Fubar (17 page)

Figuring on something like this, I had another half-pint of her namesake stashed in a kitchen cabinet ready for her. “OK, just a second,” I said. “I'll get it for you.”

Seconds later I was back and handed it to her.

“My pussy's sore and dry,” she complained to the obnoxious slobs who kept laughing at her in that absurd outfit. “I want somebody to eat me and loosen it up.”

The room froze in silence. Somebody turned off the screeching rap music. All eyes zeroed-in on the pledges. The outside street light that barely shone in the room suddenly seemed as bright as a searchlight at a movie premiere.

“I got my deck of cards,” Bookie announced. “I'll deal each pledge one card. Highest card eats her.”

The actives cheered like hell. Most of them were high on Sy Alesford's great-quality pot, whose horticulture lessons were tutored by
High Times
.

“Any volunteers?” Christianson yelled with a sadistic smile.

The pledges were silent. With Castle gone, the odds were 15-1. Short enough to make me uneasy.

“Give anybody 10-1 you can't guess the lucky pledge who eats her,” Bookie announced.

Money was shoved at Bookie so fast he had to write down the bets to remember them. Besides Parker, Tom Cassidy and Del Piden bet on me, each guy giving me a sickening sneer as they handed Bookie ten bucks.

“Pledges, sit on the floor in a line shoulder-to-shoulder to get your card,” Bookie ordered, while making a show of his fancy card shuffling.

When he was done he handed the cards to Grossberg. “You shuffle them too. Don't want to be accused of cheating.”

Grossberg reluctantly took the cards like they were dog turds
and gently shuffled them. Then he cut them three times before he handed them back to Bookie.

“Where's Jackie D?” somebody yelled.

“Over here,” came her garbled voice from inside the mask. She was sitting on the floor in a dark corner guzzling the booze.

Bookie took her by the hand and sat her down next to him. “Spread your legs, honey,” he said, “so the pledges can see the prize.”

She sat there as directed, smiling innocently like a ballet dancer at her first recital.

“Here we go,” Bookie said with fanfare, looking around at the seated pledges who were circled by the standing actives.

He started dealing the cards slowly, announcing the value with each card dealt. “Rickshaw Boy gets a three. Dung, a jack!” The actives cheered like hell.

“Is an ace high or low?” Dung whined.

“High, you dumb shit,” Bookie answered. “Nine for Vysell. Queen for Batman.”

Cheers went up as Batman's face flushed even in the semi-darkness.

I was next.

“King for Stafford!”

Parker and Cassidy and Piden all high-fived each other with silly drunken expressions on their stupid faces.

“Stafford, you get hair-pie for dessert!” Parker yelled, choking with laughter.

The odds of anybody getting an ace were 13-1 but since no aces were dealt yet, the odds were even lower; better for me.

Bookie kept dealing.

“Grossberg, a five. No-Wood, a seven. Rawlings, another seven. Rainey, another king!”

Drunken laughter rang out again.

Rainey's face paled; his body flinched. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Jackie D's voice was groggy, telling Rainey, “You're cute. Can't wait for your tongue.”

“Here we go again,” Bookie announced. “Watson, a six. G-Spot, a queen. Froggy, a deuce. Zoom, a nine, Holmes an eight.”

I had no idea how to get out of it. Eating that bitch would guarantee me getting a combined dose of AIDS, leprosy, bubonic plague and polio. Still, no aces were dealt yet.

I'm sure Rainey was as worried as me.

“Hymen, my boy,” Bookie declared with a big grin on his face, “you get the last card.” Bookie looked around at the sleazy, perverted actives. “Give anybody 15-1 odds for ten bucks that Hyman gets an ace. Any takers?”

“Yeah,” Hattery and Turlock yelled, handing Bookie their money quickly.

“Here we go,” Bookie said slowly.

Knowing Lyman would never eat Jackie D and would quit instead, it was too much to expect that he'd get an ace. Nothing in this place ever came easy for me.

Instead of dealing the card face-up to each pledge as he'd done, Bookie slapped the card face-down on the floor in front of Lyman.

