"Twenty-two and a half seems a bit of a reach," I scoffed. "The o-line needs to mesh and develop chemistry. Tommy needs to make the team his, and doesn't have the 'explosiveness' of Martinez, well, Martinez before his knee/toe/head injury slowed him down."
     Lloyd looked at me, strangely. "Martinez never had a head injury."
     "I know. It would have been nice to blame some of his decision making on one, though."
     "Let it go, man. T-Magic era died a lonely death in Minnesota, last year. It's Tommy Time."
     I shook my head at Lloyd.
     "Tommy Armstrong, Hero of the High Plains."
     "Keep working on it, man, something will come to you."
     Lloyd drifted for a bit, before resuming his analysis. "The running game will be awesome. The depth is amazing. Imagine having to chase Ameer Abdullah around. Once he needs a rest, Imani Cross comes in, and he's good enough to start on your team. Then Terrell Newby appears, and he's just biding his time to get to be the guy that  could start for your team. Fresh legs, all day long."
     "As long as the o-line is opening the holes for them," I pointed out.
     "Ameer will finish with 200 yards rushing, against the FLAt Owls."
     "Flat Owls?"
     "FLorida Atlantic."
     "Got it. Cute. How about the receiving corps?"
     "Kenny Bell is prepping his highlight reel for draft day, next year. Jamal Turner and Jordan Westerkamp will be viable downfield threats. We just need a big, go-to receiver to do what Quincy Enunwa did, last year. Cethan Carter needs to make the jump from talented freshman to reliable seem target, at tight end."
     I nodded. None of this was really new, but I liked to get Lloyd fired up. He was easier to work with, and didn't need to be prodded into action when he had his groove on. "What can we expect from the defense?"
     "Besides Randy Gregory looking like some mad scientist's attempt at making Frankenend? Combine Broderick Thomas' length and Grant Wistrom's motor and you get RG4. Brace yourself, he will get drafted, first or second round."
     "That's a bold statement."
     Lloyd just nodded, but with a look that said, 'get real, he's going to cash in'. The rest of the d-line will benefit if the Owls try to double team Gregory. Vincent Valentine almost demands a double team. They will bring pressure all day long, without getting beyond their vanilla scheme."

     "How about against the run?"

     The line will do a great drop cleaning up blockers, Santos, Banderas and Anderson are all good, not LaVonte David good, but good enough to fly around and make stops, they all grew up a lot, last year."

     "How about the final line of defense? If Johnson gets time and can get the ball airborne, will he have open receivers?"

     "If you had asked me before fall camp, I would say that the defensive backs were a solid bunch, that no-one would have to worry about. Then the injuries hit. Mitchell didn't get any taller, and Davie needs to show he can replace SJB and that's a tall order. I'm fine with Cooper, but Gerry at safety makes me a bit nervous, he switched to the position because he was undersized at linebacker. Cockrell is wowing everyone at nickel, so the big question is getting depth. They wont have a problem, this week, but a good receiving corps could stretch them."

     "Okey, so what is your final score prediction and how many touchdowns will Ameer end up with?"

     Lloyd closed his eyes and did that thing where he watched his numbers dance to music only he could hear. "45-13, maybe 20, either way, Huskers cover. Ameer will have two rushing touchdowns. Tommy will run for one and throw two, one to Kenny Bell."

     "That's getting pretty specific."

     "You want specific? The kickers will go a combined 1-for-3 on field goal attempts."

     "If you nail that prediction, I will buy you a glass of that Pappy Van Winkle Special Reserve." I hoped I had enough cash to cover that, since Lloyd was probably right.

     Realizing that I had been ignoring Tompkins, I made my way back over to him before the steam started seeping from his ears. "Sorry about that," I lied. "Lloyd tends to ramble a bit, when provoked."

     Jim looked at his watch. "I have to get going. I will have the files delivered to your office and you will sign for them. You do have a secure place to store them, don't you?"

     "Sure," I said. "I've got an extra large cookie jar with only a couple of oreos in it. Should be plenty of room and no one would ever think to look there."

     "Don't be a smart-ass, Sam," he snapped.

     "Don't treat me like some rookie that doesn't know what he's doing. Some files for a cold case that no-one but you gives a crap about should attract as much attention as a Shakespeare lecture at a monster truck rally. As long as you are being on the level, we're as Jake as Geddis in Chinatown."

