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“By getting voted in, you pathetic pricks got me five million dollars from my grandfather's will. Either making this shit-ass fraternity or joining the Marines was the only condition for getting the money.” I looked around until I caught Parker's eye. “And the Marines eat shit too.” Then I flashed the world's biggest shit-eating grin. “Thanks suckers,” I snarled, before I unsteadily made my way back towards the bar in the absolutely silent, motionless room.

Vysell and Batman, who both looked shocked, stopped me a few feet before I reached the bar.

“Like Al Pacino at the end of
Scent of a Woman
,” Batman said, smiling with admiration, “you really told them fuckers off.”

“You really getting five million dollars?” Vysell asked, rubbing his chin.

“Yeah.”

“What're you going to do with it?”

“First thing,” I answered, “is to take the two of you on the porn cruise to Mexico.”

Both guys looked overwhelmed.

“What're you going to do after that? Batman asked. “You coming back to school?”

“Well, I was thinking about that and now that I know how to get good grades, I thought that maybe I'll finish college and then go to law school and be a lawyer like my father.”

“All-right,” he answered, stretching out both words as I walked over to Jackie D.

Even though she was wearing the same raggedy-ass, thread-bare jeans as always, with the hole in her left rear pocket still exposing her bony ass, she had a little makeup on with a touch of pink lipstick, obviously trying to look more presentable. Lucky for her there's no odometer on her cunt so nobody could tell that she fucked dozens of guys this week and blew about two dozen more. All things considered, she didn't look that bad. But even if she did, so what? Tomorrow she'd start her nine months in jail. Let her celebrate her last night of freedom.

Evidently she and Jody really hit it off, continually smiling at each other while Jackie D's fingertips lightly caressed Jody's oversized hands. It was funny to see everybody sneaking sly looks at the two of them, and snickering and smirking and sneering, obviously wondering if Jackie D knew Jody's sex.

As I walked around meeting everyone's resentful, jealous stares, Lyman's porky mother asked me some questions about my parents before she suddenly thrust her chin toward Jackie D.

“Who in God's name is that?” she asked with a sour look.

Lyman glared at me with the look-of-death. “The fraternity whore,” I answered casually. “Every guy here fucked her, including Lyman, who also ate her.”

His face flashed crimson. “That's a lie!” he babbled, unconvincingly. “She's a homeless girl who comes here in exchange for food, to clean the place.”

I smiled at Lyman. “Cleans our pipes, you mean.”

Lyman was still red-faced and showed even more rage. “You're crazy!”

“Any more questions?” I asked the big buddahead.

She nodded. “No.”

Nuppi was the center of attention of a group of guys in the corner of the living room, telling a story and getting the anticipated laughter. I walked over to them.

“Tell these guys,” Nuppi said, holding some kind of rum drink with a red umbrella sticking out of the top of it. “Isn't it true that I beat your rape charge because I proved the girl didn't have a shaved pussy like she claimed when she said you raped her?”

I laughed. “Yeah. That's true.”

“Then why'd Watson get arrested?” Bones asked.

“Cause the girl was only seventeen,” Nuppi answered before draining his drink. “Too young to consent.”

“Shit,” Holmes muttered. “You mean that if I admitted that I fucked her too, I'd have gotten arrested like Watson?”

Nuppi nodded. “That's right.”

“Even if she consented?”

Nuppi shook his head. “Her words don't mean shit if she was too young when she said them. You guys better understand that.” He paused and reached into his light blue shirt pocket and pulled out a bunch of buff-colored business cards. He started handing them out like he was dealing a poker hand. “But if you guys can't resist the smell of underage pussy and get caught, here's my card. Call me.” He stood up. “Getting another drink now.” He walked away unsteadily toward the bar where Jackie D was either whispering something lengthy to Jody or was French-kissing his ear.

Jackie D and Jody got up and held hands as they walked over to me.

“We're leaving,” Jackie D said. She looked over at Jody, then back at me. “Thanks for everything.”

“We're going to San Francisco,” Jody added.

