I can’t intercede for you any longer. He left the Delt-Sig house at 1:20 a.m., which was later than he’d planned. Half the house lighted like some weird kind of lopsided birthday cake, which didn’t mean that all the guys were awake or fully conscious but only that scattered lights were left on including lights in the front foyer, the kitchen, and the steps to the grungy basement. All this was planned. He’d given her the one final chance. Shutting the cell phone on her shrill rising voice Bart? Bart? Don’t you dare cut me— Placed a call to DeMarco’s. Pre-ordering eight large pizzas for 10 p.m. the following evening, deliver to the Delt-Sig house at 3992 Stadium Way. Party time! He’d be paying with a Visa Platinum card, which, by that time, 10 p.m. of the next day, he would have in his possession, he was pretty sure. Or, by then—(he was vague about this)—his own Visa account might be reactivated.