     Tompkins stood up, tried to loom, his jaw clenched just a bit too much. "I need your full attention on this, if you treat all your clients like this, it's a wonder you're still in business."

    I nodded gravely, "You might just be on to something, there, detective."

     He turned on his heel and was through the door.

     I hope he didn't expect me to start digging until about 5:30 or so.

 

                I told Jim that I either needed a trip to the tombs, or that he needed to arrange for the evidence boxes to be delivered. He told me that they would be delivered to my office, but I had to sign for them; chain of evidence and all that hoo-hah. I told him that I would need an assistant, to help with the leg work, and some of the techy-magical-computer stuff that reputable investigators use these days. He told me that would have to be filed under the 'expenses' part of the ledger, and since when did I consider myself 'reputable'?

            Touché. Ouch, but touché.

            I reminded him that I would probably have to interview him, just to get his perspective on the events. He told me his perspective was in the files. Not a good sign. I told him that we could do a quick, once-over, informally, just to get the highlights set up. He gave me that look. The look only a hard-core, lifer cop can give you, that makes you feel like he knows, just knows about all the crap you've pulled, including that time you lied about your age to get into a movie that you weren't supposed to be at in the first place...when you were 14.

            "All right", he said. "We'll go over some of the particulars, just to get you going."

            He sat back in the booth and collected his thoughts. It can be very interesting to watch a man's face as he starts pulling memories up, especially the ones that cause pain. The little twitches, winces and furrowed brows are giveaways, but you never know which memory causes what twitch.

            "January 14, 1997," he began in a voice that was younger, less gravelly, less jaded. "Jamie Brewer, 25, of Lincoln, was reported by her husband, Rick, 28, as missing, when she failed to return home following a night out with several friends."

            'Last seen at?," I interrupted.

            "Her friends said they dropped her off at her car after drinks at Iguana's . The six of them were out partying, having a blow-out. They walked Jamie back to her car, she got in and drove off. Her friends all assumed she was going home, that was at 1:30 a.m."

            I was taking some notes, beginning to think that this was going to end up as a wild goose chase, but I did have to exercise my due diligence.

            "Mr. Brewer's first call came in at 8 a.m., we gave him the standard, 'You need to wait 24 hours' bit. She might be taking a break, crashed at a friend and forgot to call...'All that good stuff. So, the next day, he shows up at the station, all pissed off and we write up a missing person report. He's ranting and raving about how we've wasted valuable time and all that. The desk Sergeant, a great, big, old-school bull copper had to come in and settle him down."

            I looked up and my friend, Lloyd, was sitting at the bar. Lloyd does that, he shows up at places, he might have been there for hours, but you don't ever seem to notice him until he wants to be noticed. I stopped Jim, mid-story. "I need to go consult with my 'operative' for a moment. Grab a drink, put it on my tab --"

            "Where it will be billed as an 'expense'," Jim growled.

            "See.  We already read each other."

            Lloyd was fiddling with one of his many electronic devices. "Lloyd, man, I've got a gig, if you're interested," I said as I eased myself into one of the high-backed chairs along the bar.

            "I don't know," came the unexpected reply. "I am getting all set for my analytics, this season. The depth chart just came out. The first game is this weekend. There are some really good games on a tough schedule."

            "Relax. Have a drink. You know I wouldn't disrupt your 'data analysis' unless it was important. It's a paying gig."

            He shifted his gaze and looked at me. Wait. No. He looked toward me. His watery eyes seemed to stare through me. This look of his could be really unsettling. Sometimes it appeared as if he were seeing something just beyond the visible spectrum. Other times it looked like he didn't care about anything. The blank stare of someone who just doesn't give a shit about anything, including life, itself.  

            "Okey," he said. "I can go all in this week, and maybe next week. I'm really not expecting much of a hassle, this week. This is one of those games that Nebraska should win, it's just a question of, 'by how much'. I fully expect Ameer Abdullah to have close to 200 yards, rushing. It will be a vanilla game on both sides of the ball. Line 'em up and pound them, don't reveal too much to future opponents. Tommy Armstrong needs to show that he has progressed since last year. No bad interceptions."

