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The Great Pirogi Caper:
This is a story that was related to me by a Jack MacPhilamie as
we sat and sipped beer in a local bar. I cannot vouch for it,
but Jack claims to be a member of the CIA. He was, as he told
me, a key figure in this tale. Make of it what you will, it seems
almost believable.
I was called to the Ragadama Motel in a Detroit suburb. It
seemed to be just a case of petty theft, but there were international
implications. That's why I was called. The local police wanted
to make sure they were covered. The local chief briefed me as
we walked to the motel room.
"Look Jack, this is a touchy case. These people are a visiting
championship team. They're getting ready for a final international
competition and now this."
"Now what, Chief?" I demanded.
"Some of their equipment's been lifted."
"What kind of equipment?"
"I'll let them tell you," he said and tapped on the
door.
The door was opened by a delightful blond. She smiled and motioned
us in.
It was a typical small motel room, and it was quite crowded. There
were 5 people in addition to myself and the chief. It was a bit
warm.
I started right in. "I'm Jack MacPhilamie of the CIA. I got
word that there's been an international incident here. I'll want
to know who you people are and what you have to do with it. I'm
sharp, so don't try to slicker me. Who's in charge here?"
This bozo steps forward and says, "I am Mr. Ron Macrowski
sir. I am the proud leader of the world championship pirogi team.
The incident, as you call it, sir is that my hand tooled pirogi
cutters are missing."
The blond smiled and added, "Yes sir, missing. I am Helen
Lipsickie sir. The world's fastest cheese stuffer. I stuff pirogi
sir."
Then another guy steps out and says, "I am Joe Songalongski,
sir, at your service. I also stuff pirogi, sir, with potatoes.
They were hitting me with a lot of names, but I kept up.
The fourth one says,"And I am Don Leghornski, Mr. Macphylambi.
I am the team boiler and frier."
"MacPhilamie." I snap. "that's MacPhilamie."
The final guys buts in, "Yah, Und I am Wolfgang Muller, Heir
MacPhlambile. Und I am der kraut stuffer."
"That's MacPhilamie," I growl. "MacPhilamie, damn
it. what kind of a name is that? Muller! Are you a ringer or what?
I'm gonna keep my eye on you."
"I assure you, sir," he answered. Just like these others,
I am a good Pole, but you know how the borders change in Europe.
Very confusing for everyone."
I give a hand chop in the air to cut him off.
"Okay! I'll accept that for now. So, what about these cutters?
Why was I called in, if it's just a case of a few missing knives?"
Macrowski answers, "Oh no, sir. It is not just a few knives.
What is missing is a matched set of precision, Swedish steel,
combination, pirogi cutters and Swiss army knives. Without them,
we could never win the international pirogi championship contest
in Warsaw, next Tuesday."
Muller pipes up, "Yah, und dat vould be a tragedy."
"Yes," inserts the blond. "that would indeed be
a tragedy. The title has been held by an all Polish team ever
since it started in 1900.
Songalongski added, "That was to celebrate the recovery from
the great pirogi famine of 1899. That was when so many young poles
left the old country and came here to Detroit."
"Yah," said Muller. "Now der are more Poles in
Detroit dan der are in Warsaw."
"Well, it wasn't all bad," said Leghornski. "that
was also the year that the great saint Polawski drove the snakes
out of Warsaw. It wasn't all bad, at all."
"That's not the point," snapped Macrowski. "The
point is, this is the year 2000. It is the one hundredth anniversary
of the contest. It would be a disgrace to lose this one."
Then I get the idea. "Okay," I say. "So, who could
gain if you lose the contest? Are the Ruskies in on this? Do they
have a team?"
Macrowski replies, "Why yes. How did you guess? They have
a very good team. It is called the Red army team."
I answer with a knowing smile, "Look pal, when you're in
my game, you always suspect the Reds."
I take a quick think.
"Okay. So, now I get it. this could be an international plot
by the Ruskies. I should a known. Have any Red agents contacted
any of you lately? Were there any Russians in the audience tonight?
Think about it."