I looked at Jackie D. “What about tomorrow?” Hard to believe she forgot she started a year-long jail sentence.

She smiled, looked at Jody longingly, and rested her right hand on Jody's obvious, bulging crotch. “What do you think?”

“Good choice.”

As they headed across the room toward the front door and were about to exit, some guy walked past them, into the room.

Bookie pointed to the open front doorway. “Now, who the hell's that?”

Standing there was a fat guy about forty with a mustache
connected to his short, dark beard, wearing a blue Dodgers baseball cap pulled down low on his forehead.

“Who're you?” Bookie demanded.

“Looking for Kurt Stafford,” the guy answered in a Brooklyn accent. “Got a present for him.”

He was holding a package the size and shape of a shoe box, beautifully wrapped in emerald green foil paper tied with a big fancy emerald green and white ribbon. The fraternity colors. Right then I knew it was a special award for me, probably from the officers whose asses I saved, properly thanking me for everything. Suddenly I knew that the Mr. Dogshit award was just a con job wanting to make this surprise even bigger. I swallowed hard. Maybe telling everybody off a minute ago wasn't such a hot idea.

All semester I proved that I came through when the guys needed it the most. I saved the fraternity. No question about it, I deserved this award!

I raised my right arm. “Here I am,” I called out proudly in a sluggish voice.

The room got quiet as this guy in the dirty jeans walked over to me. He handed me the package.

“Congratulations, Mr. Stafford.”

He stuck out his hand. I shook it. “Thank you.”

Without another word, he walked out of the room and out the front door.

“Open it!” Stovepipe yelled thickly.

I rested the beautifully-wrapped package on the edge of the buffet table so I could open it easier. The rest of the guys crowded around to see what the gift was even though they must've known what they bought me.

“Three cheers for Kurt Stafford!” Lyman of all people yelled out loudly.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” everybody screamed, mostly in unison.

I ignored them and pulled off the big, fancy ribbon, letting it fall to the floor.

“Three more cheers for Kurt Stafford!” Lyman called out again.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!” these assholes yelled again even louder as I ripped the foil paper off the box. Then I pulled off the lid.

“What is it?” a bunch of people called out from behind the crowd around me. “We can't see.”

The only thing in the box was some rolled-up sheets of paper, like a scroll, tied with the same emerald green and white ribbon that was on the box. I knew it had to be some kind of proclamation or something, thanking me for everything. Maybe a bunch of gift certificates from expensive stores. It was thick enough.

I slid off the ribbon and straightened out the computer-printed papers, stapled in the left corner, and held them up to read.

“Oh!” I instantly gasped, immediately feeling faint when I saw the front page:

I'm sure my face drained of color. All the saliva in my mouth suddenly evaporated, like I was gargling with sand. My knees almost gave out. I leaned on the edge of the table for support, trying like hell not to puke. Squinting, I tried to focus my blurry vision, trying quickly to scan the page. Except the words kept floating around.

“What is it?” people yelled out anxiously. “What's it say?”

“I don't know!” Grossberg answered. “But whatever it is, it looks like Stafford's having a stroke!”

“Look at his face!” somebody else yelled.

Adams looked real concerned, racing up to me. He grabbed the papers and read the front page.

“I think it's a lawsuit,” he told the puzzled audience, quickly handing the papers back to me like they had anthrax germs on them.

The word lawsuit triggered Nuppi into action. “Make way,” he said, weaving unsteadily toward me. “I'm his lawyer.”

As soon as he got to the table, he yanked the papers out of
my trembling hand and started reading them. The room was silent again; anticipation was in the air.

“It says, ‘Estate of Edmund Roy Kirkland, Deceased,' ” Nuppi said slowly and deliberately. “Who the hell's that?”

“My grandfather,” I answered.

“The guy who left you the five million in his will?”

My stomach was sinking fast. “Yeah,” I mumbled.

“And who's Lyman Pomeranz?”

