Read Online Fubar by Ron Carpol - Free Book Online

length, brown hair partially covering her dangling,gold earrings. She didn’t waste any time with false charm.
    â€œI’m Detective Montelino,” she mumbled in a monotone through a nearly-closed mouth, doing a pretty good job of mimicking Clint Eastwood’s cop character Dirty Harry.
    Her large, hazel eyes were as alert as a preying hawk’s, staring at each of us, one-at-a-time. Her matching black pants and black jacket over her black sweater didn’t exactly soften her appearance either.
    â€œThis is the procedure. Wait here. When I’m ready for you, I’ll talk to each of you individually in the yard. When we’re done, wait upstairs. And don’t discuss our conversation with each other. Then I’ll talk to everyone as a group.”
    Rainey raised his hand like he was in grammar school. “I’ve got a question.”
    â€œAsk me outside,” she interrupted. “Who’re you?”
    â€œTim Rainey.”
    â€œOK Mr. Rainey, you can be first. Come outside with me.” Then she looked over at us. “The rest of you, wait here until I call you.”
    With his grim face looking down at his shoes, Rainey headed toward the kitchen following the cop as docilely as an obedient puppy.
    â€œAnybody know yet who got raped?” Castle asked.
    â€œNo idea,” Batman answered.
    â€œMe neither,” Watson mumbled.
    â€œDon’t know nothing about nothing,” I muttered, taking the advice my father gave me that he always used when the state and federal investigators continually tried to question him.
    â€œGot no idea either,” Holmes said softly, shaking his head.
    â€œSame here,” Froggy added.
    None of the other guys knew shit either.
    I cornered Batman and Vysell. “You tell anybody about my videos?” I whispered.
    Both guys flinched a little, like they were shocked I’d even ask them that.
    â€œHell no,” Vysell answered.
    Batman just shook his head.
    Both guys were believable.
    I checked my watch every five minutes until it was almost 3:30. Then, ashen faced, Rainey walked back into the living room.
    â€œStafford, you’re next,” was all he said, before stumbling up the stairs alone.
    Even though I still thought this was a bullshit investigation, the familiar knot suddenly came to life in my stomach and started strangling my intestines. I stood up and slowly walked outside into the back yard.
    The cop was standing as I approached. Two aluminum lawn chairs with different color, torn webbing faced each other with a small, white, plastic table in between. The black attache´ case was closed, lying flat on the table. Next to it was a blue, loose-leaf notebook. She pointed to the chair across from her before she handed me her business card, identical to the one that was pinned to the bulletin board.
    â€œPlease sit down.”
    I plopped down, surrendering to the chair, twisting around trying to get comfortable. But my right knee suddenly started bouncing. I couldn’t control it as she stared down at it.
    â€œState your name please.”
    â€œKurt Stafford.”
    â€œMr. Stafford. You’re not under arrest. You can leave anytime you want. In fact you don’t have to tell me anything.”
    â€œWhat if I leave or refuse to talk to you?”
    â€œThen whatever facts I have from this investigation will be turned over to the District Attorney’s Office and they’ll decide whether or not to prosecute you.”
    â€œWhat’s my advantage if I talk to you?”
    â€œHaving your side of the story heard.”
    Again she stared at my uncontrollable right knee that almost kept time to my fluttering heartbeat that pumped way too fast.
    I nodded. “Sounds OK,” I muttered.
    Her voice lost its earlier threatening tone. “Were you at the fraternity Christmas party?”
    I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œDo you know Richie