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.