Honky Tonk Woman

                Tawna's file on 'The Girl' was pretty thin, which  I guess was appropriate since the girl was thin, and pretty. The name they had on her was Cynthia Thomas. Occupation, actress/entertainer, which could mean she was an actress or it could be a euphemism. Age, 25, not a student and a bit unusual for one of the  guys on the team to be connected with an 'older' woman. The address they had on her was in a decent part of town. The vehicle she drove was a dark blue Mustang, not new, but not a clunker, either.

            The pics in her file showed her with Ray at some team event. A couple of goofy photo booth snaps and a few surveillance shots that were about as incriminating as admitting that you had a library card. I spread the photos out on my desk and really looked at them. There was just something about them that kept slipping up to me and slipping away again just as I was about to grasp it. It wasn't a sense of instant, surprising recognition, like watching an episode of 'Rockford Files' and realizing the bad guy is Ed Harris. It was more like seeing someone out of context, knowing, just knowing that you have seen the person before, but in a different setting, or with completely different lighting, or in black and white instead of color.

            I pushed back in my chair and assessed my next move. It was pretty clear that I had to track down the girl and see what connection she had besides girlfriend.  I had to find out if it was a serious thing, or just a bit of fun. There was no mention of any kid in the dossier, so I don't know if Tawna was messing with me or if she just didn't have the info. There had to be a deeper connection than the one on the surface. If the relationship made Tawna itchy, I had to take notice.

            The easiest, and most obvious step was to roll out to the address listed and see if she was home and have a little chin-wag. I got the car and started rolling south. I had the radio on the local sports station and got to hear news about seven defensive players becoming Blackshirts. Good job. Kind of different than recent years but a big morale booster for a young defense about to get tested in a couple of days. I rolled through  the neighborhoods that were populated by Chevy Malibus and Toyota Corollas. I passed into more recent developments where SUV's and minivans stood poised to make supply runs to Hy Vee to get a week's worth of groceries that the pioneers could have stretched into three months. I turned a last corner and eased down a street where Mercs, Jags, and Lexi kept on eye on things. The trees whispered the presence of an outsider to each other and the front lawns entered greenness competitions. I pulled into the right driveway.

            No car, but she might keep it in the garage. The house was nice, and yes, I had to say it was too nice for an actress/entertainer that had yet to make her break. Lincoln wasn't exactly a hub in film industry. It looked like it was a three to four bedroom job on two floors and a basement. Big house to live in alone. In this part of town, the property taxes would pay for a teacher for at least a semester.

            I figured a direct-ish approach would be best. I reached into my glove box and selected one of my business cards. I went up to the door and rang the bell. How's that for direct? The door was opened by a sleepy looking young woman wearing a fuzzy robe over a pink t-shirt with the word 'pink' in black lettering. Clever that. She was pretty, small, thin build, and the look she had was one of late nights, ETOH and not enough coffee, yet. I love the noon hour in college towns.

            She focused her gaze on me and asked, "what is it?" while stifling a yawn.

            Show time. "Hi. My name is Sam Hawkins and I'm an agent for Blackhawk Productions. A friend of mine sent me video of one of Cynthia's performances. We were quite impressed and would love to chat with her about an upcoming television role." I held my card out to her held between my first two fingers. She took the card, read it over and woke up all at once.

            "Come on in. She's not here, right now, but let me see if I can get a hold of her for you." I followed her into the house. The decor was spare if not spartan. One couch in front of a decent sized flat-screen on the wall in the living room. The sink had collected dishes from the several days ago and didn't look like it was in any mood to get started on them. There were notes and a dry-erase board on the fridge that had contact numbers and sectors with the names Cynthia, Natasha, Jordan and Emily printed in neat, precise handwriting.

            She went to a line of phones charging on the counter and picked one up. A few tippity taps and then we waited. I kept scanning the room, while the girl scanned me. She had that look like she didn't quite believe my schtick. That meant that she was  at least a little bit smart.

            "Hey, Cynthia. This is Natasha," she said to the phone in a sing-song tone. "There's a guy here, who says he's got a gig that he thinks your perfect for. He's from Blackhawk Productions. The number is 402-555-2368. Bye-eee." She ended the call and looked up at me. "She didn't pick up, so I left a voice-mail. But that is kinda weird."

            "What's weird?" I asked.

            "That she's off the grid. She almost always picks up. At the very least to text back if she's too busy to talk, or working or stuff like that."

            "When was the last time you talked to her, or heard from her at all?"

            "Last night. She was heading out as I was coming home." Natasha had a concerned look, and kept chewing at her lip.

            "Are you okey," I asked. Her stance was telling me that something was vibing her as very hinkey.