            I nodded at him as he paused for a sip of water.

            "The defense needs to show that they haven't slipped, too far, from the end of last year. The interior line should be able to get some reps for the newer players in order to build depth. The linebackers and secondary will be challenged. Johnson, the Owls' quarterback is big and mobile, he'll make the defense cover the whole field."

            "So, after the game, you want to help me out? I have sweet, sweet cash for you."

            "The line is -22.5 for the Huskers. Take the points. Yes, I'm in, " he said, his gaze returning to our plane.

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."

     Now that the Taylor Martinez era is over, Huskerfan can take a step back and examine what impact he had, and where he sits among the all-timers.
     Taylor has been the most divisive quarterback in recent memory. I can not recall any other quarterback who generated so much outright hatred. When the news broke that he was done, there was a significant chunk of Husker Nation that replied with a flat, 'Good'.
     He has been the center of quite a few highlights and lowlights in his career, from bursting on the scene against a good Washington team, in Seattle, where the T-Magic nickname was born, to getting a pan-galactic ass-chewing on the sideline from coach Bo.
     He has allegedly quit the team, like Eric Crouch did. He was the one guy who could get nailed for a safety and rip off an 80-yard touchdown run in the same quarter.
     He is the guy who was Johnny on the spot, who kept gaming despite numerous injuries. He worked hard at getting better as a passer and a leader, but, in the end, didn't get quite good enough at either.
     He went 29-14 as a starter, and carried an undue burden for quite a few of those losses. Dropped passes against Texas, the defense flickering like a guttering candle in Columbus, and the nightmarish yielding of 10 yards a carry against Wisconsin in the Conference Championship Game. Those all go down as his losses, as well as the games won when the defense refused to yield, and the offense just needed one good drive.
     He notched up a record of 6-5 in what I call the 'just one play' games. Games that the final margin was 7 points or less, either way. He led the team to come-from behind wins against Ohio State, Wisconsin, Northwestern and Michigan State.
     The biggest knock on Taylor has been his performance in 'Big Games'. I put that in quote because every loss at Nebraska counts as a 'Big Game'. Throwing three picks against Wisconsin in 2010 led to a blowout loss, even though the defense was getting shredded by a future NFL quarterback. Playing hurt, but ineffectively at Texas A&M who had a future NFL qb and having to overcome 16 penalties during the Big 12 conspiracy days. Getting chewed on by Wolverines in the big house when nobody could hold on to a kick return, The Buckeye blast in Columbus, where Ohio State showed that their running quarterback was just that much better.
     Dropping back to back games against UCLA, where the defense seized up when the offense couldn't generate anything after halftime.
     The biggest albatross around Taylor's neck, the 0-2 in conference championship games and 0-3 in bowl games. Sometimes the competition was just plain better, Oklahoma in the 2010 Big 12 Championship or Georgia in the Bowl game, last year. Sometimes it wasn't, Washington in the Holiday Bowl in 2010, after dropping 56 on them in their house; or Wisconsin, whom had been beaten earlier in the year, had 5 losses and a backup quarterback starting.
     Taylor could be electric. A twisting, turning live wire of energy that could turn a busted play into a long gainer. He could also turn a simple mistake into a catastrophe. A simple fumble? Not with Taylor. When he fumbled you could feel the air get sucked out of 80,000 plus people as they watched helplessly as the ball skittered and careened toward Nebraska's goal. The stats may not be there to back it up, but the prevailing sense is that Nebraska almost never recovered a T-Mart fumble.
     Around here, more ink has been spilled regarding Martinez's throwing motion than just about anything except for maybe the presidential runs of William Jennings Bryan. Yes, he looked awkward. Yes, he underthrew the deep ball...constantly. Yes, he tried to force the ball into areas the defenders were not going to let it go. With that all said, he holds the records for passing yards, touchdown passes and total offense. Oddly enough, he does not hold the record for interceptions. Taylor has 29, good enough for second, behind Dave Humm, with 42. Even if you look at his Interception Frequency, he threw picks less often than Humm, Eric Crouch, Steve Taylor or Vince Farragamo.
     Martinez never had the benefit of a great offensive line. This was supposed to be the year, the best front line of his tenure, and he gets hurt, and then the line becomes a MASH unit, anyway. The line has progressed each year since he took over, but was never up to the 'Pipeline' standards. It is admittedly speculation, but I wonder if Taylor could have overcome more of his 'rabbit' tendencies if he would have been better protected.
     When it comes right down to it, the quarterback at Nebraska is supposed to 'just win, Baby', in the immortal words of Al Davis. Taylor won more than he lost, and he lost more of the Big Ones. Now that all is said and done, Taylor will probably take his place among the good but not great quarterbacks in Husker Lore. Definitely not a Tommie Frazier, a Jerry Tagge or a Turner Gill. Probably not in with Steve Taylor, Dave Humm or Eric Crouch. I would fit him in with Jamaal Lord, Mike Grant or Scott Frost. Yes, Scott Frost, who was branded a turncoat, traitor, coward and worse, but a National Championship can rehabilitate a lot of images. That's another story, though.
     The kid gave it his all. He played hurt, he worked hard and at the end of the day, he left everything he had out on the field. Even if you didn't like him, or didn't think he was the best option at quarterback, at the very least he deserves a thank you for giving it his all. More than us couch coaches ever have, anyway.
     Martinez can now take solace that, like fellow Californian, Richard Nixon, Huskerfan won't have him to kick around anymore.

