"Twenty-two and a half seems a bit of a reach," I scoffed. "The o-line needs to mesh and develop chemistry. Tommy needs to make the team his, and doesn't have the 'explosiveness' of Martinez, well, Martinez before his knee/toe/head injury slowed him down."
     Lloyd looked at me, strangely. "Martinez never had a head injury."
     "I know. It would have been nice to blame some of his decision making on one, though."
     "Let it go, man. T-Magic era died a lonely death in Minnesota, last year. It's Tommy Time."
     I shook my head at Lloyd.
     "Tommy Armstrong, Hero of the High Plains."
     "Keep working on it, man, something will come to you."
     Lloyd drifted for a bit, before resuming his analysis. "The running game will be awesome. The depth is amazing. Imagine having to chase Ameer Abdullah around. Once he needs a rest, Imani Cross comes in, and he's good enough to start on your team. Then Terrell Newby appears, and he's just biding his time to get to be the guy that  could start for your team. Fresh legs, all day long."
     "As long as the o-line is opening the holes for them," I pointed out.
     "Ameer will finish with 200 yards rushing, against the FLAt Owls."
     "Flat Owls?"
     "FLorida Atlantic."
     "Got it. Cute. How about the receiving corps?"
     "Kenny Bell is prepping his highlight reel for draft day, next year. Jamal Turner and Jordan Westerkamp will be viable downfield threats. We just need a big, go-to receiver to do what Quincy Enunwa did, last year. Cethan Carter needs to make the jump from talented freshman to reliable seem target, at tight end."
     I nodded. None of this was really new, but I liked to get Lloyd fired up. He was easier to work with, and didn't need to be prodded into action when he had his groove on. "What can we expect from the defense?"
     "Besides Randy Gregory looking like some mad scientist's attempt at making Frankenend? Combine Broderick Thomas' length and Grant Wistrom's motor and you get RG4. Brace yourself, he will get drafted, first or second round."
     "That's a bold statement."
     Lloyd just nodded, but with a look that said, 'get real, he's going to cash in'. The rest of the d-line will benefit if the Owls try to double team Gregory. Vincent Valentine almost demands a double team. They will bring pressure all day long, without getting beyond their vanilla scheme."

     "How about against the run?"

     The line will do a great drop cleaning up blockers, Santos, Banderas and Anderson are all good, not LaVonte David good, but good enough to fly around and make stops, they all grew up a lot, last year."

     "How about the final line of defense? If Johnson gets time and can get the ball airborne, will he have open receivers?"

     "If you had asked me before fall camp, I would say that the defensive backs were a solid bunch, that no-one would have to worry about. Then the injuries hit. Mitchell didn't get any taller, and Davie needs to show he can replace SJB and that's a tall order. I'm fine with Cooper, but Gerry at safety makes me a bit nervous, he switched to the position because he was undersized at linebacker. Cockrell is wowing everyone at nickel, so the big question is getting depth. They wont have a problem, this week, but a good receiving corps could stretch them."

     "Okey, so what is your final score prediction and how many touchdowns will Ameer end up with?"

     Lloyd closed his eyes and did that thing where he watched his numbers dance to music only he could hear. "45-13, maybe 20, either way, Huskers cover. Ameer will have two rushing touchdowns. Tommy will run for one and throw two, one to Kenny Bell."

     "That's getting pretty specific."

     "You want specific? The kickers will go a combined 1-for-3 on field goal attempts."

     "If you nail that prediction, I will buy you a glass of that Pappy Van Winkle Special Reserve." I hoped I had enough cash to cover that, since Lloyd was probably right.

     Realizing that I had been ignoring Tompkins, I made my way back over to him before the steam started seeping from his ears. "Sorry about that," I lied. "Lloyd tends to ramble a bit, when provoked."

     Jim looked at his watch. "I have to get going. I will have the files delivered to your office and you will sign for them. You do have a secure place to store them, don't you?"

     "Sure," I said. "I've got an extra large cookie jar with only a couple of oreos in it. Should be plenty of room and no one would ever think to look there."

     "Don't be a smart-ass, Sam," he snapped.

     "Don't treat me like some rookie that doesn't know what he's doing. Some files for a cold case that no-one but you gives a crap about should attract as much attention as a Shakespeare lecture at a monster truck rally. As long as you are being on the level, we're as Jake as Geddis in Chinatown."