            "Yeah, I'm fine." She brightened a bit and added a smile that never made it to her eyes. "It's just that she never stays out all night. Never. She might get home at 5 in the morning, sometimes, but she always comes home. This is not like her."

            "Where was she going?"

            "She had just got back from dinner with Ray. It was early because he was tired from practice. Then she was going to a party, downtown."

            "What kind of party? Frat, kegger, something like that?" I asked.

            Natasha smiled. "No, sooo not her thing. When Cynthia says she's going to a party, it's one of those high class deals where guys with too much money and too much to drink try to look down her dress while she laughs at their lame jokes."

            "That sounds political," I said. "Or financial. Like investments and land deals, that sort of thing."

            Natasha shifted gears on me, maybe realizing she had said more than she intended. "I'm not sure. It's her life, and she always seems to have a good time. Who am I to judge?" she shrugged off some other thoughts.

            I refocused on my role. "Well, when she gets in, have her call me. You have my card. I was hoping to meet her, today. It's a pretty good role I'd like her to audition for, but I'm sure I can find another cute blondie to take the gig." I started moving to the door. "You said Ray had to practice. What is he, in a band or something?"

            Natasha really laughed this time. "No. He's on the football team. Football practice." She shook her head.

            "What is it?" I asked.

            There was a hint of a smile left. "He's funny. He thinks he's going to cash in on the NFL in a couple of years."

            "You don't think he will?"

            "I have no idea. My dad says he's a back-up, who hasn't gotten enough playing time to prove himself. Without cracking the starting line-up, he'll be lucky to get a try-out in Canada...whatever that means." She looked up at me with an earnest expression of concern. "I'll call you if I hear anything, too."

            "Great," I said. "You do that. Time is money, you know." I waved a little salute at her and headed for the car.

            I started heading back to the office while the sports guys started tossing predictions for the Wyoming game around. I listened and weighed what was being said. If push came to shove, I was thinking Nebraska would take Wyoming, 52-24. The offense is going to roll, maybe the best in the Conference. The defense was young, inexperienced, and talented, but might give up a few big plays.

            That sounded familiar.

Country Tonk

                I stepped out of my cool, serene shelter and into a classic Nebraska summer day. The kind of day that feels like a large, wet dog has propped himself on your shoulders and is panting in your face.

            I headed for the office, hoping that the bills and junk-mail hadn't made too much of mess in my absence and dialed up Lloyd on the phone, or communicator as he insisted on calling it. He picked up, interrupting the Star Trek theme on his callback tone. "Ellroy, here."

            "Lloyd. I need to meet with you. I've got a case and I have a feeling I'm going to need your expertise," I said.

            "Audio, visual, or both?"

            "Both. I'm getting expenses on this one, so bring your whole Felix bag."

            "I got a new FLIR imager. Can I bring it?" he asked. The note in his voice told me that if I said no, he'd be like the kid who got socks instead of action figures for Christmas.

            "Lloyd, my man. You are a sub-contractor. You can bring anything you want, itemize the usage and submit a bill. You don't need my permission."

            "Right...I knew that. It's just..."

            I stopped walking, leaned against a wall, and rubbed the space between my eyes. "You know I will try to keep you as far away from the bad guys, as possible. I don't want a repeat of the last time, either."

            "I know. I just...you know...freak out every now and then. Still."

            "I get it, Lloyd. I should have never put you in that position. You're the best surveillance and tech guy in town. I think this case is going to be mostly old-school, but since everyone has cell phones and computers, I will probably need someone with the skills to access that kind of stuff."

            He paused for a bit longer than I was hoping for, but he eventually replied. "Okey, I'm in."

            "Great," I said. "Meet me tonight at the office tonight at 7, and we'll set up the preliminaries. I don't even know what my first move is."

            "You're used to that, I'm sure. Ellroy out."

            Lloyd can be kind of mean, sometimes. Although I guess I deserved it.

            I checked the office and saw that the bills had made gains on the junk mail. The plastic fern needed water and the desk bottle was running a bit low. I checked to make sure all my pens worked and that there was more than enough room on the legal pad for plenty of doodles when the office door opened up.

            He was a young guy, mid twenties, maybe. Clean cut, good shape, polo shirt and khakis. Nikes and white socks. Still learning to dress. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, and looked like he could be a grad student. But he wasn't.

            "Excuse me, sir. Are you Sam Hawkins?" he asked, pointing at the painted letters on the glass door.

            "Either that, or Lon Chaney is even better than he used to be," I replied, trying to look serious.

            The kid fished around in his backpack, and brought out a large manila envelope that was nearly sweating with the effort to stay closed. He nodded blankly. The joke had gone completely over his head. He held the envelope out to me, "Ms. Brixton told me to deliver this to you--well, a Mr. Hawkins, anyway."

