The Girl With Faraway Eyes

                Kicking off the 2013 season a little differently. So much analysis, predictions, prognostications, etc. are out there. This is a story, that will play out over the course of the season, with Nebraska football as the background. I'm not going to get into depth charts, recruiting and play calling so much. What I will do, is tell my tale with significant plot points being derived from the games. I Hope you enjoy it.

 

 

      I loved getting here before anyone else. The staff knows me. Ryan, specifically, knew how I liked my drinks. The cool and the dark is always as refreshing as long pull of ice cold pop after a night of too many ghosts.

            The stool was at the perfect level for me to keep an eye on the guy directly across from me. We were surrounded by hundreds of enemy soldiers in browns, greens and the occasional blue. Their cheerful labels and whimsical names did little to belie their menace or potential to initiate a banzai charge. I nodded at the other guy and raised my glass. He returned the salute and I knew we would go down together if the attack was launched. We couldn't win, but we'd take as many bastards with us as we could.

            Business is lousy. Divorce gigs aren't what they used to be. Back in the Cretaceous Period, you needed to have some sort of proof if you wanted to appear before a judge and dissolve. Now, it's usually a case of, "You wanna?"

"Yep."

"3K, a short wait, and we're outta here."

            There was still the occasional contested issue where one side would want dirt on the other and needed to find some muck-raking, garbage-diving low-life to provide the goods. That's what my cards read... on the back. Throw in a fidelity test and a background check or two for a blue blood and I managed to get the rent paid and the cat fed.

            I smelled her before I saw her. The scent of L'air de Temps pushed through the other smells like a bodyguard clearing a path for a starlet through the paparazzi. I nodded at Ryan, made the 'two' sign and indicated the seat to my right. Ryan poured two glasses of bourbon and placed one in front of me and the other in front of Tawna as she sat next to me.

            "Hey, there, Kitten," I said. "What's a girl like you doing in  place like this?" I always wanted to say that.

            "Can, the crap, Sam. I'm here on business." She tossed the bourbon back in one smooth motion.

One of the many things I dug about Tawna, she could drink with the big boys. "Something must be brewing," I said. "You wouldn't be saying hello to the only reason we keep Kentucky in the union before sundown unless it was important."

"It is." The bourbon was already beginning to work its magic. I could see the tension beginning to unwind. A bit. You had to know where to look and you couldn't look directly. I had the guy opposite look for me.

            She emptied her glass, took a deep breath and turned to me. "We have a situation." She had my attention, for real, now. "There have been some threats made to one of the football players. Not him, directly, but this girlfriend-slash-hookup-slash-possible baby mama that he is involved with."

            I smiled. I laughed a little bit. Mistake.

            "What?!", Tawna demanded.

            "Nothing. I'm just amused by you using the term, 'baby mama'." After shrugging off the daggers her eyes shot at me, I waited a beat and rejoined.  "Okey. Kid's got girl problems. How do you and the Security Detail get involved? And more importantly, why has it got your Vicky's Secret unmentionables bunched up like the old dudes at Grandmothers on free pudding night?"

            "We can't get involved, directly. The girl isn't a student, so we can't even go talk to her, really. The player is the only one suggesting there have been threats, and he won't go to the police, since it would be a 'distraction'. The coaches care, but they know they can't make him do anything not related to football or class. So I'm stuck, not able to do what I know needs to be done and my hiphuggers are right where they're supposed to be." She motioned at Ryan to bring two more.

            "Fine. Why tell me all this?", I asked.

            "Are you going to actually make me say it?"

            "Say what? You got a tough nut to crack and your hands are tied. Normally, you're not into that sort of thing, so you're doubly pissed off. I would be, too."

 

            She gripped her glass a little tighter. I was hitting all the points I knew I shouldn't. I was having fun, though.

            "What I need," she said. "Is someone I can...trust...to check this out and see if it's a legitimate threat. I need to get it resolved and kept out of the public view, too. I'm tap-dancing in a mine field here, Sam."

That did it. She used my name. This was serious. I tossed back the rest of my bourbon and looked at the guy across from me. He looked me in the eye and reminded me that I owed her. "All right", I said, pushing my hat back. Give me the particulars. Let me know the no-go zones, too."

            "Would that matter?"

            "I'm wounded by that crack. I only break the rules when absolutely necessary."

            "Necessary being as often as possible."

