Free Fubar by Ron Carpol

claim you’re not called Mr. Rollover by the police?”
    â€œSome detective probably gave me that name, I guess, but it’s more bullshit.”
    â€œLike you not being at the Christmas party. Except the photo puts you there. Then getting sick and staying in bed all night. Except the marijuana cite puts you here at 12:40 A.M. Then denying that you had sexual intercourse with Heather, claiming she identified you to help your cousin get the inheritance. Then being a member of the Number-Fuckers club and trying to tell me it’s like the Red Cross or American Legion.”
    â€œI’m innocent,” I protested nervously.
    â€œLike your drunk driving case?” the thorough bitch asked.
    â€œI pleaded guilty to that because the Public Defender made me. He was too scared and lazy to have a trial.” Then my voice got hard. “I don’t care what anybody says, I didn’t rape that cunt.”
    She stood up with a sour look. “Wait upstairs until you’re called.”
    I was still seated. “What if I leave instead?”
    â€œYour choice.”
    Her greenish eyes stared down into my eye sockets like laser beams.
    â€œLast time I ask you this,” she said. “Even with Heather’s consent, did you have sexual intercourse with her?”
    I stood up. “Abso-fucking-lutely not!”
    â€œThat’s all,” she said coolly. “Please send me Mr. Holmes.”
    _____
    I stood in the doorway of the living room and pointed to Holmes. “You’re next.” Then I looked at Batman and Vysell, pointing with my chin toward the hallway. “Outside,” I whispered. They followed me until we were on the front lawn. “The cunt that supposedly got raped was Frizzhead.”
    â€œWhew,” Batman said, exhaling loudly. “Thank God. Who’d rape her?”
    â€œNot me,” I answered.
    â€œMe either,” Vyell added.”
    â€œWhat’d you tell the cop?” Batman asked.
    â€œI denied everything, no matter what she asked. And I’m telling both of you, do the same thing. She can’t prove shit without some evidence. She’s just fishing around, hoping some idiot will confess.”
    Vysell punched me lightly on the right shoulder before balling his fists and pointing each thumb upward. “You’re the man.”
    _____
    It was nearly six o’clock before Dirty Harriet and Castle walked into the pledge dorm where me and the other guys were lying on the beds like death-row convicts waiting for the guards to drag us to the chair.
    Dickless Tracy didn’t keep any of us guessing for long. She pointed to me, Froggy, Castle, Holmes and Watson. “You five stay here. Everybody else is cleared.”
    Lyman’s mouth was open and his eyes bugged out. He pointed to Watson. “Did you say he’s a suspect?”
    â€œWho’re you, his lawyer?” she demanded.
    â€œNo. I’m his pledge brother and good friend. I was with him all night. I know he never raped anybody the night of the Christmas Party.”
    The cop sighed, twisting her face in exasperation and looked around at us. “The people I told could leave can go now. Unless you’re volunteering to keep being a suspect.”
    Seconds later only the five of us were there with the cop.
    â€œA week from today, Thursday afternoon, January 9th, at two o’clock in the afternoon, there’s going to be a line-up, at the Pacific Division Station on Culver Boulevard. Corner of Centinela near Venice.”
    â€œLike with
The Usual Suspects
?” Watson asked.
    â€œRight.”
    The cop reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a white sheet of paper folded into four squares. She handed it to Watson who was sitting up on the bed closest to her. “Date, time, address, and room number for the line-up are listed. Better for everybody if you’re all there.”
    â€œDo we need lawyers?” Holmes asked in a