Getting to Fresno on short notice is not easy. First I had to convince Tompkins that shelling out 3K for Lloyd and I to go was worth it. Either he really wants to solve this case, he was feeling particularly generous or I am extremely convincing.
My vote is for one of the first two options.
On a Delta plane that was sadly not delta-winged, we bopped from the LNK, over a couple hundred lakes to the Twin Cities, that from the air, look like conjoined twins. From there we waved at our houses as we backtracked to Salt Lake City, by one big lake, keeping a wary eye on the gulls as we landed. One final hop took us to Fresno, airport code FAT. That little tid-bit, according to Lloyd is either sadly accurate, or deliciously ironic, since Fresno has the highest diabetes rate in the country.
We blazed out of the airport and ran smack into a sickening miasma of heat and despair. Rather than the beautiful vista of Yosemite, which you see on your way to baggage claim, you see a sprawling, decaying urban morass. It's like New Orleans without the charm, or the fun, or the history. I looked at Lloyd, he looked back at me with a look that read, 'you wanted to come here, bitch.'
We grabbed the rental wheels and cranked the a/c in order to fight the heat and the weird smell that I can only compare to a port-a-john at a weekend long music festival.
We found our accommodations, The Holiday Motel, on Golden Gate Boulevard. It looked like a nice place, if, by nice, you mean, homeless dudes shuffling around talking to Jesus about Hitler and working girls that have business cards with services offered and prices listed. I tried to prevent Lloyd from making too much eye-contact, but he was loving it.
We got to the room and it was a good thing we had someplace to go. The holes in the wall and the bugs on the bed was unpleasant enough, but when the train rolled by, it was like being in Elwood's apartment in 'Blues Brothers'. I don't want to seem too harsh, but this place could be used to train special forces guys for how to survive in an urban environment on limited resources.
"You know," I said to Lloyd, "we should probably just work out of the car. I don't want to leave anything here, and I didn't bring anything to play Fort Apache with if someone tries to pay us a visit."
"Come on, I kind of like it," he said in a slightly defeated tone. "It's the kind of place that Charles Bukowski or Hunter S. Thompson would love...if they were broke...and unemployed...and freshly out of court-mandated rehab."
"Tompkins made these reservations. I'll have to have a word with him when we get back."
"What do you expect for 40 bucks a night, the Ritz."
We went back to the car, shooing the working girls away, who scattered like starlings and called out to us in a polyglot of slang from around the world. Lloyd was beaming, it was like every seedy, pulp-fiction nightmare was springing to life, right in front of him. I know it's usually part and parcel with the gig, but it makes you appreciate how straight and dullsville Lincoln is.
We set off for Ex-Stacy productions. Making our way through a town short on hope and long on despair. It was like driving across the front of an E-Z-Bake oven, but without the prospect of a tasty treat at the end.
We headed across town, marveling at how quickly one could get a free windshield cleaning...at every stop light. Bums and low-lifes milled together on the campus, trying to look like students. Lloyd said those were the students.
As we blazed past Bulldog Stadium Lloyd began to open up about the game. The game that we would maybe get to watch at some gulp & puke near the hotel. "You know," he said, gazing thoughtfully at the stadium, "That place only holds 41,000. It'll be like playing at Kansas State or Iowa State, back in the day. There are lots of Nebraskans in California, I wouldn't be surprised to see us pull a Northwestern or Notre Dame and take over the joint."
"You feeling better about the team, than last week?" I asked.
"It's weird, but getting RG4 back will make a huge impact. He's just a giant, disruptive force, that elevates the effectiveness of the rest of the line. The linebackers disappointed me, a bit, but I still think they are trying to get comfortable with their new roles after Rose got hurt. The backfield played all right, giving up one big play that led to a spark for the Cowboys, but overall they did ok."
We were passing through a part of town that reminded me of Gaza, but without the charm, or local color. Bizarres rather than bazaars lined the streets. The locals seemed to shuffle along in a post-apocalyptic stupor, I half expected them to start groaning, 'braiiins'.
"I think they'll be ok," he continued. The offense struggled to find a rhythm, last week, and some poor execution of third downs really stymied the offense. I think McNeese State might have actually had a more talented defense than Fresno. Both USC and Utah basically scored at will, I don't know if our offense is as good as that, but if the o-line is angry and embarrassed about last week, we could b in for a real show of smash-mouth football."
Ex-Stacy was looming, according to the little voice on the dashboard, the vista had changed, a bit, it started to feel a little bit more like post-war Europe, but I was still a little wary of what I could get for a Hershey bar and a pair of nylons.
"All things considered, the teams, the late start, the crowd, the fact that Derek Carr is starting up-state, all of it, what do you think?"
Lloyd pondered for a moment as pawn shops, payday advance dives and adult toy stores ultra-glided past the windows. "Our offense is better than their defense, especially after getting slapped in the face, last week. Our defense is better, than their offense, but I don't know how much better, I'm thinking they will score a couple of times. Special teams is probably a wash, with Pierson-El still figuring things out. The environment and crowd will not be much of a factor. These guys have experience playing in stadiums that hold over twice as many people as this place does. I'm not worried about intimidation."
"So, give me your final score prediction, and does Ameer get back on track?"
"I don't want to get overconfident, but I think we will drop 42 on them, they just look sloppy and slow. I don't think we'll shut them out, but I think it might be a run away and hide game, jump out to a big lead, then run the ball so we can get the hell out of Dodge. 28-10, at the half, 42-17 final. Ameer gets his 100, but so does Imani, and Newby gets, close."
I nodded in general agreement as we pulled into the parking lot, of a post-post-modern office building, all glass and concrete. The sun reflected off the windows and I was hoping it didn't laser-ize the rental ride. The sign out front included several concerns, including 'Ex-Stacy Productions'.
We bopped into the blessedly cool air.
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