            "Hey. I'm helping you out, remember."

            "You're helping me out because you need the gig, and it involves football. If the kid were on the gymnastics team, you wouldn't care."

            "That's true," I nodded. "But neither would anyone else. And you wouldn't be all hot and bothered about keeping it under the rug."

            It was her turn to toss back the bourbon.

            "Let me have my tech guy, Lloyd to work the case, too," I said.

            She looked me over, thought a minute, "Agreed."

            "Good, because without him, my idea of a wire tap is adding an extra piece of string to the tin-can line." That actually got a hint of a smile. "So, what, exactly, do you want me to find out?"

            "You need to find out exactly what the nature of the relationship is. Determine if there is a threat, the nature of the threat and determine what the motivation is. You get all that, I can get your fees, plus expenses."

            "Where's that going to come from?"

            "I'm consulting with you," she said. Then she winked.

            With that, she spun off the stool and sauntered to the door. Her hiphuggers were in the right place. I caught the guy across from me looking.

            I took stock of my situation. I had to locate and deal with a threat to a football player, without knowing the exact origin or nature of the threat. The first game was only a week away. I started listing off all the characters that might have an interest in how well a player performs. Fans, business owners, the 'O' Street bookmakers, opposing fans, the Vegas bookies, local and national media, the students, the team, the coaches, the athletic department and the U in general.

            Easy, right?

            I had to get in touch with Lloyd and make a few calls. I needed Tawna to provide the name of the player and his girlfriend...or whatever.

            I pulled the schedule out of my wallet, along with a couple of bills for Ryan. Wyoming was the first game. In Lincoln. I didn't have a whole lot of time to dwell on it, but I do know they are called the Cowboys, and it was time to saddle up and ride.

Going Back to Ohio

     It may not look like much on the scoreboard, but a rally from a 17 point deficit to a 3 point win is pretty impressive. The swing from last year was a whopping 34 points. Big difference: no Russell Wilson for the Stinking Badgers. Not as big difference, the new and improved Taylor Martinez.
     You always hear how the game is won in the trenches, usually spoken by guys who's only idea of trench warfare is the assorted 22 minutes or so from Downton Abby. If true, then the Husker front four drove the mastodons from UW even closer to extinction. Extra props to the linebackers, too. All made impressive plays, 'Zo Whaley, Sean Fisher and Will Compton stood out at key moments. Compton reminds me of a classic throwback '60's linebacker, except fast.
     I think the ground game has a recipe for long term success. Wave after wave of Burkhead and Abdullah. You could see it starting to take shape in the second half. Sprinkle in a little T-Magic and this offense looks like it might be unstoppable by anyone, save themselves. Dropping 45 points a game on opponents is tough to counter.
     On to the next gig. All the way to Columbus, Ohio. Lloyd and I loaded up the van with lads and began the odyssey all the way to the Arch City...wonder if that's because of Archie Griffen? I could see it. "Groping in the Dark" was booked for a place called 'The Worst Bar in Columbus'. I'm sure the competition was fierce, but that is the actual name of the place. I sought out the owner or manager or bartender who looked like he was in charge in order to get sorted out.
     I wonder if Bo will have any chance to enjoy his homecoming.
     Rod was a decent sort, all things considered. He only looked at us like we were noisy tourists talking too loudly in a cathedral. More tolerant than I expected. I anticipated him looking at us like enemy agents trying to slip by his border post undetected. Yes, he knew where we were from.
     He came sauntering up as Nigel struggled to fit his synthesizer onto the tiny stage with all the other gear. "You know you're going to lose on Saturday, don'cha?"
     Figuring that Nigel had no idea about what Rod was talking about, I intervened. "Lose at what?" I asked, putting on my best confused look. That one is easy, I'm confused a lot.
     "The Buckeyes are going to destroy Nebraska, ol' Braxton will run circles around them."
     "What is a Buckeye and who or What is a Braxton?", I asked, not rising to the bait.
     "The Buckeyes, you know, the football team from THE Ohio State University."
     I always hated that extra emphasis on 'The' that OSU players and fans coughed out.
     "Braxton Miller is the quarterback that will make those Cornhumpers look silly", Rod continued.
     "Oh, ok," I nodded. "You still haven't told me what a Buckeye is, though."
     "Awe, hell, it's a tree. The Ohio Buckeye, a type of chestnut."
     "Why name your team after a tree?"
     "It's not just the team. It's the State, the people. Ohio is the Buckeye State."
     Chas chimed in, "You mean like conkers?"
     "What?"
     "Conkers. You put the conkers, or horse chestnuts, on a bit of string and whack the hell out of them in turn, until one breaks," he explained.
     Rod looked at him as if he had grown a second head, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
     "Yanks," he scoffed and went back to setting up.
     I had a feeling that Chas was on to something, though. I started thinking that the game would be like a game of conkers. Each side is going to take a whack at the other until one breaks. Both offenses are just a bit better than the defenses they will face.
     Nebraska was the more diverse attack, and will force OSU to play honestly all game. The main weapon is Taylor Martinez, who has been making key passes as well as plays with his running. Rex and Ameer are the best running back tandem in the B1G. Kenny, Quincey and Kyler are effective downfield weapons.
     OSU has Braxton Miller. He does the same job as the entire Nebraska backfield. He is the key to the game. He is just a good enough passer to hurt the defense. He won't sit back in the pocket and pick the D apart, he'll do it while running, drawing defenders up and hitting receivers that get left open.
     The band brought me out of my reverie as they sound checked with Blondie's 'One Way or Another'. Seems to fit to me. A huge dude wearing khaki shorts and an Ohio State sweatshirt ambled up to me. The shirt was so badly stretched over his massive gut, that the type 'O' looked more like an ellipse. "Are you Sam?" he wheezed.
     "Yeah," I said. Who wants to know?
     "Susan said to give you this," he said, pressing a folded piece of paper to my hand.
     I opened it right there. It read 'Meet me at midnight at a place called Hang Over Easy -- S'
     That meant I could hang out, catch the game, and still hit the meeting. Finally, a break.
     I settled in to bide my time and watch the track meet that was about to unfold.
     A track meet that I expect the Huskers to win, 38-35.
     Husk-husk and on the qb.

