“Coffee?”“What flavor is it?” I asked.He was in his forties, a big, solid man with bags under his calm, wary eyes, and his name tag read dean. “It’s coffee-flavored coffee.”“No mocha?”“Fuck mocha.”“Thank God,” I said. “Black.”Officer Dean gave me hot black coffee in a paper cup, and I sipped at it gratefully. I was almost done shivering. It just came in intermittent bursts now. The old wool blanket Dean had given me was more gesture than cure.“Am I under arrest?” I asked him.Officer Dean moved his shoulders in what could have been a shrug. “That’s what we’re going to talk about.”“Uh-huh,” I said.“Maybe,” he said in a slow, rural drawl, “you could explain to me why I found you in the middle of an orgy.”“Well,” I said, “if you’re going to be in an orgy, the middle is the best spot, isn’t it.”He made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe you could explain why there was a car on the fourth floor of the dorm.”“Classic college prank,”
