Haze 2

"Listen up, plebes!" Neelon BelPré barked like a boot camp drill sergeant. "I am happy to announce that four of you passed preliminary initiation rites and are now on the final track to being fully inducted into the fraternity of Delta Omicron Chi and the Secret Order of the Domino." The tall tone twenty-two-year old with the latte complexion and frost-tipped spiky hair cleared his throat. "Soon two of these four fine gentlemen will be wearing the black mask at closed meetings where they will network with powerful alumni in high places. When I call your name, please step forward. Jason Hanes, Franklin Tanner, Kyle Moynihan, and Aaron Weiss. The rest of you, go try another less prestigious fraternity."

Kyle nudged Aaron in the ribs. "C'mon."

"What?" he said lost in dread.

"He called our names."

"He did?" Aaron couldn't believe it. He had made it into the house of Delta Omicron Chi, a fraternity known for its elitism and access to the upper echelon of business and politics. For Aaron Weiss and his dreams of becoming a big time corporate lawyer with political ambitions, the announcement was the starting gun at an intercollegiate track meet. He pushed off from the gate, but his eager sprint suddenly skidded stop.

Slender cinnamon-stick fingers pressed into Aaron's chest. "Ah, one more thing you'll have to measure up to, Weiss," Neelon cautioned.

"What's that?"

"The Hoffman gauge."

"The Hoff--" Aaron cut his repetition short upon seeing the life-size profile of Dustin Hoffman being set on an easel.

"OK, step up to the picture and turn your head to match the profile."

"But why?"

Neelon answered by pinning Aaron's head to the photo with one hand, whipping out a measuring tape with the other over the minute gap between Dustin Hoffman's nose and Aaron's. The tape snapped back into its holder. Neelon let go and stepped back. "You made it just under the wire."

"Yeah, by a nose hair," joked Mike Knutson the biggest of the frat boy bullies.

"What does my nose have to do with it?" He rubbed it.

"The same thing my skin color does," Neelon related.

"Huh?"

"When I joined up, I had to pass the Michael Jackson Thriller test."

"What was that?" Aaron queried,

"If my skin was darker than Jackson's when he did the Thriller album, I would not have been deemed acceptable."

"Why not Michael Jackson as he is now?" Kyle piped in.

Neelon turned to him and the others. "Well, that would be discriminating against minorities, and we at Delta Omicron Chi are an equal opportunity fraternity that embraces all skin colors and nose sizes that fall within the designated parameters."

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"Weiss," Neelon pinched Aaron's cheek, "you're a kike. We can't have the stigma of your heritage showing. It would ruin our golden boy image. Right Knutson?"

"Right, chief."

"Now, go get some refreshments," Neelon ordered the big blonde man.

"Right, chief." The gargantuan linebacker seemed to scare the door open with his massive approach.

Neelon draped a gym-pumped arm around Aaron's narrow shoulders. "You see Weiss, in the old days the fraternity could only admit big blonde pink-skinned goons like him. Great for a photo-op but death for machinations of power. Those good-ol' cracker boys have been products of inbreeding for way too many generations. So, in the Pee-Cee eighties, the fraternity and the society had to revamp the rules to allow for mixed-bloods, like me and your half-breed buddy there, Moynihan."

"He's a half breed?"

"Well, maybe I should specify, 'quarter breed.' His great grandma was full-blooded Cherokee who marched the Trail of Tears from shameful beginning to bitter end. As a result of her pain and political suffering, he gets to go to college on full scholarship."

"What about you?"

"Me? I'm a cup of black java swirling with a dollop of sweet butter cream and a pinch of island spice." With hazel eyes, Neelon looked down at the short wiry champion sprinter.

"But I'm not mixed. I'm just Jewish, and a secular one at that," Aaron justified.

"Which means you come from clever genes, and we need clever."

"I'm not sure if I resemble that remark or not."

Neelon scrunched his high bronze brow. "Huh?"

"An old Groucho joke."

"Look, dude, the proof is in the pudding you and your sidekick, Moynihan, here, cooked up last semester. You were totally awesome smuggling that shower cam into the girls' dorm. Do you know how many hits we got on that website? We made a mint on the 'who-shaves-her-pussy.' betting pool -- enough to refurbish the house rec room." He clapped Aaron on the back. "It took balls for you to go in drag and get shots of Polly Harper in her glorious buff. I still can't figure out how you managed to get into the shower without anyone noticing your, uh, masculinity then get such high-res and range on the hidden webcam. Brilliant technical wizardry, if you ask me. Where'd you hide that thing anyway?"

"Trade secret," Aaron evaded.

"That's the kind of clever we need for the future of the society and its mission in this world."