Musings on the Bo situation

    Taking off my fedora, for this one. Going with an up-front take on things, rather than the neo-noire story.
    
     Recent events have forced me to really assess where I stand on a particular issue, here at Nebraska. Regarding the football program, anyway. I might have some issues with some of the research being done by the Agronomy Department, but no-one else cares about that, so why should I?
Specifically, I refer to the recent issues concerning Head Coach Bo Pelini and his stewardship of the football program. I might bounce all over the place, so hook up your Joyce Jackets, since this will flow wherever my consciousness' stream takes me.
     My initial reaction to the now infamous rant from two years ago was that Bo will get into trouble for...well...being right. Bo got pissed at a group of fans who had bailed on the team. His team. His troops. Those same fans that, while Bo was being secretly taped by some d-bag with an axe to grind, were out reveling in the reflected glory of the greatest comeback in Nebraska history. I'm sure there were many of those cats who were using the story of those fourth quarter scores to score, themselves.
     Add in the fact that some fan grabbed Bo as he was heading back to the locker room, which I will go out on a limb and submit that act created a bit of an adrenaline surge for the coach and I challenge anyone to keep their cool in that situation. I have a hard time imagining that anyone would have gone through all that, gone back to the office, brewed up a cuppa, and voiced their displeasure with a reserved, 'My, that WAS exciting, hmmm?'
     Some would say that is part of the problem with Bo. He is a crass, vulgar man, who has no business being the 'face' of the University and guiding young men through life. Ok, Ward Cleaver, got a ticket for you, destination, reality. Football coaches swear. All right, a vast majority of football coaches swear. A good chunk of the players swear. Shocking, eh? A sizable chunk of the population in general swear. I don't have the numbers right here, but I'd be willing to put money on the idea that better than half of us have dropped a few f-bombs, from time to time. Besides, the swearing wasn't really the issue now, was it?
     Was the issue that Bo 'dissed' Tommie Frazier? How dare he! Tommie was one of the greatest players in Husker History. Remember that time he took a hit from a Colorado linebacker and still delivered a pass to Ahman Green for a 30-yard gain? How about that time he ran over and around and through the entire Florida defense in the Fiesta Bowl? How about the time a tornado was heading for Downtown Lincoln and Tommie ran out to the end of 'O' Street and gave it a good, hard stare until it changed direction?
     My point is that Frazier was an excellent player, a good leader whose style rubbed some dudes the wrong way. A lot of his team-mates considered him...well...a dick. To his credit he ran the offense in what may have been the greatest four-year run in the history of college football. Shhh, Alabama. His qualifications in the coaching a personnel areas leave a lot to be desired. Here, we had a guy calling for the heads of the entire defensive coaching staff, who got fired from Doane College.
     Bo kinda dropped the ball, there, telling Tommie that 'We don't need him'. Shock! Gasp! How dare He? My advice to Bo would have been to tell Tommie that 'I'll take that under advisement', which is lawyerese for 'fuck off', but makes for a great sound bite. That really wasn't the issue, either.
     The issue, once you get through all the sturm und drang, is the sole measure of success at dear old Nebraska U. Winning. That's right, winning. The anti-Bo faction got another bullet for the gun after the second-half meltdown against UCLA. Not another blowout. Not another collapse. Not on national TV. Yep. It happened. It's all right there for anyone to see.
     The team that looked so good in their natty black unis in the first half, looked dazed and confused in the second. Defense is taking the brunt of this, but the offense played awful, as well. Not an isolated incident. Remember The B1G championship, last year? Ohio State? Wisconsin two years ago. Blowouts. All of them. And with coach being a defensive genius, is intolerable. Osborne never got blown out like that.