“On three, turn it over, Hyman,” he ordered. “One.” Following a five second pause, came the word, “Two.” Bookie turned to the crowd. “Last chance to bet,” he called out before waiting another five seconds. “Three!”

Lyman froze. His mouth was open and his breathing came in gasps. It was obvious that he was too nervous to calculate the high odds in his favor against getting an ace.

“Turn it over!” the actives cheered in unison. “Turn it over! TURN IT OVER!”

Lyman's right hand was shaking like he had Parkinson's when he reached out for the dark-blue and white, diamond-backed card. Gripping it between his right thumb and forefinger, he slowly turned the card over. The ace of hearts!

The actives' hysterical laughter, generated by the Budweiser and Jagermeister and wine and pot, was deafening.

I sneaked a fast look at Rainey. He looked as relieved as me. It was still too good to be true to think that Lyman would quit. Too fucking easy.

“OK,” he said. “I'll do it.”

Every guy there but me cheered him on.

“But with a rubber on my tongue,” Lyman insisted.

“OK,” Jackie D piped up. “But do it here. In front of everybody.”

For good measure I punctured the rubber twice before handing it to Lyman. I figured that if he got the money instead of me, that he'd never live long enough to enjoy it.

Jackie D didn't have to be reminded of the position. She lay on the floor face up and spread her spindly legs far apart in the air like a ballet dancer doing an upside-down splits.

“Eat her now!” came the chant like the psycho audience shrieks on
Jerry Springer
. “Eat her now! EAT HER NOW!”

Somehow Lyman must've totally blocked out of his mind this whole sordid thing because he hurriedly slipped the rubber over his tongue, bent down over her pussy, and gave her clit the world's fastest lick. He quickly jumped up and Adams handed him a cup of beer that he gargled, probably wishing for penicillin instead.

“That's it?” Jackie D said, slowly getting up.

“Yeah,” Lyman snapped, showing a facial expression like he smelled sour milk. “That's it.”

Jackie D looked around the room. “Any more guys want to fuck?”

“Yeah,” about a dozen desperate guys yelled out drunkenly.

“Get in the kitchen then,” she answered. “Let's do it!”

The phone rang as the hard-up parade headed for the kitchen. Adams answered it and punched the speakerphone button again. It was Litrick.

“Bad news.”

“What?”

“We stopped at an ARCO station in East LA and got beer like you said. O'Neill stopped around the corner and could see the back of the truck clearly. Byler came out with the beer, opened the trunk and set each one of the three six-packs down on the truck bed. Just like you said.”

“So what's the problem?”

“A motorcycle cop, I think it was a CHP, came over.”

“Why?”

“He must've seen us stash the beer in the trunk. He wanted to see if anybody was in there. Said it's illegal to transport people in a locked truck bed.”

“So what'd you do?”

“Opened the back like he said. Showed him it was empty. But by that time O'Neill and Buckskin walked over to the cop and looked in the truck too. As soon as they saw it was empty they knew they'd been duped. They quickly drove off while the cop was still checking the truck registration and insurance.”

“Where's O'Neill now?”

“I don't know. Probably heading back to the house.”

“How long ago they leave?”

“About forty-five minutes ago.”

“Why'd you take so long to call?”

“Couldn't do it any sooner. We didn't have proof of insurance and the cop called more cops thinking this might be a stolen truck. They kept us there all this time until they could check it out. Wouldn't let us make any phone calls. Then they cited Byler, who's twenty, for minor in possession of alcohol and fake ID since he bought the beer.”

“Bring the truck back here immediately,” Adams said before he hung up.

“Party's over,” Christianson said hurriedly. “Whoever brought the cake and table, get rid of it. O'Neill and the other asshole are heading here now. Be here any time. And cage that monkey somewhere out of sight.”

Zoom and G-Spot started to roll the cake out on the table.

“Wait!” Bones ordered. “All the pledges, you stay in the dining room.”

Seconds later Bones went into the kitchen and came out pulling Jackie D by the left elbow. The rest of the guys waiting to fuck her looked disappointed as they followed her and Bones into the dining room.

Bones handed Jackie D two cups of beer. She held one in each hand. “Drink it fast,” he ordered. “We still got some unfinished business here tonight.”