     Tompkins stood up, tried to loom, his jaw clenched just a bit too much. "I need your full attention on this, if you treat all your clients like this, it's a wonder you're still in business."

    I nodded gravely, "You might just be on to something, there, detective."

     He turned on his heel and was through the door.

     I hope he didn't expect me to start digging until about 5:30 or so.

 

                I told Jim that I either needed a trip to the tombs, or that he needed to arrange for the evidence boxes to be delivered. He told me that they would be delivered to my office, but I had to sign for them; chain of evidence and all that hoo-hah. I told him that I would need an assistant, to help with the leg work, and some of the techy-magical-computer stuff that reputable investigators use these days. He told me that would have to be filed under the 'expenses' part of the ledger, and since when did I consider myself 'reputable'?

            Touché. Ouch, but touché.

            I reminded him that I would probably have to interview him, just to get his perspective on the events. He told me his perspective was in the files. Not a good sign. I told him that we could do a quick, once-over, informally, just to get the highlights set up. He gave me that look. The look only a hard-core, lifer cop can give you, that makes you feel like he knows, just knows about all the crap you've pulled, including that time you lied about your age to get into a movie that you weren't supposed to be at in the first place...when you were 14.

            "All right", he said. "We'll go over some of the particulars, just to get you going."

            He sat back in the booth and collected his thoughts. It can be very interesting to watch a man's face as he starts pulling memories up, especially the ones that cause pain. The little twitches, winces and furrowed brows are giveaways, but you never know which memory causes what twitch.

            "January 14, 1997," he began in a voice that was younger, less gravelly, less jaded. "Jamie Brewer, 25, of Lincoln, was reported by her husband, Rick, 28, as missing, when she failed to return home following a night out with several friends."

            'Last seen at?," I interrupted.

            "Her friends said they dropped her off at her car after drinks at Iguana's . The six of them were out partying, having a blow-out. They walked Jamie back to her car, she got in and drove off. Her friends all assumed she was going home, that was at 1:30 a.m."

            I was taking some notes, beginning to think that this was going to end up as a wild goose chase, but I did have to exercise my due diligence.

            "Mr. Brewer's first call came in at 8 a.m., we gave him the standard, 'You need to wait 24 hours' bit. She might be taking a break, crashed at a friend and forgot to call...'All that good stuff. So, the next day, he shows up at the station, all pissed off and we write up a missing person report. He's ranting and raving about how we've wasted valuable time and all that. The desk Sergeant, a great, big, old-school bull copper had to come in and settle him down."

            I looked up and my friend, Lloyd, was sitting at the bar. Lloyd does that, he shows up at places, he might have been there for hours, but you don't ever seem to notice him until he wants to be noticed. I stopped Jim, mid-story. "I need to go consult with my 'operative' for a moment. Grab a drink, put it on my tab --"

            "Where it will be billed as an 'expense'," Jim growled.

            "See.  We already read each other."

            Lloyd was fiddling with one of his many electronic devices. "Lloyd, man, I've got a gig, if you're interested," I said as I eased myself into one of the high-backed chairs along the bar.

            "I don't know," came the unexpected reply. "I am getting all set for my analytics, this season. The depth chart just came out. The first game is this weekend. There are some really good games on a tough schedule."

            "Relax. Have a drink. You know I wouldn't disrupt your 'data analysis' unless it was important. It's a paying gig."

            He shifted his gaze and looked at me. Wait. No. He looked toward me. His watery eyes seemed to stare through me. This look of his could be really unsettling. Sometimes it appeared as if he were seeing something just beyond the visible spectrum. Other times it looked like he didn't care about anything. The blank stare of someone who just doesn't give a shit about anything, including life, itself.  

            "Okey," he said. "I can go all in this week, and maybe next week. I'm really not expecting much of a hassle, this week. This is one of those games that Nebraska should win, it's just a question of, 'by how much'. I fully expect Ameer Abdullah to have close to 200 yards, rushing. It will be a vanilla game on both sides of the ball. Line 'em up and pound them, don't reveal too much to future opponents. Tommy Armstrong needs to show that he has progressed since last year. No bad interceptions."

            I nodded at him as he paused for a sip of water.

            "The defense needs to show that they haven't slipped, too far, from the end of last year. The interior line should be able to get some reps for the newer players in order to build depth. The linebackers and secondary will be challenged. Johnson, the Owls' quarterback is big and mobile, he'll make the defense cover the whole field."

