Rebecca's Key

     Lloyd and I were behind the Green Door, again. It's the only place where you could grab a smoke. We were in the alley with Tommy, the stand-up comic for tonight's entertainment. We shared our open-air cell with some local cats that were patrolling for the things they usually find in alleys.
     Tommy worked on his act. Lloyd even gave him one of his cigarillos, he needed it. He was worked up and keyed in about his upcoming performance. Lloyd told him about how the army, during the second go-round with the Krauts, recommended burning a cig while under shell fire, to help settle the nerves.
     Tommy eyed Lloyd skeptically and looked to me for confirmation.
     "Don't look at me," I said, dismissively. "This dude knows more about more weird shit than I know about my own background. It's either true, in which case the calming effects of  the nightshade derivative should be helping, soon; or, the stimulant nature of C10H12N2 should be causing a surge of epinephrine, which should have your heart beating faster, your pupils dilating and your brain trying to figure if your going to fight or bugger off."
     He flicked the remnants of the cigarillo into a puddle of steadily reducing shoreline from last night's storm. "You guys are weird," he said, as he headed for the stage door.
     "We've been called worse," Lloyd said after the latch clicked into place.
     "True words," I nodded, "true words".
     The phone rang. Rebecca was calling. As soon as I picked up, she said, "You need to leave. There is a bus stop across Clemens Avenue, on the same side of Michigan as that bar, you're in. Meet me there in 5 minutes." She was gone.
     I tossed a couple bucks on the table to cover our consumption and pulled Lloyd after me.
     The bus stop was in front of an abandoned building that looked like it had been a really boss drive thru in the 50's. After that went bust, a used car dealer had tried to make a go of it. Now, it looked like something ISIS would use as an urban combat training ground. Actually, most of this part of East Lansing looked like that. We got to the stop and didn't have to wait long before a  big, forest green, SUV screeched to a halt in front of us. The window powered down and a woman with Rebecca's voice told us to get in.
     She pulled away from the curb and started heading back, toward the campus. Rebecca is a compact woman, probably no more than five-five, and the leanness evident along her neck and hands indicated she was in decent shape. The muscles on her arms indicated to me that she lifted things more substantial than a glass of shiraz. Her legs, which extended to the pedals from a professional-looking black skirt, looked like they were the five-mile-a-day variety. Her long, red hair was swept back into a pony tail and her green eyes flashed with every word.
     Lloyd was swooning.
     "We don't have much time", she said as she kicked up pebbles pulling away from the curb. "Ever since I called you about Jamie, weird stuff has been happening."
     This surprised me, a bit. "Weird stuff like what?" I asked.
    "The trash guy taking too long with the garbage, on the wrong day, for one. A guy, claiming to be a reporter, calling the sports information office, wanting to interview me about what a trainer really does. That's never happened and I'm not the head trainer. To top it off, I keep seeing this guy on campus who is obviously not a student trying really hard to look like a student. That wouldn't concern me so much except I go to some places on campus that most students don't even have access to."
     She was on campus, now, and was navigating around the stadium. I was proud of Lloyd for not shedding a tear at the site of the defeat. "Whoever he is, he's not with us," I explained. "We might have a rival for your attentions." She shot me a look. Sometimes humor works to ease tensions. This time it worked as well as a positive pregnancy test as an April Fool's gag.
    She pulled into a parking garage, swiped a card a the gate and the barrier arm lifted. We ascended a few levels and she pulled into a spot. It was beginning to get dark, and I have to admit the trees in Michigan this time of year certainly put on a show. Rebecca looked around, checking to see if traffic was clear. It was.
     I was tempted to make a gag about 'Deep Throat", Mark Felt, not the porn Classic, and decided against it.
     Rebecca seemed satisfied no-one was watching. "Open the glove box," she directed.
     I did. A fat envelope nearly flung itself into my arms like a long-lost love.
     "Go ahead, open it," Rebecca directed again. I followed her instructions. It was difficult not to. Inside the envelope were several newspaper clippings, a print-out of a grainy photograph, and several letters from Jamie to Rebecca, dated 1998, but after the disappearance.
     The newspaper clippings were from the time of the disappearance and didn't really shed any light on the situation. Another clipping was from the Chicago Trib, it was about a science competition for high school kids. The winner had completed a study on long term atmospheric change on Mars in conjunction with colonization. Rebecca had highlighted the name and age of the second-place award, Elpis Smith, age 12, Evanston, IL.
     The photo was tough to make a call on. It was a blow-up of a crowd shot, taken at the game that Rebecca claimed to see Jamie. I had pored over her old pics to know her face pretty well, and the quality of the print-out made me unsure. But it held the possibility of being her.
     I held out the letters, "I don't have time to read these, right, now, give me the Reader's Digest version. Why are they included in the packet?"
     Rebecca sighed. "When you read them, you will find out for sure why Jamie left. She was pregnant. She either didn't know or wouldn't tell me who the father was. In her last letter to me, which came about six months after she left, she told me she was going to name the baby, Elpis."
     "That is an unusual name," I said.
     "Greek for hope," Lloyd finally chimed in. "It was the last spirit left in Pandora's box. Elpis"
     That's why I let him hang around.
     "And Smith is one of the perfect anonymous hidey-out, surnames," I thought aloud, rather than said to anyone in particular.
     "This is good stuff," I said to Rebecca, tucking the envelope into my coat. "I just need to know why you didn't come forward with this information, sooner."
     Her grip tightened on the wheel. "I figured she knew what she was doing, even though we all would have helped her. I can understand it though, Rick was a complete douche-bag, but that Jim guy she was seeing. Borderline psycho. He had problems, but Jamie couldn't see that."
     "That's funny," I said without laughing. "He's our chief of detectives, now."
     "Then watch your asses, boys."
     Rebecca dropped us off back at our favorite dive where Tommy was dying a slow death on stage. I looked at Lloyd. "Next stop, Evanston?"
     Lloyd just nodded. He was staring after the SUV as it disappeared around the corner. He had that look that told me he was either thinking of all the food possibilities in Chicago, or he was imagining Rebecca stabilizing his knee.
     I hope it was the food.