"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."