New Blood on the search

     I finally caught up to Non-Stop John at Brewsky's. He had notebooks, a pitcher of beer, a plate of nachos and two cell phones arrayed in front of him. He seemed to be trying to watch all 15 screens on the wall at once. Neat trick when you can manage it.
     "John," I said, "Or if you prefer 'Non-Stop', I've got a couple of questions to ask you."
     He motioned for me to sit, and gave me a quick glance over his shades. "You can ask. Don't know if I'll have any answers, though. And if it's betting tips, you can go away, now."
     "I don't need betting tips. I've got a missing person and was told that you may have heard something about her."
     John leaned back in his chair. He placed his hands behind his head in an obvious attempt at looking unconcerned. "Why are you coming to me with this?"
     "I need help and I'm stumped. You came highly recommended, but if you don't want to help..."
     "I'm not linked to this chick?"
     "No."
     "Who recommended me?"
     "Preacherman."
     He relaxed. "You should have said so, earlier. Preach and I go way back. What are the particulars?" he asked pulling one of his notebooks toward him.
     I told him about Susan, ''Groping in the Dark" and the trip to L.A. with the tip from Mickey. I told him how Lloyd and I had taken over the management of the band and how we needed to find things to keep them busy. He nodded, took a few notes and asked a few clarifying questions. "I can connect with some people, but if it starts involving a lot of leg-work..."
     "I know. If you get into this for me, I will get you my agency's standard fee for an investigator, assuming you're bonded and licensed, of course," I said, doubtfully.
     "Licensed, bonded, never use it. Just in case kind of thing."
     We shook on the agreement and I nodded toward the screens. "Do you think the Huskers will get their revenge, on Saturday?"
     "Against the Stinking Badgers," he said like the bandito at the end of Treasure of the Sierra Madre. "If they use their speed advantage. It's not like last year where they can load up the box and dare Martinez to throw. They will have to play their defense straight-up, which means that Martinez can check down to plays that will take advantage of what the defense is showing. The speed factor comes in if Beck makes the defense run after them on every play. Tosses, pitches, screens, jailbreaks, that sort of thing. The Huskers are so deep at receiver, they can spread the field all night long, stretch them both horizontally and vertically."
     "How about the ground game?"
     "Nebraska has four backs, three should get a decent number of carries. I hope that Beck uses them in waves, maybe Cross comes in in short yardage situations. Burkhead is back, Abdullah has proven himself and Heard is decent, too. I don't think the Badgers defense will be able to take the pounding for a full four quarters. But that might not even matter. Nebraska has gotten off to a fast start in every game this year."
     "Big question, now. Will the defense be able to handle the behemoths? They have been chasing spread-option offenses all year. Can they change it up and play a team that is committed to a ground game, especially if Montee Ball plays?"
     "If Huskers do to UW what they did to Martinez, last year. Load the box with 8 defenders, dare them to pass and double team Jared  Abredeis in passing situations. Half of Stave's completions went to Abredeis and he has 40% of their receiving yards for the year. They do not have the weapons they had last year. Remember last year when Wilson made the defense look silly? That guy is starting in the NFL this year. Stave is not a pro prospect, yet. The defense needs to take advantage of that difference."
     "What about special teams?"
     "The Huskers have had their ups and downs, I don't expect it to be a big difference maker."
     "Any score predictions?" I asked
     "Nebraska will get out to an early lead, putting even more pressure on the Wisconsin passing game. If Nebraska can get up by two possessions, Pooch will be pinning the ears back and turning the pass rush loose. Every possession Nebraska has with a sizable lead will be run heavy, to quicken the game and take time away from any potential come back. Hostile crowd, emotional weight to the game. I expect a 17-3 Nebraska lead to finish up as a 31-10 grab the conference by the throat game."
    "One last question. Why do they call you 'Non-Stop'?"
    "That," he said with a wry smile. "Is a secret."
    Husk-husk and on the qb.