Aaron looked around the imposing turn-of-the-century fraternity house with its chipped paneling, rickety chandelier and buckling floors. "Which brings me to another Groucho line about not being sure I'd want to belong to a club that would have me as a member." He chuckled nervously.

The door burst open and Mike Knutson came barreling in with two hefty silver kegs. Soon the frat house was awash in beer. "Let's chug to clever schemes. To the Omnipotent Domino," cheered Neelon.

The next day brought on hangovers and missed classes. Aaron gripped his pounding head to his bedroom door exploding open. "Aaron, quick! Neelon wants to see us pronto."

Aaron threw on a pair of jeans and tripped down the stairs in bare feet to the study. "Stand at attention," ordered Knutson the galloot. Aaron and Kyle straightened up and stuck out their lean chests. Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron noticed the other two initiates, Jason and Frank standing a step behind them.

"I have a mission for you dudes to determine which of you will truly merit entry into the fraternity and the society. Knutson, take Hanes and Tanner into the next room to explain their task. I'll deal with Weiss and Moynihan in here." When the others left the room, Neelon flipped on the flat screen computer monitor. "I want you to take a good look at this girl. You should recognize her."

Squinting at the grainy webcam wide-shot of the law library's second-floor reference room, Aaron determined, "That looks like Madeline Grubb."

Neelon clicked the remote mouse to zoom in on the girl's round face and thick horn-rimmed glasses. He scanned her shapeliness from the long ash blonde curls of her head over the bulging bust of her cotton blouse to the thin belted waist of her plaid skirt. When the edge of the reference desk blocked the rest of the view, he zoomed out. "Look at her, so demure and mousy. A tasty little lamb chop, don't you think, Weiss."

"I guess she's okay." A blush rose to his bony cheeks.

"Don't play coy. I've seen you flirting with her, Weiss," Neelon teased.

Before Aaron could say, "Who me?" Neelon mouse-clicked several commands to bring up a past-dated recorded image of Aaron leaning over the desk chatting with Madeleine. Another frame popped up and slapped down over the first followed by another and another. "What are all the pressing reference questions you ask her, I wonder?"

Aaron cleared the nervous rise in his throat. "Pardon me, but how does she affect our mission, sir?"

Neelon looked at Aaron and gestured toward the screen. "She is the mission. You are going to kidnap her."

"Isn't that kind of illegal?" Kyle queried.

"No more than committing video voyeurism in the shower of the girls' dorm. I believe that's considered a felony crime these days, meaning automatic expulsion with the possible sentence of five to ten years and no fine law career for you, Weiss."

Aaron swallowed hard. "So, uh, what if we don't do it, I mean."

"You don't do it, and you're out of the fraternity."

Aaron scratched his head and turned toward the door. "I guess I'm out then."

"Me too," Kyle added.

Neelon tossed in the hard card, "What's worse, Knutson and those two Buttafuco beyotches in the next room will do it. In fact, I'm pitting you in a race with them to see who gets her first."

"What?" Aaron's jaw swung wide on its hinge.

"Just imagine if that big blonde troglodyte gets his bear paws on her first. Do you think he'd be able to show any restraint? He'd break her like a porcelain doll." Neelon snapped a pencil in two for effect.

"All right, we'll do it. Just tell us when and where," Aaron submitted.

"Where you snatch her is up to you. The when is what's critical. She is not to be taken until she finishes her Friday night shift at the library at nine p.m. I don't want her reported missing from work. She is to be bound, gagged, and blindfolded according to these specifications." He clicked up a set of instructions with illustrations on the screen then sent them to the printer. "You will bring her to the abandoned railroad yards," a map appeared on the screen. He printed it up. "There, you'll put her in this empty railcar no later than midnight." He handed the printouts to the pledges. "Be sure not to be seen doing any of this. Any questions?"

Aaron and Kyle studied the plans warily and shook their shaggy heads. As they turned to go back to their rooms, Neelon added a final caveat, "Oh, and in case you dudes think of pulling some clever copout tactic whereby the victim is forewarned and packs off to her mother's for a long weekend, I have a hostage to keep you in line." He clicked the mouse to call up a live picture of a guinea pig sniffing around the interior of a microwave oven. Knutson's beefy hand closed the door and set the timer. His fat finger sat poised over the start button.

Kyle shrieked, "Mr. Poogie, No!"

"Mr. Poogie will cook from the inside out unless you complete your task as described in your printouts. I suggest you practice the rope tying before you lasso the target. I want the knots tied to spec."

Aaron clenched the papers tight in his fist. "C'mon, Kyle. We have scheming to do."

The following evening, Aaron and Kyle drove to the library in one of Kyle's father's work vans. They had cleaned out the plumbing equipment and laid down a futon mattress to make their captive comfortable. It was 8:30 when they walked into the reference section. Pretending to be doing research, Aaron went up to the desk. "Hi, Madeleine."

