The call came in Sunday night … late.

It went like this:

“Good evening, Auntie Nette.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to travel toJackson in the morning. Your specific destination is the mall. Yourspecific target is the New Orleans Saints Caravan. Your specificsubject is Deuce McAllister. Your specific goal is to get hisautograph on a football, which you will have to purchase, but notfor more than $25.

“If any of your force be killed or captured, the secretary willdisavow any knowledge of your actions … this tape willself-destruct in five seconds …”

Well, it wasn’t exactly like that, but I was sent on anautograph-seeking mission. (Yes, that is how my photo ended up onthe front sports page of the Jackson newspaper Tuesday.)

And, this wasn’t my first gift-finding mission at the behest ofa brother or sister. Usually they come about two days beforeChristmas or the birthday of a niece or nephew.

Flashback:

I have run myself ragged looking for ‘the flavor of the moment’Barbie doll.

I have scoured shopping centers in search of Furby.

Take my word for it, trying to find Tickle Me Elmo on ChristmasEve is no laughing matter.

The strangest mission was 20 or so years ago when Cabbage Patchdolls were in short supply.

I just happened to know somebody, who knew somebody, who knewsomebody who knew that a shipment of Cabbage Patch babies were dueat a certain store.

“Call this number,” the connection said.

I did.

The voice on the other end said, “What?”

“Doll,” I answered.

“Be here at 2:30 this afternoon. Don’t be late,” was thereply.

I arrived at the appointed place at the appointed time. I wasled into the stock room.

“OK, you’ve got five minutes to pick one out,” said theappointed doll person.

I grabbed the first one I saw.

“Put in this bag; go pay for it,” said the appointed dollperson. “Do not take it out of the bag before you get to the cashregister.”

I obeyed.

To this day, I still wonder if the appointed doll person knowswhat really happened to Jimmy Hoffa.

Present Day:

So there I am at the mall, with the newly-purchased, withinbudget football, searching for the Saints Caravan.

“Uh-oh, look at all those people,” I said to myself. “I surehope that’s not it.”

It was.

Four lines had already formed; I got in the shortest one.

“Is this for Deuce?” I asked another autograph seeker who,except for this tiny size, looked like he might be an expert. Hewas wearing a miniature Saints uniform, so surely he wouldknow.

“We don’t know,” his father said. “We’re just taking achance.”

As it turned out, we were in the line for Michael Lewis, theNFL’s leading kick returner. Not bad, but not Deuce. I got “thebeer man’s” autograph and prepared to get into the McAllisterline.

Big problem: the end of the line was nowhere in sight.

What to do? The only thing I could think of was bribery. I wasdesperate.

I offered a woman in the Deuce line a pretty green piece oflegal tender to let me go ahead of her.

“Ask her,” she said, and pointed to her young daughter.

It worked.

Five minutes later I was out of there.

Mission accomplished.

For today, anyway.

Write to Nanette Laster at P.O. Box 551 Brookhaven, Miss.39602, or send e-mail to news@dailyleader.com.