New Approaches

     After Nebraska finished up and left Idaho State's money on the bedside table, we didn't learn much.
     Fine, we learned a couple of things. Rex's knee looks pretty good and I am willing to bet that if he hadn't gotten hurt, he'd be at the forefront of the Heisman race, and he might just have been able to pull the game out against UCLA.
     The other thing we learned is that when the ball is flipped forward on an end-around, it counts as a pass. Good to know, especially when your flipping the ball forward to the dude with the most awesome hair on the team.
     Lloyd and I stashed the lads in a nice, cheap, dive hotel. They had to leave the room to get ice, and the roaches were armed, but not considered dangerous.
     We started piecing together the bits of info we obtained about Susan. Mickey in La-La Land had said that she was headed for a flyover state and the lads had mentioned Chicago, in addition to gigs in Ohio, Michigan and Iowa.
     "I have an Idea," Lloyd said. "What if she had scheduled gigs to follow the Huskers?"
     "Go on," I told him.
     "Look at it. There is no other reason to get a band all the way to L.A. and then come back. That's where you go when you want to go big time. I don't know if an '80's cover band could ever break through, but you don't leave if you want your own under assistant west coast promotions man."
     "Good point. She hasn't been seen in Lincoln since she vanished, as far as we know. If your theory holds, "Groping in the Dark" should have four more gigs in Lincoln, plus the four in the places the Huskers travel to."
     "Yep."
     "So, where do we go to find out? The lads are no real help, since their U.S. geographic knowledge is only slightly better than your average high school senior."
     "Good, old-fashioned, leg-work. We need to get the word out and see who knows what. I'm going to go see Preacherman, see if he has heard anything. You start collating the info we gather and see if a picture emerges. Talk to the lads, again, it's a long shot, but maybe one of them remembers a tiny snippet that could be a thread."
     I found Preacherman at his office, well, outside the building that he claimed as his office. It had a for sale or lease sign in the window for ages, now, and I think he was essentially a squatter, but I still knew where to find him. "Preacherman, what so you know?" I asked.
     "Well, look who we have, here," he said, smiling and bro-hugging me, even though he knew I wasn't armed. "To what do we owe the esteemed pleasure?"
     "Just a couple of questions, favors to ask, really."
     "Ask and ye shall receive...as long as it's reasonable," he chuckled deeply in the back of his throat.
     "First, how do you think this hybrid 3-4 is going to work in the Big 10. Second, can I get your crew to help locate a missing person?"
     Preacherman smiled a wide smile, which I usually took to mean that he knew more than he was letting on. "The 3-4 will be great against teams that want to throw the ball. It works really well in generating extra pass rush off the edges, and allows you to bring blitzers from all sorts of different angles. It can be really good against the run, if you have the defensive front that can tie up blockers and allow the linebackers to make the plays."
     "Do the Huskers have the players that can do that?"
     "They have been able to against lesser quality opponents. Whether it will work against even opponents who are dedicated to the run will be seen, soon."
     "How about the second question?" I asked.
     Preacherman smiled and nodded. "I know exactly who you need to talk to. There is a dude that seems to know what time it is at all times." Preach took out a business card and wrote an address on the back. "Go talk to this guy, if he doesn't have a lead for you, you might as well pack in the case."
     I read the name on the card. "Why do they call him 'Non-Stop' John?" I asked.
     Preacherman sat back, looked me right in the eye and said, "It's a secret."
     Husk-husk and on the qb.

