergonomically designed high-back chair and felt the pressure release from my lower spine and thighs. It seemed unfair that not everyone could afford a chair like this. I dialed Kalijero’s number.
“Hey, Jimmy, I apologize for interrupting your retirement, but do I owe you a finder’s fee?”
Silence, then, “What the hell are you talking about, Landau?”
“The Jersey kid looking for love.”
“Oh, yeah, Cooper’s guy. You take it?”
“I didn’t think I would, then he showed me a pile of cash. You got anything you want to share?”
“I don’t know anything, I’m retired.”
“How are you spending your retirement?”
“Let’s see. Today I’m watching some TV, then I’m going to cut my toenails.”
“You sound depressed.”
“Fuck you, I’m not depressed.”
“Fine, you’re joyous. Your cop buddy in Jersey—”
“Buddy? Cooper’s a prick.”
“Okay, your cop prick in Jersey. Tell me about him.”
“Here’s the short version. Detective Cooper is the son of a guy I met at the academy and served with until he got killed responding to a domestic. I tried to help his mom bring up the kid. Smart little shit. Got good grades. We convinced him to go to college. Graduated from Northwestern! And then I don’t know what happened. He became a rebellious prick. He could’ve done anything he wanted with that brain of his. Suddenly he wants to be a cop. Go figure. Went to New York and wound up in Jersey.”
“And that was
the end of him, huh?”
“Before he left, he knocked up a nice Irish girl. I knew the family. We almost got him to do the right thing. He hung around long enough to name the kid after himself, then ditched her. But he wasn’t shy about using his dead-cop father as a reference. It got him on the force.”
“Where in Jersey?”
“A crap-hole called Irvington. Mostly poor blacks and Puerto Ricans. Gang and drug infested. I hear he drives a nice car. Years ago, rumors got back to me that he makes extra money working with the local businesses—if you know what I mean.”
“You want to help me on this or are you too deliriously happy being retired to do anything else?”
“Tell me, Landau, why is it that every time you get a murder case you and I become old pals?”
“Who said anything about murder? Tanya Maggio’s a missing person and I got a feeling she’s missing on purpose. And apart from you putting my father in prison, we have nothing to talk about except when I’m investigating something.”
“But that’s what I don’t get. You think I want to talk to you. I’ve got plenty of people to hang out with. They may drink a little too much, but I sure as hell don’t need Jules Landau trying to pull me back into the murder—I mean missing bodies—game.”
“I worry about you, Jimmy. Guys like you can never really retire, so when an interesting case comes up—” The call dropped. It was our way of saying goodbye.
I called Tasty Harmony and ordered their Bigboy Burger—rice, bean, and soy patty on a toasted roll—which would be waiting in front of my apartment. The place was just down the block. I was such a good customer they billed me monthly and ran the food over. Then I called a little carniceria also in my neighborhood and told them Señor Gato needed a delivery. Eddie’s number was next. A male voice mumbled, “Jackson Hotel.” That dump rents rooms by the hour. I hung up and dialed again. Same result.
“You have a guest named Eddie?”
“I don’t know.”
I described him.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you see a guy that looks like him, tell him to call Jules Landau. He’s got my number. Okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
Gold Coast Blues Page 2