            "Yeah, that's me. Thanks. I'd toss you a quarter for a tip, but I'd be afraid you'd just blow it on jawbreakers and red-hots down at the candy store."

            He shouldered his backpack and gave me a once over. "Ms. Brixton warned me, that you might be--"

            "A jerk?"

            "Challenging, she said. Before we get in deeper than either of us want, I need to tell you that she wants me to be the go-between on this one."

            "This one, what?"

            "This case. She said I was to liaison between your organization and our office. She said it would make more sense and be safer if anyone monitoring her movements were to see her coming in and out of your," he paused a second as he scanned the office, "establishment."

            "Ah, I see. So, employee or intern?" I asked.

            "Intern. What does that--"

            "What's your major?"

            "History. With an emphasis on Mili--"

            "Great. That's just great," I said, plastering on my big, cheesy smile. "You got a name, kid?"

            "Richard. Richard White," he answered, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see what care instructions for my shirt were.

            "Richie, we'll get along just fine, I think." The used car salesman smile made my jaw ache.

            Richie's jaw tightened a little bit, and he wasn't looking very happy. "I prefer Richard, thank you."

            "You're polite, too. Tawna must love that. I get it, Richie, but I think first impressions are important. To me you look more like a Richie...unless you think Dick is better."

            Richie's face reddened. I knew he had heard the gag a million times and probably hated his parents every time he did. He shifted his weight on his feet, pulled his backpack a little tighter on his shoulder. "First impressions are important. Trust me, I know a dick when I see one." He turned on his heel and was out the door. I did have the good taste to not let him see me smile.

            Well done, lad, I thought to myself. I'm going to like this kid.

            I pulled my letter opener out of my desk and sliced open the envelope. I had just a few days before the first game, with Wyoming coming to town and I wanted to get a handle on the situation as quickly as I could.

            I had been turning a hypothesis around in my head, that whoever was behind the threats was going to make their move at a critical point in the season. If that was the case, there were only a few games which were considered critical. UCLA, Northwestern and Michigan State in Lincoln, and Michigan on the road. If the Huskers were successful in those, then there was the conference championship against Ohio State, most likely.

            I know that coaches like to take it, 'one game at a time' and not 'overlook any opponent' but I've always thought that was just coachspeak to keep the fishwrap fillers from inciting the other side. I didn't want to think that Wyoming could be overlooked, but hey, If the Cowboys were to walk in to Lincoln and get the win, the problems would be much bigger than the one I had to deal with.

            The first sheet I took out was a photo taken for the media guide. Doyle, Ray stared back at me. 21 years old. Mom dad and siblings living in Johnson City, Tennessee. Scholarship recruit three years ago, worked his way up from scout team fodder to second string db. I was having a hard time getting my head around the idea of him being the link that could be critical in any big game, but when the evidence doesn't support the hypothesis, change the hypothesis.

            Tawna had sent academic records. Decent grades as a Exercise and Physical Education major. He had been involved in a slight legal issue as a freshman, he got Mipped, but clean since then, nothing anyone could use as leverage. He was involved in the community service stuff the team usually does, visiting sick kids in hospitals and stay in school stuff, so nothing there.

            The girlfriend's picture was next. She was cute, early 20's, blonde and blue and her face blipped my memory radar. Not a huge blip, like I knew her personally, but a background blip. I knew her, but couldn't quite place from where.   

The Girl With Faraway Eyes

                Kicking off the 2013 season a little differently. So much analysis, predictions, prognostications, etc. are out there. This is a story, that will play out over the course of the season, with Nebraska football as the background. I'm not going to get into depth charts, recruiting and play calling so much. What I will do, is tell my tale with significant plot points being derived from the games. I Hope you enjoy it.

 

 

      I loved getting here before anyone else. The staff knows me. Ryan, specifically, knew how I liked my drinks. The cool and the dark is always as refreshing as long pull of ice cold pop after a night of too many ghosts.

            The stool was at the perfect level for me to keep an eye on the guy directly across from me. We were surrounded by hundreds of enemy soldiers in browns, greens and the occasional blue. Their cheerful labels and whimsical names did little to belie their menace or potential to initiate a banzai charge. I nodded at the other guy and raised my glass. He returned the salute and I knew we would go down together if the attack was launched. We couldn't win, but we'd take as many bastards with us as we could.

            Business is lousy. Divorce gigs aren't what they used to be. Back in the Cretaceous Period, you needed to have some sort of proof if you wanted to appear before a judge and dissolve. Now, it's usually a case of, "You wanna?"

"Yep."

"3K, a short wait, and we're outta here."

