The Detroit Chronicles: In Search of Amazing Cheastypants.

Uh, hello Internet. It's Lefty Detroit here, just givin' you an update on my ongoing search for Amazing Cheastypants, who was reported missing to yours truly just a coupla days ago by one Cookie von Countryclub. Don't worry, I'm hot on the trail. As you may know, in my ongoing quest to make Cookie von Countryclub into the next Mrs. Lefty Detroit, I have proceeded with all speed, if you know what I'm sayin'. So Miss Cookie, she'd left me a coupla really good clues, you know, that I could use in tracking down her friend Bunny (a.k.a. "Amazing Cheastypants"), but Lefty Detroit is no fool, and let me tell you, I do my own footwork.

So my first stop was over at one of Bunny's friend's house. Miss Cookie had mentioned a woman called Ludmilla, so I bribed one of the cabana boys over at the country club, and got Ludmilla's address. In fact, I got directions to her boudoir, too, huh, huh, which I'm only tellin' youse guys 'cause I ain't gonna use that particular information, seein's how I'm completely and totally in love with the next Mrs. Lefty Detroit, a.k.a. Cookie von Countryclub. Anywho. Where was I.

Oh, yeah, Ludmilla. So I drove my red hot Ford Fiesta down over to Ludmilla's house and rang the bell. And from my mouth to God's ears, somethin' fishy's going on over there. As I'm waitin' for the door to open, I'm pretty sure there were about five or six surveillance cameras all pointed at me from different places in the garden. Mighty unnerving, I don't mind saying, but then I got all distracted when the door opened, because goodbye, Cookie, hello, Ludmilla! A tall, stacked, blue-eyed Russian Amazon stood in the doorway in a slinky negligee, and all thoughts of my darling future-Mrs. Lefty flew my head as I gazed up at Ludmilla's big, beautiful, round... er... At her eyes, is what I was sayin'. Her big round eyes. Yeah. So, back to the story.

I think I mighta just sort of stared and muttered for a minute, but then she looked me up and down, raised one eyebrow, put her bejeweled hand on one slim and elegant hip, and said in the sexiest Russian accent I've ever heard, "Yes, can I please to help you?" Well, between you, me, and the lamppost, I almost passed out right then and there on Ludmilla's porch, but thankfully I pulled myself together just in the nick of time. I puffed out my chest, sucked in my gut, which, by the way is hardly noticeable I've been told, and thought about James Bond. "Hello," I said, in my smoothest voice, "the name's Detroit. Lefty Detroit, private eye. I'm looking for one Ludmilla Krakova von Oopsiedaisypants regarding the recent disappearance of her friend, one Amazing Cheastypants, a.k.a. 'Bunny.' Do you have a minute to answer some questions?"

Oh, man, that Ludmilla's just as cool as a cucumber, I tell you what. She didn't even answer me; just took her time looking me over, then got out one of them long cigarettes, though I don't know where she had it hidden. I'm pretty sure that skimpy nightie didn't have no pockets, if you know what I'm sayin', huh huh. Anyways, she stuck it in one of them long cigarette holders, and said, "Vell, that depends. Mr. Detroit, did you say it was? How perfectly charming. Are you please having a lighter?" Well, naturally I don't approve of a woman smoking, but what's a fella gonna do, you know, especially when you're sitting there staring into such big, beautiful, round eyes. So I lit her cigarette for her, she took a nice long drag and then she said, "A terrible habit, I know, but vat can I to do? It is, how you say, a bad habit from my days in ze KGB." And without so much as a by your leave, she just turned an walked back into the house, leaving me there on the front porch with my mouth hangin' open. But she didn't close the door, and Lefty Detroit always gets his man, so in I went after her, even though when she said KGB my heart started racing and my palms got all sweaty. But if you tell anybody I said I was nervous I'll take out your kneecaps, ya lousy rat, so leave it at that.

So there I am, sneakin' into the house of a former KGB agent, and it's a good thing for her that nobody dropped a glass or no car went backfirin' outside, or I mighta done something I'da regretted later. But that's what happens when a highly trained intelligence professional such as myself goes into the field. It's a jungle out there, and from my mouth to God's ears, I'm gonna be the one comin' home for dinner that night, you know what I'm sayin'? In the end it's a good thing that cabana boy gave me directions to the boudoir, because Ludmilla wasn't in the kitchen or the living room or the dining room. But a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, so I straightened my trench coat, sniffed my pits, and opened the door to Ludmilla's boudoir. I looked around, checking out the silk bedsheets and candlelight, when Ludmilla's voice called from the other side of the room where she lay draped all sexy-like upon a chaise lounge.

"Lefty is that you, my darlink boy? Please to come inside, there is something I want to show you."



Oops, I'm flat out of time, folks. I'll tell you the rest of the story tomorrow.