      Oops. There I went. I mentioned the Tomfather. I dig Tom. I always have. You got to give props to a guy who could put up with the pressures of being the head coach of the ravenous monster that is Husker Football for 25 years without ever going just completely batshit crazy. Chew that gum a little harder, Tom.
     Tom chewed and chewed through the first nine years of his career before winning an outright conference title--the same year he started 1-2 with losses to unranked Iowa and to Penn State at home. He chewed his way through fourth quarter collapses against Colorado in 1990, up 12-0 going into the fourth quarter, 12-27 final; against Washington, 21-9 heading into the fourth, 21-36 final; both in Lincoln. He chewed his way through successive bowl losses. 7 of them, in fact. Long after he had been established in the program. He chewed and chewed through Oklahoma. Rivalry? Really? From 1973-1988, when Barry Switzer got the pink slip because so many of his players had traded crimson jerseys for orange jump suits, Osborne won 5 and lost 12. Four of those losses by 'blowouts', four by 'heartbreakers'.
     Osborne took over a program that had won two straight national championships and had gone 41-4-3, in the previous four years, largely by way of his offense. Bo took over a program that had gone 27-22 in the previous four years, and yet he is constantly being harangued for not being as good as Osborne.
     I say give Bo as many losses as it took Tom to win a National Championship. That number is 50.
     Bo gets a lot of criticism for what I claim is an urban legend. He gets hammered every time the team gives up an obscene amount of yards because his 'genius' was exposed. I concur that the reason Osborne hired him, was to help fix the defense. I can not recall anyone in a position of authority or expertise ever calling him a 'genius', and I will challenge anyone to post an article where Bo made that claim of himself.
     Huskerfan also makes an odd claim, frequently, that they don't mind the occasional loss, but the blowouts have to stop, Really? You're telling me that if Nebraska went 6-6, but all six losses were by a field goal or less, then you'd be satisfied? Not buying it.
     What does Bo need to do to win over the naysayers? Take a page from the Al Davis book of life. 'Just win, baby.' Winning makes it all troubles go away. Give up 600 yards in a 52-48 shootout? No one cares if you've got the 52. Win a game because the defense returns a fumble for the game-winning score? Bonus, as long as game-winning is the operative phrase. This is a pivotal year for Bo, and he needs to just win, Baby.
     There are eight games left on the schedule. Four that Nebraska should win (Minnesota, Iowa, Illinois and Purdue). Two that they should win, barring silly mistakes, such as penalties and turnovers (Michigan State, whose offense can't get out of its own way; and Penn State, who lost at home to Central Florida). That leaves just two 'scary' games; at Michigan, just because it is in Ann Arbor. Wolverhampton has struggled the last two weeks against lesser opponents. Northwestern, in Lincoln is scary, because they run the offense that has given Pooch fits for the last two years, and they run it well.
     Having said that, all of those games are winnable. Lets just say, for fun, that Nebraska runs the table, and gets into a close shootout with Wisconsin or OSU for the B1G championship. Let's say NU wins that and gets to go back out to L.A. for the Rose Bowl, where they get a re-match with UCLA, since Oregon will be in the National Championship game. I submit that a lot of the anti-Bo faction will climb down. Why? Because he's winning, and that's all that really matters now, isn't it?
     Of course, if that scenario plays out, combined with a Rose Bowl win, I could see Bo taking a trip to, I don't know, let's say Jacksonville or Oakland, for spots that come open in January. $9 Million for an NFL team to buy out the contract? Small potatoes.
Go Big Red.