Macrowski stutters, "Well, well, I, I ..."
I interrupt, "Was this show by invitation?"
He nods.
"Okay. I'll want a guest list. I call downtown and get a
team out here. Look here. There are a lot of people laid back,
thinking the cold war's over, thinking there's no danger. I'm
here to tell you, that's bull!"
I turn to the Kraut stuffer and snap, "Muller! Don't think
your in the clear. I'm going to run an entire background on you.
Maybe I'll do this whole team.
"In fact," I say, looking at the chief. "maybe
we should make a search right now."
"Good idea Jack," says the chief.
"Any objections, Muller?" I demand, giving him the hard
eye.
"No, sir. I do not object. In fact, I vill show you my room
now."
"First things first," I insist. We're here now. We'll
do this room first. Who's room is it?"
"It's mine, sir," answers Macrowski.
So we tossed his place and come up empty. No cutters. I didn't
really expect to find them here. I was anxious to get to Muller's
room, but I wanted him to sweat for a while. We go from room to
room, making sure no one gets to slip off. I'm keeping an eye
on Muller all the time.
Finally we get to Muller's room, still with nothing. I'm watching
Muller sweat while we toss his room. There's nothing in the room,
but I'm not satisfied. I notice his luggage on the bed.
"what's in the bag?" I demand.
"Ust my personal tings," says the kraut stuffer.
"Sure," I sneer. "Mind If I have a look."
I got no warrant, but I figure probable cause will cover it.
silently, Muller unlocks his suitcase and steps back. He looks
pretty cool.
I open the case, watching Muller. Not a twitch. Either there's
nothing, or he should be doing Shakespear.
I lift a shirt and my jaw drops. So does Muller's. Definitely
Shakespear I think. There, before my eyes, on a blue silk shirt
is the most beautiful set of knives I have ever seen. Seven of
them. Suddenly, I think I understand Muller. I see those knives
and I want for my own. I can visualize them in a compartment of
my stealth kit. That's how good they are.
‘Okay," I say looking at Muller, but it's no good. His
face goes white and he slumps to the floor.
"Grab him," I shout at the chief. "He's probably
bitten a poison pill."
"Nonsense," snaps the blond as she rushed forward. "He's
fainted. He's in shock."
"How do you know that?" I demand.
She doesn't answer. She shakes him and rubs his face briskly.
The guy opens his eyes, looking completely dazed.
"Well. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this," I insist.
"Are these the missing knifes for sure?" I demand.
"Those are the knives," answers Macrowski. "I recognize
them. They were hand made for me."
"Okay, then," I smile. "We'll take the knives and
we'll all go down town. I'm gonna crack this case tonight."
Suddenly, the blond breaks out in tears. Every eye in the room
turns to her.
"What?" I demand.
"I did it," she blubbers. "It was I who took the
knives. I put them in Wolfgang's suitcase."
"Why?" demand I and five other voices.
"It was jealousy," she blubbers. "It was just stupid.
I wanted to embarrass Wolfgang."
"Huh?" I say.
"You don't understand," she whines. "He was better
than me. He always stuffed kraut faster than I stuffed cheese.
Always."
She grabbed a handful of tissue and blubbered into it.
"You took the knives?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. I confess. I did it."
She looks at the kraut stuffer. "Oh Wolfgang, I was wrong,
I'm so sorry."
"Yah," says Muller. "I understand. I didn't know.
You should have asked me. I could show you my stuffing technique."
"Oh Wolfgang," she whimpers. "Can you ever forgive
me?"
"sure," he says. "Dat's okay. How about tonight
I come to your room und show you my stuffing technique?"
"Oh Wolfgang," she smiles.
I didn't want to hear the rest of that. I turned to the chief.
"what now, Chief," I asked.
I could see he just wanted to get out of there.
"All's well that ends well," He replied.
The chief hustled me out of there. I would still have liked a
look at the guest list. You just can't trust those Ruskies. Maybe
they put her up to it. I still think that Muller's a ringer. I'll
never know. The confession made it a local police case and took
it out of my arena. Win some. lose some.
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