Fubar by Ron Carpol Page B

thinking of all the idiots who paid Tiffany or Amber or any of the dozen neighborhood pigs for sex, probably carelessly leaving a cum spot on the bed sheet which I heard is the same as leaving your name, address, phone number, photograph, and fingerprints.
    _____
    By Christmas, things were falling into place pretty well. Ali Reza had been e-mailing me my school assignments regularly. All I had to do was show up in class once in a while and read a little which I mostly did while sitting on the toilet.
    _____
    The day before New Year’s Eve, sometime after two in the afternoon, Lyman ran down the back stairs into the yard and told me and the other dope-smoking pledges in an ecstatic voice, “I found my mother!”
    â€œWhere?” Dung asked.
    â€œHonolulu Memorial Hospital. She works there. I’m flying out this afternoon.”
    _____
    With less than a month to Hell Week, and still eight pledges too many, I decided to stop drinking and smoking dope so much and spend more time figuring how to get rid of the extra baggage; especially Lyman.
    Unfortunately, Lyman had the same idea, but acted first. Besides scamming me out of the will money, his plans for me also included prison.

8
D IRTY H ARRIET
    Thursday, January 2, 2003
    1:30 P.M .
    â€œE VERYBODY’S ON THE RAPE LIST !” Froggy sputtered, with a terrified look on his face. He grabbed my forearm as I entered the front hallway of the fraternity house. “Look on the pledge bulletin board!”
    He pulled me into the kitchen and up to the bulletin board where I got the shock of my life! A computer-printed page in bold type read:
    RAPE INVESTIGATION:
ALL PLEDGES BE IN
THE HOUSE AT 3:00 PM
TODAY OR YOU’RE OUT
OF THE PLEDGE CLASS!
    JACK CHRISTIANSON
    â€œEven a cunt investigator,” Rainey said, pointing to the bottom of the of the page where a white push-pin stuck through a business card that read in part:
    LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT
Det. Sue Montelino
    Sex Crimes
    Under the card somebody scrawled in red ink PUSSY POWER.
    It was impossible that the cops found my private video collection. Hell, even the girls I fucked didn’t know they got fucked. But since I never use rubbers, maybe one of them got pregnant and the cops are trying to get DNA from every guy they knew. But why are the other pledges involved? It didn’t make any sense. I’ll bet this bitch cop was just fishing around, probably following up some twat’s fantasy that she got gang-banged somewhere like they always show in porn movies. Yeah, the more I thought about it, the more I knew this investigation wouldn’t amount to shit.
    I swear I heard Dung’s heartbeat as he stood next to me and squeaked in a cracked voice, “What the hell is this? I never fucked any girl anywhere.”
    â€œThen your unbroken hymen on the end of your dick will prove it,” Wide-Load snickered.
    Rickshaw Boy could barely clearly speak either. “Do you think it’s some girl from high school whose parents called the cops after she got pregnant?”
    â€œNo,” Grossberg interrupted. “Christianson said some girl got raped here by at least one of us pledges.”
    â€œRape?” Rawlings muttered. “Who needs to rape anybody? I get more pussy than I can handle.”
    â€œMe too,” Castle murmured, probably convincing nobody.
    â€œWho’s the victim?” Grossberg asked. “That’ll tell us a lot.”
    â€œWho knows,” I answered, checking my watch. “But in an hour and a half we’ll find out.”
    _____
    Like ants, all of us were fidgeting around in the living room at 2:45, too scared to sit still, waiting for the lady sex cop. She got there at 2:55, carrying a black attache´ case in her right hand and a big, brown, knock-off Louis Vuitton purse in her left hand. The fake was easy to spot; the hardware was orange instead of gold. In her mid-30s, she was about five-eight, thin, with frosted, shoulder