The girl looked down and fiercely rouged. "Hi, Aaron. Can I help you?"

"I, uh, need to find a source on precedent for... for...," his thoughts tripped over themselves to find a topic, "video voyeurism, yeah, video voyeurism as... as... a felony crime."

The lenses of Madeleine's owlish glasses showed a reverse image of the computer screen. "Uh, you can try D stack, section 34. There are several case logs on that topic. But, uh, you should hurry, because we're closing in less than twenty minutes."

"Thanks." Clicking his tongue twice, Aaron winked at her then towed Kyle over to the stacks. "Did you see them?" he asked.

"Not yet." Kyle strained to look over shelving and desks to spot their rivals. "There they are."

"Where?"

"Over by the periodicals, pretending to read and checking the clock."

Aaron snapped his fingers to conjure up a plan. His roving eye and quick mind caught one coming out of the service elevator. "C'mon," he grabbed Kyle by the jacket sleeve. "You're taking Spanish class, aren't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, we're going to ask those janitors to borrow their coveralls and cleaning gear. Tell them we'll pay 'em fifty bucks apiece. You brought money, right?" He pulled Kyle along the back wall toward the targeted men.

"Yeah, but my Spanish isn't good enough to--"

"Buenos nachos, señors," Aaron uttered with a thick Brooklyn accent.

The short older man with the balding pate reciprocated the greeting while his taller younger goateed workmate eyed the two callow gringos with suspicion.

Aaron nudged Kyle in the ribs to make him spit out the proposal. "Perdones, señors. Quiermos ustedes uniformas para cinquento dollares por fa--."

"Man, your Spanish sucks!" lambasted the man in the goatee.

"Oh, you speak Engli--" Kyle stopped for Aaron's elbow slamming in his gut.

"We'd like to acquire your uniforms for a short period of time. We can make it worth your while," Aaron patted the breast pocket of his denim jacket.

"Whatchya want 'em for?" asked the man.

"It's for a practical joke, you know," Aaron explained in a low tone.

"You mean for a frat pledge or something?" the goateed man hazarded his educated guess.

"Yeah."

He looked to his coworker for an opinion. The two shot off at each other in rapid-fire Spanish before declaring, "Well, it's gonna cost ya more 'an fifty."

"How much?"

"A hundred apiece."

"OK," Aaron pulled out his billfold. "C'mon, Kyle, fork up."

Kyle reluctantly complied. The four sneaked over to the supply closet where they took turns taking off and putting on the coveralls. To further their disguise, the goateed man slapped bandanas and baseball caps down over their heads and turned up their collars. The two college boys promised to leave the borrowed goods at the loading bay where they planned to smuggle Madeleine out of the building. How they would manage that without detection was another plan yet to hatch.

A recorded announcement blared that the library would close in ten minutes. Aaron and Kyle pushed the cart full of cleaning supplies and a large waste bin on wheels down to the restrooms. They pretended to clean around the area. "You sure she's coming over here?" whispered Kyle from the edge of his mouth.

"She always hits the head before clocking out." Aaron looked over his collar to see her coming. "Here she comes. Get ready."

"You remember to bring the stuff?" Kyle asked nervously.

"Copped it from the entomology lab." He patted his breast pocket. "Okay, she's going in. Cover me." Aaron pulled the rolling waste bin behind him as he entered the ladies' room.

Kyle set the yellow warning sign outside the door. Two girls came up to the door. "No entrada," he said in bad Spanish. "El otro flooro." He pointed up. The girls scurried away.

When Madeleine came out of the stall, he grabbed her from behind. She gasped under the chloroform-soaked handkerchief and collapsed. He slipped her body and her purse into the waste bin and covered her in paper towels and streams of toilet tissue. He and Kyle pushed their cargo to the freight elevators and punched the button to the basement. The doors slid shut on their view of Knutson and his crew sniffing like coon hounds around the restroom where they had seen her go in five minutes before.

Madeleine awoke in the back of the van that was cruising off campus to a desolate industrial drive. Aaron helped her sit up. "You okay?"

"What did you do to me?" she asked groggily.

"Here, drink some water. It should help shake the effects of the chloroform." He passed her a bottle.

Madeleine took several swallows and began to focus. "Where am I? What are you doing to me?"

Aaron held her by the arm. "Take it easy. I'm going to explain. Here, drink some more water."

Madeleine refused the water and straightened the glasses that sat crooked on her face to better scrutinize Aaron for an explanation. The van came to a halt and Kyle jumped into the back. "How is she?"

"Frightened and confused, I imagine," Aaron offered.