Almost back to normal.

     The drive back home was loooong.
     The band made a few bucks, entertained some new fans, and probably committed a couple of misdemeanors with their, ahem, followers.
     But, that's the biz.
     Lloyd and I were anxious to get back. We needed to see if there had been any word on Susan. We thought that maybe she had skipped ahead, if Mickey's info was worth anything. It was possible that she was anywhere from Utah to Pennsylvania. We had to narrow down the search area.
     We asked the lads where they had been scheduled to play.
     "Not sure, mate," said Nigel. "We know she booked several gigs in Lincoln, the L.A., deal and she said several other travel opportunities."
     "Did she mention where the travel opportunities were?"
     "Dunno," Chas chimed in. "Sounded right foreign to us, Ohio, Iowa, Michigan..."
     "Chicago!" Derek interrupted.
     "Chicago?"
     "Yeah. I remember Susan telling me that she had to go to Chicago at some point to secure the venue for a gig. I remember it because it was the one place I had heard of."
     "All nighter, Lloyd?" I asked.
     "We can do it. If we drive in shifts and sleep when we get the chance, only stopping for gas and food, we can get home in 24 hours."
     We blazed right by Las Vegas. The lads got mad. Maybe on our next vacation, I told them.
     We stopped in Cedar City, Utah, for gas and packaged preservatives in snack cake and beef stick form.
     As we roved through the mountains, Derek observed that the Rockies could have inspired Tolkien for the Misty Mountains.
     Derek has got some depth, to him.
     I started keeping an eye out for goblins and trolls. Especially around Boulder.
     From Denver we swept through the plains. Lloyd and I struggling to stay awake. The coffee and five-hour energy shots hardly living up to their name.
     The lads were rapt. I wondered if they expected to see the whole Sioux Nation riding out to waylay us. Nothing about America fascinates the Brits as much as the Wild West.
     I promised them each a Stetson, because Stetsons are cool.
     We finally rolled back into Lincoln, unloaded the gear and caught a few hours of kip time. They had a gig on that Saturday.
     That Saturday turned out to be Anxiety Saturday. The Huskers played well, Taylor had an awesome game. But Bo was ill, sidelined, under the weather.
     He didn't come out of the locker room. He took an ambulance ride. The press didn't know where he went or what was done. They were thwarted by privacy laws.
     They don't know that you have to talk to housekeeping. Housekeeping knows all and moves like wraiths through the halls of every hospital. They are invisible, but they know and see all.
     Malcolm is a junior pre-med student who pulls shifts at St. E's. He's on scholarship, but needs cash to take care of some things. He will also impart information from time to time for the right dead president; or statesman if it's really good.
     For the price of a conversation with Mr. Franklin, Malcolm said that the brought Bo in, ran his EKG, ran the full cardiac panel and rayed his chest. He had some of the symptoms for a cardiac event, but the blood levels and EKG were normal. They proceeded with the G.I. cocktail, a mixture of Maalox and liquid lidocaine. Discomfort resolved. Dx papers signed and Bo was out the door.
     As for this weeks game against Idaho State, get your media guides out. You will see names you have never heard before.
     Rex will get about ten carries as we welcome him back. Ameer will shoulder most of the load and Braylon and Imani will get a lot of work in the second half.
    I think Taylor will run the show in to one possession in the second half, then give way to BK3.
     We welcome back Chase Rome to the team who settled his personal issues. I translate that as he broke up with his girlfriend from back home, just a theory, I could be wrong.
     Zaire Anderson got hurt, blew up his ACL. Sadness. Time for Santos to step it up.
     Final score, Huskers 63, Idaho State 10.
     Getting caught up takes a lot of work,
     Husk-husk and on the qb.