I was quickly losing my breath. With my right hand shaking like I had Parkinson's, I nervously pointed toward him and his zipperheaded-chink-gook-slopehead, motherfucking mother sitting across the room. Both of them looked pious with their angelic smiles. Only their fucking halos were missing.

“My cousin. Why?”

“He's the Contestant in this lawsuit.”

“What's that mean?” I snapped.

Nuppi kept opening and closing his eyes, finally squinting like hell. “He filed these papers titled WILL CONTEST AND GROUNDS FOR OPPOSITION TO PROBATE OF PURPORTED WILL.”

“What the fuck does all this mean?” I screamed, as the room started spinning a little more before gradually picking up speed like an amusement park ride.

Nuppi had a dopey look on his flush, alcoholic face, quickly fanning the first few pages of the document. “Your cousin filed a Will Contest against you to prevent you from getting your grandfather's money. He wants a third of the whole twenty-one million.”

“That gook ain't getting shit!” I screeched, unsuccessfully trying to drown out everybody's laughter.

“Let me finish reading it,” Nuppi slurred. He quickly leafed through a few more pages.

I could barely catch my breath. Standing up was getting impossible. “What's it say?” I babbled in a nervous, frightened voice, really not wanting to know.

“Says your grandfather had an affair with a maid—Lyman's mother—and got her pregnant with Lyman.”

Every eyeball clicked on Lyman's slit-eyed, flipper mother. She was unfazed and smiled back like she was Queen Elizabeth sitting on the throne. And Lyman seemed covered in stone too.

Then the audience stared back at me like they were following the ball back and forth across the net in a tennis match.

Vysell brought me another drink that I gratefully downed in two quick gulps. I was terrified. I knew I needed a fucking miracle now.

“What's all this shit mean?” I screamed to Nuppi in a cracked voice.

“That your grandfather is Lyman's father and he gets a third of the will and you get nothing.”

“WHAT?” I shrieked over the hysterical laughter.

Everybody's eyes whipped back at Lyman and his mother again. Both of them wore the same smug expression before Lyman smiled, slowly showing everybody his fangs.

Then Nuppi got the room's attention again. “The will says that all your grandfather's children are to share and share alike.” He looked up at me. “How many children did your grandfather have?”

“Two. My mother and my aunt.”

Miraculously, my head cleared a little. “Wait a minute! How do we know that Lyman is my grandfather's kid? What proof they got?”

Nuppi quickly scanned the rest of the document, turning the pages nearly as fast as a Jew counts money. “Says here that blood taken off your grandfather's Marine Corps shirt was matched to Lyman's blood. Definite, 100%, DNA match.”

My new, wonderful fraternity brothers roared with drunken laughter again.

“Wait a minute!” I yelled again at Nuppi. “Even if Lyman is my grandfather's kid and even if he shares the millions with my mother and aunt, why can't I get the five million? I earned it! I did all the conditions!”

Silently, Nuppi turned to the end of the document where a copy of the will was attached and read it for about thirty seconds before answering. “Because the will reads, ‘Because I only
have two children etc. etc.'”

“So?”

“So that means that since your grandfather has more than two children, the conditional gift to you is meaningless. You get nothing.”

Now, besides all the cheering and laughter, most of the people banged silverware on the table, pounding out their non-stop applause! I was shaking and shivering. Every goddamn organ in my body was malfunctioning. I was only seconds away from needing the paramedics to revive me. I was gasping for air when I looked at Nuppi in sheer desperation. I was hysterical. “FUCK THIS LAWSUIT SHIT! I WANT MY MONEY!”

“Well—” he began, before I interrupted him.

“Remember you told me that it's almost impossible to break a will?”

“Yeah. That's true.”

I felt a tiny sliver of hope. “And that you never saw anybody do it because it's almost impossible to prove that the dead guy wanted something different than what he wrote in his will?”

“Yeah. That's true, too.”

“And the odds are a million to one to break a will?”

“Yeah.”

“SO DON'T LET LYMAN BREAK IT!”

“Can't. The blood test beat the odds. It's the one in a million.”