"Will one of you please tell me what's going on?" Mounting tears reddened her face.

"We, uh, we're kidnapping you," Aaron stammered.

"What?" she shrieked.

Aaron raised his hands to shush her. "It's so we can get admitted to Delta Omicron Chi House."

"You're breaking the law and endangering my life to get into a frat house? Are you insane?" She lunged for the back hatch to the van.

Aaron and Kyle grabbed her by the arms. "Wait a minute; hear us out. We don't want to do this, but we're being coerced," Aaron blurted.

Madeleine jerked free from their polite grip. "Coerced -- yeah, right."

"No, really. They have a hostage and will hurt that hostage if we don't comply."

"Hostage? What hostage?"

Kyle's lip trembled. "My pet guinea pig, Mr. Poogie. They..."

"They'll zap him in a microwave if we don't deliver you to the old rail yard by midnight tonight," Aaron hastily finished.

Madeleine brought her hands to her face. "They wouldn't!"

"They would," cried Kyle.

"Add to that," Aaron embellished, "the other threat of your being taken by that Wagnerian nightmare, Mike Knutson. He and his crew were standing by the periodicals, or didn't you notice?"

Madeleine pondered the prospect with mouth agape.

"We had to get to you first," Aaron rationalized.

"So, what now?" she asked with trepidation.

Pulling a stray shred of tissue from her fine strands, Aaron intoned, "Now, we tie you up."

Madeleine shuddered. "No, please. Can't you just... just chloroform me again? I mean, can't I just be knocked out somehow?"

"Sorry, but we have to follow the prescribed plan." He looked at Kyle. "You do her feet and legs, and I'll do her hands and arms."

Kyle passed over a bundle of white nylon rope. Aaron gently but firmly pulled her arms behind her back. Madeleine squirmed. "God, no! Don't do this!" she bawled.

"Madeleine, please calm down and cooperate. I promise no one will hurt you." He wound the cord around her wrists and tried to tie the complicated knot he'd seen in the instructions. He looked over to see Kyle furtively working his end to its completion. "How did you do that?"

"I was an Eagle Scout. Plus I worked a ranch every summer. Need help?" Kyle shifted positions to take up where Aaron left off. In a matter of seconds he had her hands securely fastened.

"What's going to happen to me at the rail yard?" Madeleine bleated.

Aaron tugged the line to the coils binding her upper arms. He heard her grunt. "Too tight? Sorry," he apologized and adjusted the slack to allow for circulation.

"You didn't answer my question," she screamed. "What's going to happen to me there?"

Aaron hesitated before answering, "I don't know. Look, you go along with this and I'll take you out to a nice dinner somewhere," he bribed with a debonair smile.

"Where?" she mewed.

"Wherever you like."

"Bruno's steakhouse?"

"Sure. Kyle, pass me the gagging cloth." He took the white serving towel and formed a large knot in its middle. He slipped it into Madeleine's protesting mouth and tied it behind her head. He pulled off her glasses and handed them to Kyle. "Put these in her purse, will you?" He wrapped a second white towel over her eyes and face. With Madeleine snug in the back, Kyle drove the van down the dark road to the defunct train yard.

Donning the black domino masks associated with their society name, Neelon and a dozen other members greeted them at the open railway car. They passed cartoon mouse masks to Aaron and Kyle. "Put these on. When you have successfully completed your mission, you will evolve from puny plebe mice to men worthy of wearing a black domino." Aaron and Kyle juggled Madeleine between them to put on their masks. "Good, now bring her inside and set her in the chair," Neelon ordered.

In the center of the long dark freight car whose floor was covered with wrestling mats pilfered from the college athletic equipment shed was a single wooden chair with a high cane back. "Secure her to it," Neelon ordered. Two masked men, one of them obviously Knutson for his hulking manner, set upon her with more ropes. Madeleine squealed and squirmed under Knutson's ravenous hands.

Neelon stepped up and slapped the apish man's errant fingers. He scrutinized the knot tying and gave a thumbs-up. "Excellent Shinju weave, gentlemen." He took Madeleine by the chin and cooed, "I apologize for that brute's improper handling of your goods, but if you want me to keep him from having his way with you, you'll have to do as I ask. Nod your head if you understand." He watched her head bob up and down in the palm of his hand. "Good girl. Now, your job is to wriggle free from your bonds. You will have thirty minutes." He snapped his fingers. A masked minion brought him a wind-up timer. He took it, cranked it to the number 30 then held the ticking device to her ear before setting it on a nearby table. "Be sure to give us a good show. Everyone's betting you won't manage it, but I have my hopes in your favor. You, Mouseman," he pointed to Aaron. "Come here and unbutton the fair damsel's blouse to make her more enticing for our web viewers."