Catching up

     It was too bad the team didn't rock the joint as well as the lads had. "Groping in the Dark" opened their set with 'I Ran' by flock of Seagulls. The line "I couldn't get away" reminded me too much of Ameer Abdullah. Hey, Beck. Give the kid a breather so he still has a fifth gear in the fourth quarter, all right?
     The hairspray was making my eyes water, and the layers upon layers of headbands, leg warmers and gel shoes was making me feel distinctly out of place.
     Wearing a fedora indoors will do that in a lot of places.
     Unless you're Keef.
     I had just finished explaining the rudiments of making an 'Old Fashioned' when a woman insinuated herself between me and the bar.
     Not one to back down from an insinuation, I asked if I could be of assistance.
     "I hear you've been looking for someone," she said.
     She looked like she was auditioning for a Go-Go's cover band. Blond hair piled on top of her head like silly string in need of the bomb squad. Her tops were orange, and aqua. Velvet or velour, I can never tell without touching. Her skirt looked like a black tutu providing coverage for black and white zebra leggings.
     The Converses were a nice touch, though.
     "I'm not sure where you heard that," I said. "I've just been sitting here, trying to get Simon Le Bon, here to mix a decent drink. Haven't even been scoping the action."
     "Eww," she said, wrinkling up her nose. "Like I'd do that. Gross. I meant I've heard that you are looking for someone named Susan."
     The band had launched into 'Shout" by tears for fears.
     "Maybe," I said. "What have you heard?"
     "I don't know if it's the same Susan you're looking for, but a Susan got into a little scrape with a local dude named Mickey a while back."
     "What did this Mickey have to do with Susan?"
     "He's a booking agent for a lot of the local up and coming acts. Best advice is to stay away from him though. His percentage is a little steep, if you know what I mean."
     I nodded. He was connected with the mob. Not a good situation for Susan. She probably had no idea who she was dealing with. I wasn't to sure I wanted to go nosing around, but I now had my best, and only lead.
     'Hungry Like a Wolf' started up. "If I wanted to find this Mickey, where would I go?"
     "There's a bar over on Redondo called Exxxplicit. He usually hangs out there in the VIP room."
     "There's no way I'd get in," I said.
     "No prob, bro. I'll get you in. I know people."
     I thought for a minute. Was I willing to go to on to a local heavy's turf, with some girl whose name I didn't even know to start asking questions? I had no local cred, no connections and nothing to offer in exchange. I finished the Old Fashioned and made up my mind.
     "What's your name?" I asked.
     "Trixie," she said.
     Now that I had something, I felt much better about the situation.
     I told Lloyd to keep an eye on the lads as we left.
     We made our way through the circus freak-show that is L.A., past houses with gates over the windows. Past dealers selling dime bags to arms hanging out of limos. Past rent-boys who had gone from fresh-faced idealists seeking fame and fortune to jaded street hustlers in a few months.
     Oh, yeah, I love L.A.
     We made our way to Exxxplicit where two very large, very black, very scowling doormen protected the entrance like roided-out praetorian guards.
     Trixie bounced up to them, "Eric," she nodded to one of the bouncers. "Eric," she glanced at the other. "Mickey has invited Mr. Hammett, here, in for a little chat."
     "He in trouble?" asked left Eric.
     "Oh, no. He's looking for someone."
     "Ain't we all?" asked right Eric.
     "There's someone out there for all of us, Eric. You just need to keep trying. Come on, now, let us in."
     "Arms, up," said left Eric.
     I put my arms in the air as he passed a metal detector around the usual places where one tries to hide metal things. No beeps for me.
     Right Eric undid the hook and held up the velvet rope.
     Trixie and I passed through a passageway. The thump of the music got progressively louder like we were descending into the chest cavity of an enormous beast. Lights and shadows contested with each other for dominance. Bodies on the dance floor flowed into one another, congealed and separated again and again. Huge video screens displayed a variety of images. One looped a woman's mouth eating a mango. One showed a single eye appearing to watch the dance floor, and would, from time to time focus on the entrance to monitor new arrivals. Several screens depicted scenes from the kind of videos you can only find in the curtained-off back rooms of  locally owned rental places.
     This was the big time. This place made "Our Lady" look like a poorly attended church social where the only things to eat were green bean casserole and jello with carrots in it.
     Trixie guided us back to the VIP booth. Mickey was easy to spot. He lounged against the booth trying his best to look like Al Pacino in 'Scarface'. I made a bet with myself that at some point during our chat he would say, 'Say hello to my little friend'.
     Trixie introduced us. She said my name and Mickey just kind of nodded at me. We slid into the booth, I was glad Trixie put herself between Mickey and I. I was a little concerned that if I came into contact with him, I might stick.
     "So, I hear you're looking for this Susan, chick," he said, looking out at the crowd.
     "Yeah. She came west looking to make some deals for her band and then, poof. Smoke, baby."
     He nodded to the beat, rocking slightly in the booth. Drinks were set in front of us. Trixie drank. I didn't. "She might have taken some things I said the wrong way," Mickey said. "I was just trying to give her some friendly advice about how we do things around here. She kind of flipped out on me. Eric had to slap some sense into her before she really got hurt."
     "Then what?"
     "The last I heard she was on a plane back to one of the Flyover States. No way is she going to go big time with that act."
     I left. Trixie stayed. I needed to get Lloyd and the band together for the long drive back. I felt like most of the trip was wasted. What had started out as a promising lead had run into a brick wall. I knew there was something about Mickey's story that didn't add up. Too much information and contradictions were messing with my head.
     I knew exactly how the Husker defense felt. I hoped that with a trip back home and some time to adjust would help all of us.
     Husk-husk and on the qb.