            There was still the occasional contested issue where one side would want dirt on the other and needed to find some muck-raking, garbage-diving low-life to provide the goods. That's what my cards read... on the back. Throw in a fidelity test and a background check or two for a blue blood and I managed to get the rent paid and the cat fed.

            I smelled her before I saw her. The scent of L'air de Temps pushed through the other smells like a bodyguard clearing a path for a starlet through the paparazzi. I nodded at Ryan, made the 'two' sign and indicated the seat to my right. Ryan poured two glasses of bourbon and placed one in front of me and the other in front of Tawna as she sat next to me.

            "Hey, there, Kitten," I said. "What's a girl like you doing in  place like this?" I always wanted to say that.

            "Can, the crap, Sam. I'm here on business." She tossed the bourbon back in one smooth motion.

One of the many things I dug about Tawna, she could drink with the big boys. "Something must be brewing," I said. "You wouldn't be saying hello to the only reason we keep Kentucky in the union before sundown unless it was important."

"It is." The bourbon was already beginning to work its magic. I could see the tension beginning to unwind. A bit. You had to know where to look and you couldn't look directly. I had the guy opposite look for me.

            She emptied her glass, took a deep breath and turned to me. "We have a situation." She had my attention, for real, now. "There have been some threats made to one of the football players. Not him, directly, but this girlfriend-slash-hookup-slash-possible baby mama that he is involved with."

            I smiled. I laughed a little bit. Mistake.

            "What?!", Tawna demanded.

            "Nothing. I'm just amused by you using the term, 'baby mama'." After shrugging off the daggers her eyes shot at me, I waited a beat and rejoined.  "Okey. Kid's got girl problems. How do you and the Security Detail get involved? And more importantly, why has it got your Vicky's Secret unmentionables bunched up like the old dudes at Grandmothers on free pudding night?"

            "We can't get involved, directly. The girl isn't a student, so we can't even go talk to her, really. The player is the only one suggesting there have been threats, and he won't go to the police, since it would be a 'distraction'. The coaches care, but they know they can't make him do anything not related to football or class. So I'm stuck, not able to do what I know needs to be done and my hiphuggers are right where they're supposed to be." She motioned at Ryan to bring two more.

            "Fine. Why tell me all this?", I asked.

            "Are you going to actually make me say it?"

            "Say what? You got a tough nut to crack and your hands are tied. Normally, you're not into that sort of thing, so you're doubly pissed off. I would be, too."

 

            She gripped her glass a little tighter. I was hitting all the points I knew I shouldn't. I was having fun, though.

            "What I need," she said. "Is someone I can...trust...to check this out and see if it's a legitimate threat. I need to get it resolved and kept out of the public view, too. I'm tap-dancing in a mine field here, Sam."

That did it. She used my name. This was serious. I tossed back the rest of my bourbon and looked at the guy across from me. He looked me in the eye and reminded me that I owed her. "All right", I said, pushing my hat back. Give me the particulars. Let me know the no-go zones, too."

            "Would that matter?"

            "I'm wounded by that crack. I only break the rules when absolutely necessary."

            "Necessary being as often as possible."

            "Hey. I'm helping you out, remember."

            "You're helping me out because you need the gig, and it involves football. If the kid were on the gymnastics team, you wouldn't care."

            "That's true," I nodded. "But neither would anyone else. And you wouldn't be all hot and bothered about keeping it under the rug."

            It was her turn to toss back the bourbon.

            "Let me have my tech guy, Lloyd to work the case, too," I said.

            She looked me over, thought a minute, "Agreed."

            "Good, because without him, my idea of a wire tap is adding an extra piece of string to the tin-can line." That actually got a hint of a smile. "So, what, exactly, do you want me to find out?"

            "You need to find out exactly what the nature of the relationship is. Determine if there is a threat, the nature of the threat and determine what the motivation is. You get all that, I can get your fees, plus expenses."

            "Where's that going to come from?"

            "I'm consulting with you," she said. Then she winked.

            With that, she spun off the stool and sauntered to the door. Her hiphuggers were in the right place. I caught the guy across from me looking.

            I took stock of my situation. I had to locate and deal with a threat to a football player, without knowing the exact origin or nature of the threat. The first game was only a week away. I started listing off all the characters that might have an interest in how well a player performs. Fans, business owners, the 'O' Street bookmakers, opposing fans, the Vegas bookies, local and national media, the students, the team, the coaches, the athletic department and the U in general.

            Easy, right?

            I had to get in touch with Lloyd and make a few calls. I needed Tawna to provide the name of the player and his girlfriend...or whatever.

            I pulled the schedule out of my wallet, along with a couple of bills for Ryan. Wyoming was the first game. In Lincoln. I didn't have a whole lot of time to dwell on it, but I do know they are called the Cowboys, and it was time to saddle up and ride.