Part 8.

At home, I hopped on the horn to Holtzclaw, who said that the FBI had investigated the Daily Gawker, but withdrew.

He cleared his throat, the phlegmy sound a death-rattle that crawled under my skin. "Nothing illegal. The article said ... let's see here... quote, 'Ulysses Garrity was an active member of his Omega Theta Pi chapter in Capitol City, Ohio. During his senior year, he acted as vice president and rush chairman. But people are saying that Garrity now identifies as female and claims her Omega brothers raped her.' And they referenced Alpha Schlong's threads about you. So SOME PEOPLE were saying... yadda, yadda, yadda. First Amendment covers them. Seems you're on your own."

"Crap." My shoulders slumped as I puffed my cheeks, swishing air around my mouth before sighing. "You're sure?"

"Seems so."

"Think I can sue them?"

Holtzclaw laughed, his tone sharp. "What I look like, a lawyer? Way beyond my paygrade."

I ground my teeth, before bidding Holtzclaw farewell and hanging up, my face pinched sour, an all-too-common reaction for me when dealing with the Capitol City PD. They couldn't find their asses with both hands. Idiots.

Okay, so putting the pinheads in prison wouldn't work, but suing them in civil court would. So I walked to the kitchen, starting my electric kettle and grinding coffee beans for the French press as I fantasized about suing these Silicon Valley gurus, with their "information needs to be free" crap. Bastards, playing loose with people's lives. I'd sue the Daily Gawker and 7-Chan into bankruptcy, driving their anti-social CEOs into the poorhouse while earning serious cheddar.

The water boiled, calling me back to earth. I added the water to the grounds and set my kitchen timer for four minutes.

Hell, Jesse Ventura sued some crappy web magazine out of existence and earned a bit of spending money on the side. Others have succeeded. My turn. I'd find an ambulance-chaser and sue the bastards.

So after the alarm went off, I poured my coffee and fired up my laptop, navigating to the Omega fraternity website, hoping to find a civil-rights attorney. In the past, I'd just sail onto the site, but today, a dialog box prompted me to login.

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I entered my username and password. Again, an error. I tried once more, and a security question with a captcha stopped me. When I answered, and FINALLY entered the captcha right, a pop-up informed me, 'No Such Account.'

I snarled, cussing, and laughed a laugh more bitter than my coffee, shaking my head in disgust. "When it rains, it pours."

"The hell..." I found the service number buried several clicks into the Contact Us section. I expected an Omega to answer but got some dot-head tech geek fake-named "Jerry" from India. I described my situation, and I've gotta say Jerry was Jerry on the spot. He was super-friendly, asked the right questions, and zipped straight to the answer.

Two shakes later, he said, "I see the problem here, Mister Garrity. It appears that Omega Theta Pi headquarters froze your account."

I bit Jerry's head off, poor guy. "The fuck they did. Does it say who?"

"I am sorry, Mister Garrity, but I may not tell you. It is against our privacy policy."

"Christ.... Is your manager there? Let me speak to them. I mean, I've been a dues-paying Omega for almost a decade, and you have the nerve to—" I caught my tongue, forcing myself to breathe deep and count to five. "My bad, dude. This isn't about you, you're just doing your job. I'm mad at the assholes in my fraternity — Anyway, forget that manager thing. I know what's up. I'll sue them bastards back into the stone age too."

"Okay, then. Best of luck and have a delightful day. Remember that once you're an Omega, you're a brother for life."

I rolled my eyes, and hung up.

"A brother for life? My ass."

I stewed.

I tried relaxing, but failed. Beer didn't work. Nor did smoking a bowl of this kick-ass hydro I've been scoring from one of Fenton's high school buddies at the club.

I tried to take a nap, but my brain raced, teetering on-edge, so I gave up.

Next, I logged onto that finance course, but the material flew past, none of it sticking.

After plopping onto my couch, I considered hitting the gym but decided against it. I'd caught some goofy young guys ogling me, and I was in no mood.

Needing to chillax the fuck out, I headed to GNC.

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Three words that equaled peace that night: Hitachi Magic Wand. A top of the line "massager," on sale at GNC for $54.99.

The Magic Wand is the only way to fly. And not having flown since homecoming, I flew over and over and over and over and over that night. Thinking of Kelsey. And Circe. And that smoking MILF. And Kelsey doing Circe. And Circe and the therapist tag-teaming Kelsey. And...

Turns out, there are perks to being a girl. Multiple orgasms are brilliant. [Sighs and smiles.]