Honky Tonk Woman

                Tawna's file on 'The Girl' was pretty thin, which  I guess was appropriate since the girl was thin, and pretty. The name they had on her was Cynthia Thomas. Occupation, actress/entertainer, which could mean she was an actress or it could be a euphemism. Age, 25, not a student and a bit unusual for one of the  guys on the team to be connected with an 'older' woman. The address they had on her was in a decent part of town. The vehicle she drove was a dark blue Mustang, not new, but not a clunker, either.

            The pics in her file showed her with Ray at some team event. A couple of goofy photo booth snaps and a few surveillance shots that were about as incriminating as admitting that you had a library card. I spread the photos out on my desk and really looked at them. There was just something about them that kept slipping up to me and slipping away again just as I was about to grasp it. It wasn't a sense of instant, surprising recognition, like watching an episode of 'Rockford Files' and realizing the bad guy is Ed Harris. It was more like seeing someone out of context, knowing, just knowing that you have seen the person before, but in a different setting, or with completely different lighting, or in black and white instead of color.

            I pushed back in my chair and assessed my next move. It was pretty clear that I had to track down the girl and see what connection she had besides girlfriend.  I had to find out if it was a serious thing, or just a bit of fun. There was no mention of any kid in the dossier, so I don't know if Tawna was messing with me or if she just didn't have the info. There had to be a deeper connection than the one on the surface. If the relationship made Tawna itchy, I had to take notice.

            The easiest, and most obvious step was to roll out to the address listed and see if she was home and have a little chin-wag. I got the car and started rolling south. I had the radio on the local sports station and got to hear news about seven defensive players becoming Blackshirts. Good job. Kind of different than recent years but a big morale booster for a young defense about to get tested in a couple of days. I rolled through  the neighborhoods that were populated by Chevy Malibus and Toyota Corollas. I passed into more recent developments where SUV's and minivans stood poised to make supply runs to Hy Vee to get a week's worth of groceries that the pioneers could have stretched into three months. I turned a last corner and eased down a street where Mercs, Jags, and Lexi kept on eye on things. The trees whispered the presence of an outsider to each other and the front lawns entered greenness competitions. I pulled into the right driveway.

            No car, but she might keep it in the garage. The house was nice, and yes, I had to say it was too nice for an actress/entertainer that had yet to make her break. Lincoln wasn't exactly a hub in film industry. It looked like it was a three to four bedroom job on two floors and a basement. Big house to live in alone. In this part of town, the property taxes would pay for a teacher for at least a semester.

            I figured a direct-ish approach would be best. I reached into my glove box and selected one of my business cards. I went up to the door and rang the bell. How's that for direct? The door was opened by a sleepy looking young woman wearing a fuzzy robe over a pink t-shirt with the word 'pink' in black lettering. Clever that. She was pretty, small, thin build, and the look she had was one of late nights, ETOH and not enough coffee, yet. I love the noon hour in college towns.

            She focused her gaze on me and asked, "what is it?" while stifling a yawn.

            Show time. "Hi. My name is Sam Hawkins and I'm an agent for Blackhawk Productions. A friend of mine sent me video of one of Cynthia's performances. We were quite impressed and would love to chat with her about an upcoming television role." I held my card out to her held between my first two fingers. She took the card, read it over and woke up all at once.

            "Come on in. She's not here, right now, but let me see if I can get a hold of her for you." I followed her into the house. The decor was spare if not spartan. One couch in front of a decent sized flat-screen on the wall in the living room. The sink had collected dishes from the several days ago and didn't look like it was in any mood to get started on them. There were notes and a dry-erase board on the fridge that had contact numbers and sectors with the names Cynthia, Natasha, Jordan and Emily printed in neat, precise handwriting.

            She went to a line of phones charging on the counter and picked one up. A few tippity taps and then we waited. I kept scanning the room, while the girl scanned me. She had that look like she didn't quite believe my schtick. That meant that she was  at least a little bit smart.

            "Hey, Cynthia. This is Natasha," she said to the phone in a sing-song tone. "There's a guy here, who says he's got a gig that he thinks your perfect for. He's from Blackhawk Productions. The number is 402-555-2368. Bye-eee." She ended the call and looked up at me. "She didn't pick up, so I left a voice-mail. But that is kinda weird."

            "What's weird?" I asked.