            "So, after the game, you want to help me out? I have sweet, sweet cash for you."

            "The line is -22.5 for the Huskers. Take the points. Yes, I'm in, " he said, his gaze returning to our plane.

Husk-husk 2014

Husk-husk and on the QB 2014

     We've been lucky, this summer. Normally summer around here is like waking up with a big dog lying on your chest, panting in your face. No matter where you went, or what you did, the stink of dog-breath followed you around. Your clothes stuck to every part of you and taking a shower just swapped out one feeling of wet for another.

     This year there had only been about a week of that kind of weather. The rest of the time was a much more manageable kind of mutt, like a friendly collie, or loyal labrador, but it was still the dog days for a reason.

     I was sitting in Jake's, a local concern that was part cigar bar, part Mos Eisley Cantina. One of my friends had dubbed it the Bastion of Freedom. In this fortress of liberty, I was reading the local fishwrap, drinking Devil's Cut, and fumigating the room with a churchill. The content of the sports page held my attention while I flirted with spontaneous combustion. Fall camp for the Huskers was nearing an end, and after an early spate of injuries, it looked like the depth chart was taking shape as the team prepared to face Florida Atlantic.

     The usual excitement is in the air, a young gunslinger named Tommy Armstrong had gained valuable experience the year before and now had a firm handle on the team. The running backs are a talented, deep group, led by All-American candidate Ameer Abdullah, that will bring wave after wave of pressure on a defense. Kenny Bell and the receivers are probably the best collection of talent that the Huskers have ever had, as a unit. Jake Cotton and O-line is as big, foul tempered, nasty and deeper than any unit coach Pelini has had, here.

     On defense, Randy Gregory spearheads a defensive line that looks like it can disrupt any offensive attack. The linebackers are a fast, versatile bunch. Josh Banderas needs to get on his bike, or anyone else's for that matter, and help the younglings build some depth. Josh Mitchell and the defensive backs are talented and have quite a bit of experience, but injuries have eaten into their depth, too. There is a motto of a very good pro team, 'Next Man Up', that these young guys need to embrace.

     The Special Teams have raised some concern. The punting duties look to be ok, but a kick returner who can return the ball more than a couple of yards at a pop and a place kicker of reliability needs to emerge.

     Such was the state of my reverie when it was interrupted by the gruff authoritarian voice of Jim Tompkins. "Sam", he said, or rather barked.

     I sat up, inhaled a long draw from the cigar and let the smoke escape like a corrupt warden. "Jim, old boy. Or should I say, 'Captain of Detectives Tompkins'? What brings you all the way down to my humble home away from home?"

     He slid into the booth across from me. "Can it, Sam. It's what, ten blocks from the station, and it's not like you're a hard guy to track down, lately," he rasped with a voice that had seen more than its fair share of 15 rounds with The Menthol Kid.

     "So, business has been a little slow," I shrugged, kind of lamely, "You don't have to be mean about it, Mon Capitan."

     "Business is slow, eh? How would you like to pick up some cash, then?"

     My ears perked up, but my spidey senses were tingling a bit. A big shot in the local Fuzz was coming to me with a gig, something was up. "Sooo, you know I can't work active criminal cases," I said. I took another long draw from the cigar. "I can't imagine you being involved in anything that would make the boys in Internal Affairs want to poke around in your underwear drawer. So, what gives, am I going to be deputized or is this a civil matter for the friend of a friend?"

     "It's somewhere in between all that," he sighed. He leaned forward , put his hands on the table, somehow looking both smaller and broader at the same time. "It's a missing person case that has gone cold. We've pretty much signed off on it, unless said person turns up dead, which makes it an open case, again. Right now, all we have is a case of woman who was last seen having a wild time in a bar, downtown. She didn't come home the next day, or the day after that. Her husband filed a report, we ran him through wringer, gave him the complete workover and he never broke. He had an airtight alibi and no discernible motive."

     "There's always a motive," I interrupted.

     "I said, 'discernible'", he shot back. Anyway, she has been missing since 1997. I was first to interview  the husband, and first to consider him as a suspect. The higher ups have given me the no-go on taking one last look at it before it goes to the tombs."

     I gave Jim a good long stare. He was too straight a shooter to try to B.S. me. A nearly 20 year-old case with a woman who more than likely just buggered off for a new life because the old one didn't fit, anymore. "Talk dollars to me, baby, I need to replenish my humidor."