LA Noire Shirts

     Los Angeles was everything I hoped it would be. Loud, sprawling, cheap, oppressive, glittery and dismal, all wrapped in an enormous ball of confused anxiety about what it was and what if anything, existed beyond whatever borders happened to define it.
     The LA of Chandler was gone, pushed aside by wave after wave of broken dreams that had dashed themselves along Hollywoods fabled shores, lured by the sirens of easy fame and success.
     The LA of Ellroy still showed signs of peaking out from where it had been pushed. One still saw bits and pieces of that LA. The LA that still made appearances in scratchy newsreels shown in retro theaters and might be reflected in the eyes of the dispossessed, who may have, at one time starred alongside Joan Blondell or Joel McRea.
     The LA of Jack Webb had never existed, but you could see the possibilities of the shiny, modern, just, city that yearned to stand front and center. Only wishful thinking could create a world where just the facts were enough and just a few bad apples could be turned around by a strong hand that would make everything ok.
     The LA of the Rockford Files was still there, but fading down the stretch like a distance runner who had rabbitted at the start of the race and was now succumbing to the smog and the lack of training. The bodegas and dive bars; the bail bonds and badasses on the corner were in abundance. Even then, you hoped that somewhere there was a kind hearted-hero that would take on on overwhelming case that he knows deep down that he'll never get paid for.
     Right now LA is somewhere between Bacchanalian city state and ultra-modern Dystopia. Read Joseph Wambaugh and Phillip K. Dick on the same night and your dreams will display 21st century Los Angeles.
     It is into this city, or rather, this League of Extraordinary Contrasts that the Huskers play in, today. There have been several significant games between UCLA and Nebraska in the 'modern' era. In 1972, UCLA ended Nebraska's 32-game unbeaten streak, behind the foot of a short, fat, soccer style kicker named Efren Herrera and the passing of that dude from NCIS. In 1973, Dr. O got his first win, but that was in Lincoln. In 1983, Mike Rozier ran for 102 yards on a 6 yard scoring play that helped propel him to a Heisman. In 1984, No. 1 Nebraska destroyed 8th ranked UCLA the week before the wheels fell off at Syracuse. In 1987 Steve Taylor went 10-15 with five TD's, connecting with Tom Banderas for three of those. Banderas's kid will be a Husker next year. In 1988, Troy Aikman got his revenge, in LA, as the Huskers looked hapless and helpless against a future NFL hall of famer. Mark Blazek returned an INT for a TD in what was one of the worst officiating calls that helped Nebraska. He fell down, got up and ran to the endzone. No whistle. In 1993, Nebraska escaped LA with a 14-13 win. UCLA had scored a TD on a huge run, but a holding call negated it. In 1994, the Huskers pounded the Bruins 49-21 as the chant of 'over-rated'  washed over the 13th ranked Bruins in a game that wasn't as close as the scoreboard indicated.
     This week, the Huskers roll into town with some momentum, but quite possibly without the services of I-Backasaurus Rex. Taylor is returning home, kind of. Corona is East of East LA and less than 50 miles from the Rose Bowl. The kid is hot and UCLA will actually have to prepare for him. I think he has finally reached the skill level where teams can't load up eight defenders in the box and dare Taylor to pass. They have to play honestly, which will free up the running game. Ameer, Braylon and Imani look more than capable of filling in for ROAR Burkhead. Depth is a problem for the Bruins, so Beck's up-tempo offense should be yielding positive results early. UCLA might be dead weight by halftime. It was good to see so many different receivers get touches last week. With Marlowe out (it saddens me that Marlowe has to miss a game in LA), Jamaal Turner will get his opportunity to prove that his habits have improved since last year. The offense has so many weapons that there will be no way that UCLA will be able to take everything away.
