Cassandra and I were waiting for Alan Davison, formerly Mystery Date, to show up. He had called the number on the card. I made Effie arrange the time and date. I was keeping him at arms distance, making him dance to my tune. If he wanted to play with the big boys, he'd have to play by the rules.
"Our Lady" was nearly deserted, once the girls saw who we were, they went back to their cell phones, ipads, nooks and whatever other electronic distractions they had to pass the time on a slow day.
I ordered an Oklahoma meltdown; double shot of bourbon and water, in a glass thinly coated with grenadine, and a dry ice chunk foaming away. It's served with a warning.
After Cassandra finished talking to the waiteress/dancer about a Poli-Sci 400 class the dancer was taking, she turned her attention to her Top 10 and what we hoped to achieve with Mr. Alan Davison.
"I want to throw him off balance," I said. "Today I want him to know that we're on to him, but I want to be completely dismissive. I want him to leave here thinking that we regard him as lower than snail crap, which we do."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Just keeping talking to me as if he isn't even here. Pretend he's invisible."
"Gotcha."
"It's down to ten teams with a legit shot at the big show," she said, grooving to the live version of 'Polly' coming from the speakers. "Nebraska is still there, but barely, at number 10, and they have a HUGE game with Michigan State. The winner lakes the Legends Division, for all intents and purposes, and gets a re-match with Wisconsin, who I have at number 9."
I gave her a strange look as my drink foamed and sputtered.
"Here's how I figure it. Wisconsin beat Nebraska convincingly, for their only loss. Michigan State got a lucky, fluky play, at home, to beat Bucky and the Badgers, and has lost convincingly to a Notre Dame team that is underwhelming. All in all, if I was doing a Top 11, that's where I would have Sparty."
"Who do you have at number 8?" I asked.
"Arkansas," Cassandra said, nodding her head to AC/DC's 'First Blood'. "They had to rally to beat Mississippi, but rally they did. Oregon is at number 7, after a convincing win against Colorado. Ok, who am I kidding? They way Colorado is playing, they would be lucky to beat an FCS school."
Ouch.
"Clemson is at number 6, and could probably be ranked higher if their defense was better. With as good as their offense is, they don't have to be."
At that point, Alan Davison walked in, late, but he actually showed.
One girl sighed and put away her nook, and got up on stage as Kiss's 'Domino' started playing. I waved him over, avoiding any pretense of not knowing him. He didn't exactly try to hide, since he was wearing his airline pilot/bus driver uniform.
He sat down, I stared directly at him as he looked around, trying to get a fix on his surroundings. I sat silently, waiting for him to initiate conversation. He looked nervous in spite of whatever authority he thought his uniform lent him. I respect two uniforms; Military, especially if there is Ranger tab on the shoulder, and cops, especially when you hear the words, "You have the right to remain silent...". Outside of that, I don't have much time for uniforms, he might as well have been wearing a McDonald's uniiform.
"So, I guess we are..." he started.
"You are here to listen," I interrupted him, displaying contempt for him by being rude, and dictating that I was in charge. Psychology can be fun. "I know who you are. Who you are trying to protect, and what your game is. You are a guy who thinks you are King Shit on Turd Mountain because you drive an airplane around the sky. You are involved in an affair with a former client of ours who tried to pull a double-cross. Now you are trying to put pressure on us so she doesn't take a big time bath when the engagement is called off. Am I right?"
"You don't know anything--"
Cassandra jumped into the act. "I have Stanford at number 5. They simply obliterated Washington, and my boyfriend didn't even have to break a sweat."
Alan looked flustered. Perfect. "Who do you have at 4?" I asked.
"Wait, what are you --"
I held up my hand to Alan. "The lady is talking," I said. "Let her finish."
"Okie State. Unless they throw up on themselves like OU did, they should be playing for all the Big 12 marbles."
"One more thing, O Captain, my Captain," I said to the sweating, squirming Mr. Davison. "You need to quit with the amateur detective game. I made you weeks ago. Your fieldcraft sucks and if you thought you could frighten or intimidate me, you're sadly mistaken. I've been frightened and intimidated by the best, and you're nowhere near the best. Please continue Cassandra."
"I have Alabama at number 3, and LSU at number 2. Just so you know, I don't care what you want me to do, next Saturday, I'm not doing it. I'm watching Bama and LSU on TV. Deal with it."
"Now wait just one minute--" Davison got in.
"What? You're still here? I'm done with you. Go away. You aren't worth the time or effort. Go try to score one of the dancers, maybe she'll find you sad and pathetic like a lost puppy and give you a mercy date. Get outta my sight before I start singing 'Hail to the Bus Driver'."
He sat there for a couple more seconds. His mouth worked, but nothing came out. His face reddened with rage and frustration. The meeting did not go as he had planned. It went exactly as I had planned. We had one last piece of business to attend to as he stormed away.
"You know he'll be back, don't you?" Cassandra asked.
"I know that as surely as I know that, despite all logic, you still have Boise State at number one."
"Yep," she smiled. "That was too easy, don't you think?"
I tossed back the rest of my drink. It was awful. "As easy as Boise State's schedule."
Husk-husk and on the qb.
No comments:
Post a Comment