            "That she's off the grid. She almost always picks up. At the very least to text back if she's too busy to talk, or working or stuff like that."

            "When was the last time you talked to her, or heard from her at all?"

            "Last night. She was heading out as I was coming home." Natasha had a concerned look, and kept chewing at her lip.

            "Are you okey," I asked. Her stance was telling me that something was vibing her as very hinkey.

            "Yeah, I'm fine." She brightened a bit and added a smile that never made it to her eyes. "It's just that she never stays out all night. Never. She might get home at 5 in the morning, sometimes, but she always comes home. This is not like her."

            "Where was she going?"

            "She had just got back from dinner with Ray. It was early because he was tired from practice. Then she was going to a party, downtown."

            "What kind of party? Frat, kegger, something like that?" I asked.

            Natasha smiled. "No, sooo not her thing. When Cynthia says she's going to a party, it's one of those high class deals where guys with too much money and too much to drink try to look down her dress while she laughs at their lame jokes."

            "That sounds political," I said. "Or financial. Like investments and land deals, that sort of thing."

            Natasha shifted gears on me, maybe realizing she had said more than she intended. "I'm not sure. It's her life, and she always seems to have a good time. Who am I to judge?" she shrugged off some other thoughts.

            I refocused on my role. "Well, when she gets in, have her call me. You have my card. I was hoping to meet her, today. It's a pretty good role I'd like her to audition for, but I'm sure I can find another cute blondie to take the gig." I started moving to the door. "You said Ray had to practice. What is he, in a band or something?"

            Natasha really laughed this time. "No. He's on the football team. Football practice." She shook her head.

            "What is it?" I asked.

            There was a hint of a smile left. "He's funny. He thinks he's going to cash in on the NFL in a couple of years."

            "You don't think he will?"

            "I have no idea. My dad says he's a back-up, who hasn't gotten enough playing time to prove himself. Without cracking the starting line-up, he'll be lucky to get a try-out in Canada...whatever that means." She looked up at me with an earnest expression of concern. "I'll call you if I hear anything, too."

            "Great," I said. "You do that. Time is money, you know." I waved a little salute at her and headed for the car.

            I started heading back to the office while the sports guys started tossing predictions for the Wyoming game around. I listened and weighed what was being said. If push came to shove, I was thinking Nebraska would take Wyoming, 52-24. The offense is going to roll, maybe the best in the Conference. The defense was young, inexperienced, and talented, but might give up a few big plays.

            That sounded familiar.

Country Tonk

                I stepped out of my cool, serene shelter and into a classic Nebraska summer day. The kind of day that feels like a large, wet dog has propped himself on your shoulders and is panting in your face.

            I headed for the office, hoping that the bills and junk-mail hadn't made too much of mess in my absence and dialed up Lloyd on the phone, or communicator as he insisted on calling it. He picked up, interrupting the Star Trek theme on his callback tone. "Ellroy, here."

            "Lloyd. I need to meet with you. I've got a case and I have a feeling I'm going to need your expertise," I said.

            "Audio, visual, or both?"

            "Both. I'm getting expenses on this one, so bring your whole Felix bag."

            "I got a new FLIR imager. Can I bring it?" he asked. The note in his voice told me that if I said no, he'd be like the kid who got socks instead of action figures for Christmas.

            "Lloyd, my man. You are a sub-contractor. You can bring anything you want, itemize the usage and submit a bill. You don't need my permission."

            "Right...I knew that. It's just..."

            I stopped walking, leaned against a wall, and rubbed the space between my eyes. "You know I will try to keep you as far away from the bad guys, as possible. I don't want a repeat of the last time, either."

            "I know. I just...you know...freak out every now and then. Still."

            "I get it, Lloyd. I should have never put you in that position. You're the best surveillance and tech guy in town. I think this case is going to be mostly old-school, but since everyone has cell phones and computers, I will probably need someone with the skills to access that kind of stuff."

            He paused for a bit longer than I was hoping for, but he eventually replied. "Okey, I'm in."

            "Great," I said. "Meet me tonight at the office tonight at 7, and we'll set up the preliminaries. I don't even know what my first move is."

            "You're used to that, I'm sure. Ellroy out."

            Lloyd can be kind of mean, sometimes. Although I guess I deserved it.