     On the defensive side, the Blackshirts will have to contain a mobile quarterback. UCLA runs the spread offense that Bo solved years ago. Expect to see a lot of nickle defense with only two backers, today. Today is also the debut of Mohammed Seisay, Hoping to get Huskerfan to adopt the British Paratrooper battle-cry of 'Whoa Mohammed' whenever he makes a big play. The D-line has got to make strides this week, Southern Miss had some decent players on the o-line. UCLA has some talent and scored on several big plays last week. But that was Rice.
    The whole big picture thing is that this entire week lacks any really interesting games. Nebraska should win this one going away. The final score might even be a little misleading. I expect Nebraska to be able to score at least 42. I think the game will be firmly in hand when UCLA gets a couple of late scores. Going to call it a 42-24 win for Nebraska.
     The rest of the B1G is similarly underwhelming.
     Lloyd's Power Ratings for the B1G and this week's games.
     Leaders
     Ohio State -- 11, vs. Central Florida; Ohio State 45-17
     Purdue  --  9, at Notre Dame, Notre Dame, 34-24
     11. Wisconsin  -- 7, at Oregon State, Wisconsin 31-17
     Illinois -- 5, at Arizona State, ASU 28-24
     Penn State -- 2, at Virginia, Cavs 28-10
     Indiana -- 2, at Massachusetts, Indiana 17-14
     Legends
     Michigan State -- 9, at Central Michigan, MSU 27-10
     10. Nebraska -- 8, at UCLA, Nebraska 42-24
     Northwestern -- 5, vs. Vanderbilt, Northwestern 28-27
     Iowa -- 4, vs. Iowa State, Cyclones 21-16.
     13. Michigan -- 3, vs. Air Force, Michigan 35-21
     Minnesota -- 3, vs. New Hampshire, Gophers 31-3
     The new Top 13 isn't even involved in a whole lot of interesting games. 1. Alabama vs. Western Kentucky, 2. USC at Syracuse, 3. LSU vs. Washington, 4. Georgia vs. Missouri, 5. Oklahoma vs. Florida A&M, 6. Florida State vs. Savannah State, 7. Oregon vs. Fresno State, 8. West Virginia idle, 9. South Carolina vs. East Carolina, 12. Clemson vs. Ball State. LSU and Washington is kind of interesting. Georgia and Missouri might be intriguing to see how Georgia handles the spread. Florida State is favored by 70 1/2 over Savannah. Bet the dog, that's a big number.
      Got the lads straightened out for their gig, tonight at Club 1984. Lloyd convinced them to record the shows on tour, and put out a cd, and make the songs available to download. The lads are interested and want to call it 'The Terror Wolf Incident". No idea what that means, but has a very '80's feel to it.
     I need to do some leg work, find out if anyone here remembers Susan, or remembers what she might have been up to. The Lads are opening up for a band called 'Book and the Guinea Pigs'. What I really want is for the crowd to remember 'Groping in the Dark'.
     Gathering up my Star Maps and list of LA contacts, ok, that's Marcus. Hopefully I can find his store. He is a quite successful new-age books and spiritually accessories store. He drives a Lexus, but keeps his orange 1968 VW bus parked out front. To the casual observer the Birkenstocks and pony tail are all they need to see to confirm his modern hippy status. Too bad they don't notice that the jeans are Diesel, the flannel shirt by Scotch and Soda, and the watch by Fossil.
     Appearance is everything.
     Hope I can make some headway before my gas money runs out. In LA, that could be a BIG problem.
     Husk-husk and on the qb.