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."