In less than a minute she guzzled down each cup and Bones
quickly replaced them with two more full cups. She drank these two a little slower but her body had incredible alcohol tolerance. She was drunk, no question about it. Her speech was thick and slurred, her eyes were bloodshot, glazed and runny, she looked dazed and confused and she could barely stand up. And from ten feet away you could smell the alcohol on her stinking breath. But this bitch could really hold her booze.

By the time she finished the sixth cup of beer in the last few minutes, Janus suddenly screamed, “Pledges! Get naked on the floor. Face up! Now!”

None of us moved. “You heard him!” Christianson screamed. “Hurry! Now!”

We slowly got undressed and laid on our backs on the cold linoleum floor facing the ceiling.

“Game is called Pledge Russian Roulette,” Bookie announced. “There's fifteen of you. I'm giving 10-1 odds for ten bucks against any pledge picking the winner.”

Grossberg sat up. “Nobody bet against another pledge,” he ordered.

“Want any more beer?” Bones asked Jackie D.

“No, no,” she moaned. “I got to pee. Bad.”

“You pick the guy on the floor to pee on. Anybody. We don't care. And he's out of the fraternity. We got too many guys here already.”

She smiled and looked down at me. “Love to.”

How could she pick me? I brought her here, got her laid a dozen times, and gave her two bottles of Jack Daniel's.

She staggered around the room, stumbling over some of us, tripping over others, looking down through the eyeholes in that hideous, black mask. Her steps were jerky and unsteady as if she was going to fall with each step she took. Yet somehow she stepped over some of the same guys two and three times before changing her route. It was hard to believe, especially in her totally wasted state, but it seemed that she was actually looking for a specific guy to pee on.

The actives started clapping rhythmically, then chanting, “Jackie D, Jackie D,” before the tempo increased, with everybody
finally screaming, “JACKIE D! JACKIE D!”

She took one wobbly step after another, this time lurching over each of us like she was playing a retarded version of hop-scotch. Finally, after she wobbled over Zoom twice in a row, she turned around and stumbled, nearly falling before regaining her balance. Then she crossed over him again, this time straddling his waist with her high, black boots. She took a deep breath and suddenly started pissing down on him!

The first few drops came slow; then the current picked up speed before turning into Niagara Falls! Zoom never moved! Either he liked it or he froze. But he just lay there getting a golden stream longer than I ever saw anybody get in a porn movie.

Janus' voice rang out, choking with laughter. “Pledges, roll in the piss!”

“No!” Christianson quickly yelled. “No!”

“Grossberg,” Adams ordered, “you guys get dressed. And get this thing back to the zoo. And get rid of the cake.” He turned to the rest of the pledges. “Everybody else, clean this place up. We're going to have some angry visitors any time now.”

“Too late!” O'Neill's voice happily rang out from the kitchen doorway, as Buckskin stood next to him, snapping picture after picture with his blinding flash of the naked pledges, the kegs of beer and boxes of wine, guys still smoking joints, and the greatest prize of all: Jackie D. Her pussy was photographed from every angle. Even my green pledge pin that I pinned on her black leather bra was a highlighted close-up in some of Buckskin's pictures.

“This fraternity is officially closed!” O'Neill snarled joyfully.

“T
HE OFFICERS ARE ALL EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL
!”
O'Neill barked. “Starting now!” Then he looked around at me and the rest of the pathetic-looking, naked pledges. “You idiots took a lot of hazing this semester. And it's all for nothing. This fraternity is history! The photos will prove it!”

Fuck! Now the goddamn Marines were my last hope for the money. And Bush keeps screaming for war every day.

O'Neill pointed to Jackie D. “What the hell's that?”

“Came from an escort service,” Christianson answered quickly in a cracked voice.

“You're in charge, aren't you?” O'Neill demanded, looking directly at Christianson with his left eye while his right eye traced the direction of a boomerang in flight.

“Yes, sir,” Christianson answered softly.

“Who's the other officers?” O'Neill snarled. “Get them over here.”

Christianson turned around and motioned to each guy. “Adams, LeRoy, Reece, Hasse. Come over here please.”