            I checked the office and saw that the bills had made gains on the junk mail. The plastic fern needed water and the desk bottle was running a bit low. I checked to make sure all my pens worked and that there was more than enough room on the legal pad for plenty of doodles when the office door opened up.

            He was a young guy, mid twenties, maybe. Clean cut, good shape, polo shirt and khakis. Nikes and white socks. Still learning to dress. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, and looked like he could be a grad student. But he wasn't.

            "Excuse me, sir. Are you Sam Hawkins?" he asked, pointing at the painted letters on the glass door.

            "Either that, or Lon Chaney is even better than he used to be," I replied, trying to look serious.

            The kid fished around in his backpack, and brought out a large manila envelope that was nearly sweating with the effort to stay closed. He nodded blankly. The joke had gone completely over his head. He held the envelope out to me, "Ms. Brixton told me to deliver this to you--well, a Mr. Hawkins, anyway."

            "Yeah, that's me. Thanks. I'd toss you a quarter for a tip, but I'd be afraid you'd just blow it on jawbreakers and red-hots down at the candy store."

            He shouldered his backpack and gave me a once over. "Ms. Brixton warned me, that you might be--"

            "A jerk?"

            "Challenging, she said. Before we get in deeper than either of us want, I need to tell you that she wants me to be the go-between on this one."

            "This one, what?"

            "This case. She said I was to liaison between your organization and our office. She said it would make more sense and be safer if anyone monitoring her movements were to see her coming in and out of your," he paused a second as he scanned the office, "establishment."

            "Ah, I see. So, employee or intern?" I asked.

            "Intern. What does that--"

            "What's your major?"

            "History. With an emphasis on Mili--"

            "Great. That's just great," I said, plastering on my big, cheesy smile. "You got a name, kid?"

            "Richard. Richard White," he answered, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see what care instructions for my shirt were.

            "Richie, we'll get along just fine, I think." The used car salesman smile made my jaw ache.

            Richie's jaw tightened a little bit, and he wasn't looking very happy. "I prefer Richard, thank you."

            "You're polite, too. Tawna must love that. I get it, Richie, but I think first impressions are important. To me you look more like a Richie...unless you think Dick is better."

            Richie's face reddened. I knew he had heard the gag a million times and probably hated his parents every time he did. He shifted his weight on his feet, pulled his backpack a little tighter on his shoulder. "First impressions are important. Trust me, I know a dick when I see one." He turned on his heel and was out the door. I did have the good taste to not let him see me smile.

            Well done, lad, I thought to myself. I'm going to like this kid.

            I pulled my letter opener out of my desk and sliced open the envelope. I had just a few days before the first game, with Wyoming coming to town and I wanted to get a handle on the situation as quickly as I could.

            I had been turning a hypothesis around in my head, that whoever was behind the threats was going to make their move at a critical point in the season. If that was the case, there were only a few games which were considered critical. UCLA, Northwestern and Michigan State in Lincoln, and Michigan on the road. If the Huskers were successful in those, then there was the conference championship against Ohio State, most likely.

            I know that coaches like to take it, 'one game at a time' and not 'overlook any opponent' but I've always thought that was just coachspeak to keep the fishwrap fillers from inciting the other side. I didn't want to think that Wyoming could be overlooked, but hey, If the Cowboys were to walk in to Lincoln and get the win, the problems would be much bigger than the one I had to deal with.

            The first sheet I took out was a photo taken for the media guide. Doyle, Ray stared back at me. 21 years old. Mom dad and siblings living in Johnson City, Tennessee. Scholarship recruit three years ago, worked his way up from scout team fodder to second string db. I was having a hard time getting my head around the idea of him being the link that could be critical in any big game, but when the evidence doesn't support the hypothesis, change the hypothesis.

            Tawna had sent academic records. Decent grades as a Exercise and Physical Education major. He had been involved in a slight legal issue as a freshman, he got Mipped, but clean since then, nothing anyone could use as leverage. He was involved in the community service stuff the team usually does, visiting sick kids in hospitals and stay in school stuff, so nothing there.

            The girlfriend's picture was next. She was cute, early 20's, blonde and blue and her face blipped my memory radar. Not a huge blip, like I knew her personally, but a background blip. I knew her, but couldn't quite place from where.