Friday, June 1, 2012 – 9:00 a.m.
Somewhere in the bowels of New Frontier Stadium…

It’s a concrete room with a hanging light bulb.  Paul Tanner has been sitting in the only chair, staring at the wall for the last fifteen minutes.  He’s here because of a crudely drawn map and a scribbled note from Cooper Scott that this was to be a super-secret meeting place.  He probably thinks Scott is being paranoid about someone stealing their draft plans, especially since things seemed to be disappearing around the front office at an alarming rate.  In no way could he have anticipated the events to follow that have brought the Trendsetters organization to where it now stands.

A creaking, a door opens and light floods in, causing Tanner to squint his eyes.  Two shadows appear – one man-shaped, the other vaguely cartoonish and oversized.  The door shuts behind the shapes with an air of finality and the gloom is reestablished.  “Glad you could make it, Paul,” states the man-shaped shadow.  “I want you to know that you have brought all of this on yourself.  I would have liked this to have happened under better circumstances.  After all, you did lead New Orleans to some of its better seasons.”

“Scott, is that you?  What are you talking about?  Why are we down here?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Paul; isn’t it time we stop playing this game?  You want me gone, you want your old job back, you wish things were like they were three years ago, but you know what?  Wishing ain’t doing you no good.  It ain’t doing anybody any good.  So you put together a little plan… something so cunning and sly, you don’t think good ol’ Cooper would catch on.  Then, bam!  You would hit me with it like a ton of bricks, and I would be out of your hair once and for all…”

“Cooper… what are you talking about?” asks Tanner, confusion creeping into his voice.

“The money, Tanner.  I know you took it… give it back and I will let you walk out of here with pride.  No one else has to know.  You took early retirement, took a job to be an analyst for BNN… whatever other lies you want to make up and feel like you can live with.  Tell me you took the money.”

At that moment, the oversized shape darts at Tanner, stopping just in front of him to do what the shape probably thinks is a bogeyman dance.  It is, in fact, more ridiculous than intimidating.  “Is that H.R. Pufnstuf?” Tanner asked, more bemused than frightened.

The costumed character stops trying to scare Tanner and begins attempting to remove its oversized head.  Failing at that, the costumed shape tumbles to the ground.  Scott throws up his hands in exasperation and helps the befuddled Jack Cobb out of his costume’s head.

“It’s hot in there, and it smells.  I think I let Matt borrow it for a Halloween party… he may have mentioned something about getting sick in there.  So Tanner, was that scary or what?  I told Coop that we needed something scary to throw you off your game… I knew just the trick.  Well, it worked for Pexego, anyways.  Hey, it’s tough being in this costume, and you got the only chair.  Mind if I sit down?”

Tanner relinquishes his chair and begins pacing the room.  ”Scott, I am not sure what you are talking about, but I think you got me pegged for something I didn’t do.  Either way, I think things have been at the precipice edge for awhile, and we might as well just jump while we are here.”

“See Coop, I told you the answer to that whole jumping off the cliff question is, ‘Yes.’  I mean, if it’s good enough for your friends, it ought to be good enough for you,” says Cobb, wiping at the sweat on his face with an oversized floppy hand.

Scott breathes deeply, letting the frustration out with his exhale, “So I take it you are going to stick with the story that you didn’t take the money?  I hate to do this, but I got off the phone with Spade this morning and he authorized any decision I made about your future with the team.  Though I have a great deal of respect for you – after all, you drafted me – I am going to have to let you go.”

Tanner lookesup after hitting a button on his phone.  “It’s okay, Scott.  I just sent my official resignation to Spade via email, and a Cc to the Bayou Brief.  Take care of this team, and I am confident you will find I didn’t take the money.”  Tanner moves past the scowling Scott, waving a friendly goodbye to Cobb and making his way out of the gloomy room.  The light illuminates the room as he exits.

“Is it just me or did that look like one of those doorways that Quantum Leap guy used to go through?  Did you get a good look at his phone… was it Ziggy?”

“Well, that ended sort of like I expected,” mutters Scott, “but I wish I had something more to go on, some proof of where that money went, some clue to who the culprit really was.  I just can’t say it was Tanner with any confidence.”

“You should get that Monk guy.  I think he lives in San Francisco.  I wonder if he does that thing with his hair… you know, like the barber took too much off the top… or better yet, I heard Yuma hired some chick to look for some dude or something.  I don’t know… unless you think it would be better to buy costumes for us, and then we could be a famous detective duo… you know, Holmes and what’s-his…”

“Sometimes, Cobb, you inspire me.  Most of the time, I believe you do so without even trying.  I would rather not say what you do to me the rest of the time.”