Lloyd hadn't talked to me for a couple of days. He doesn't mind being wrong, now and then, but to be really wrong perturbs him, some. He gets pissed off if you try to make light of it.
I had been trying to cheer him up after McNeese State had refused to go quietly into the early afternoon. I tried the usual angles of, "Hey, a win is a win, right?" and "2-0 is a damn sight better than 1-1 and being the punchline of the week." What really set him off, for whatever reason, was when I said to him, "This team isn't as bad as the team that nearly lost to McNeese State, and they aren't as good as the team that crushed Florida Atlantic."
I really don't know what button I had pushed, but it set him charging out of the office.
I still didn't have a feel for Jamie's husband. He had been busy turning small bundles of money into bigger bundles of money in the shape of dirt for almost 20 years, now. He had gotten into the real estate gig, shortly after college and had angled toward the commercial side from the get-go. Matching clients with their rental space and outlet areas had grown into lining up investors into sinking cash into parcels of land for mini-malls, franchisees, and car dealerships.
He had a long-term plan, too. He would take any extra cash and buy up parcels of land outside of town along the major arterial roads. When possible, he would expand to land adjacent and wait. Like a spider, he was reward for his patience when the big-box stores started arriving. He tripled, and quadrupled his investments. There were some that said his value was in the millions, and it showed.
He drove around town in a tricked out Caddy Escalade (hybrid, of course), Armani suits, Rolex watch, Aviator sunglasses. He was a key donor in local politics, and was occasionally rumored to be in the mix for several offices. I didn't think he'd take they pay cut to sit on the City Council.
At the time of Jamie's disappearance, though, he wasn't the man-about-town, he was, now. He was becoming the guy the firm would bring in to close a tricky deal. The guy who seemed to know what the other person was thinking, and instinctively hinge the negotiations around that.
As good as he was at figuring out his clients, he seemed to have a blind spot regarding Jamie. In the reports taken from the friends she went out with on the night of her disappearance, there seemed to be problems bubbling up with the Brewers. Jamie complained that they never spent any time together, that he was too focused on work. She wanted to start a family, but he wasn't ready, yet. One report, from a friend named Stacy Thurston, suggested that Mr. Brewer was stepping out, but when pressed, clammed up on the name. There was something about Ms. Thurston's report that chewed at me. The other ones all seemed to be alike, but hers stood out. The suggestion of an affair didn't surprise me. That only one of the six women that went out that night made that connection prickled at the edge of my skin. It was like something that you keep glimpsing out of the corner of your eye and when you look at it, head-on, it's gone.
I started digging. Stacy had gone to school with Jamie, and had started making a bit of a name for herself, appearing in local theater and T.V. ads after graduating from college. She stayed in Lincoln for about a year after Jamie's disappearance. and had lit-out west to chase the stars and her dreams. About five years later, she drops out of sight completely. Almost completely. He mom told me that she will still get an occasional call, or a letter, but they are always short on duration and detail.
I looked her up on IMDB, and found nothing. Even after I ran the name her mom said was on her SAG card, Robin Thrush, I only found a few appearances as walk-on roles in soaps and direct to video low-budget dreck.
I was just about to give up on the lead when I happened to see the one of the DVDs being tortured on the rack at Hy Vee. 'Zombie Cheerleaders of Massacre High', in which Stacy played Jenny #3. I plunked down the 5 bucks necessary to release it from its discount purgatory. The kid behind the counter gave me the fish-eye. "Don't judge," I admonished.
I didn't even want or need to watch the movie. I just wanted the contact information for the production company.
I called Tent City Productions and talked to a secretary. Before she could cut me off with the usual nonsense about protecting the talent and all that, I jumped straight to the game. "Hi I'm Vic, Vic Marrow, from over at Twilight Casting and If you could just let me have the name or number of Robin Thrush's agent, we've got a project we'd love to offer her, a part that she is just perfect for, we think it would be the launch of a whole new career..." Do it all in one breath before a person's brain can catch up to their ears.
"Hold on a minute," Julie the laconic secretary said. "Did you say 'Robin Thrush'?"
"Yes. That was the credit in Zombie Cheerleaders."
"Which one was she?"
"The prom queen that got trapped in the bathroom. Tried to fight her way out with her plastic scepter."
"Oh, yeah. she had a pretty good look. Her agent listed here Tony Marchetti--"
"Great," I schmoozed. "If you could just give me his number."
"Won't do you any good. He's doing a stretch in Q."
"San Quentin? What did he do, kill somebody?" I asked, feeling my stealthy, sneaky plan unravelling.
"Not sure. It had something to do with drugs, though. Either distributing or trafficking or whatever they call it. Anyway, he's inside. You can call there if you want to talk to him."
Cute. "No, that won't do me a lot of good, now." I called the hail Mary play. "If she's unrepresented, maybe you could, you know, give me her contact information, if it's not too much trouble."
"We both know that it would be unethical and illegal for me to do that," she said, still bored. "What I can do is this, since you seem to want to help the kid out."
Kid? This secretary was all of 25 years old, and I was looking for a lady who had appeared in a schlock movie years ago for a company that I was surprised to still be in business.
"What I can do is this. I heard that she and some of the other cast had moved up to the Valley and started working up there."
"Oh," I said, suddenly realizing the implication of this new info. "So, she is now in the Adult Entertainment Industry?"
"Ya, that's what I just said."
"Thanks, anyway," I said and hung up.
This brought a whole new dynamic. I had to break the jam if I wanted to progress. I dialed up Lloyd. It went straight to voicemail.
"Lloyd, man. I'm sorry bout my cracks about your Husker predictions. I know you take it very seriously and I hurt your feelings," I said in my really, I'm trying very hard to be sincere voice."
"Ive got a lead, but Ive hit a brick wall. I've been trying to track down Stacy/Robin Thrush and the last bit of info I got was that she had gotten into performing in the Adult Entertainment industry. So I'm stuck, I doubt if I'll be able to weasel any info about and actress from any of those companies."
I hung up and started pawing through the other files. Maybe One of the other friends was still around. I was beginning to get a headache, and beginning to wonder if all this hassle was really worth it. The tiny oppressed sliver of my conscience and my bank account agreed that one must press on.
I got a text from Lloyd. "Looking in wrong place," it read. At least he didn't blow me off.
"What do you mean?"
He sent me a link to XBIZ, the trade paper of the Adult Entertainment Industry. There, on a feature article, was a picture of an older, more secure Stacy Thrush. She wasn't a performer, anymore. She had started a company called Ex-Stacy Productions, some years ago. Ex-Stacy made films for women, by women, a novel idea at the time. She had done quite well for herself, and her headquarters was in Fresno, California.
I texted Lloyd back. "2 things. Thanks. Road trip?"
"K," he buzzed back.
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