Diaper References

I wondered if I was being a little too heavy-handed, revealing his backstory with no real investigation into it; but my original plan for that didn't quite work out. I wonder how shady his business can get before we stop trusting him again…   78. Scene Sporadic raindrops burst against a canvas sheet, making an uncannily loud sound compared to the silence where they could reach the asphalt, a little farther down the street. The men pacing around now were used to inclement weather, and the rain wasn’t really heavy enough to justify moving under the awning, but still one or two detectives took advantage of the shelter. In the grey half-light, the whole scene was a mix of browns and greys. Even the blood splattered liberally across the brickwork was fading to brown now. The only splash of primary colours came from where a couple of uniformed officers were still stretching crime scene tape around a scene a hundred yards long. “Ever seen anything like it?” a weary, middle-aged man asked a younger recruit. “There was a shooting on the east side last year,” the youngest detective answered. “Almost lost my lunch there, first time I saw a real body. Gang warfare, they said, but we never knew for sure.” “Couple of O’Halleran’s dealers, right? And that tattooed headcase.” “Crazy T, he called himself. Yeah. Some kind of negotiations gone bad, one dead at the scene, two more in hospital. Bad business.” “Nothing like this, though.” The older man started walking past the carnage, taking in the sight of the bodies the forensic guys hadn’t gotten around to moving yet. There were a lot of them, and most of them were already known to the police in some capacity. Some of them were feared, even by the cops, and there had been whispers among the men that their deaths might make the streets safer. But the veteran knew better; when two of the most powerful gangs in a city had their leadership extinguished in one night, it never meant a reduction in crime. It just meant someone new was in town, and wanted to lay claim to the civilian population’s pent-up fear. “So what happened?” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re still investigating. We have to know something by now.” “Bunch of the usual suspects. Looks like they were heading home from a party. CSI says they’ll need blood tests to confirm alcohol or whatever, but in this part of town, at that time of night? We already know what’s going down. We think two cars came out of the old station. We’ve got guys analysing the tyre tracks, but they were going pretty fast. Probably stopped briefly to fire on everyone in sight. We got a ton of brass on the ground, no attempt to be discreet. They wanted to scare the local gangs, make it clear they’re here to stay.” “They don’t care what we find,” the older man growled. “You know who ‘they’ are, then?” “One guess. Those make it pretty clear.” He gestured to the targets, the kind of thing you might find at a rifle range, pinned up all along the walls. Most of them had a dozen bullet holes in, and were liberally coated with blood spray. Whoever had done this, it was clear that they didn’t have any respect for the value of human life. And to a cop who had read the reports coming in from surrounding towns over the last six months, there was only one name associated with that calling card. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” the veteran said, and shook his head. “But they’re not hiding anymore. He wants everybody on the streets to know the name.” “Yes, sir. They keep one step– Wait, who’s this?” Both men’s heads turned towards a newcomer in a tan jacket, with a tie hanging loose around his neck with too much stubble for late morning. He seemed to have gotten past the uniforms at the end of the street, so he must have some reason to be here. “You the officer in charge?” Brock asked, not making any effort to hide the fatigue from a week of jetlag, or the frustration of getting no answers to the same questions in a dozen cities around the world. The only lucky break today was that he’d been able to pull together a legend that built on his tiredness, rather than forcing him to hide it. All he needed to do was put on the faintest trace of an Italian accent. “Investigator Ercole Piretti, Interpol. I’m here about Arrencani.” “I’m detective Ballard, this is Carter,” the senior officer introduced himself, then shook his head, still not quite believing the scale of this attack. It looked like something from a warzone, not just a gang conflict, and it was hard to believe that this kind of violence had come to his city. “We think this is Arrencani’s work. Wants to be a mafia boss, spreading across the country. What’s Interpol got on him?” “We think he’s receiving a shipment we’re interested in,” Brock bluffed. “Left Rome two weeks ago, and now it’s here. We just need to know where he’s keeping the stuff, and how he’s getting it past your customs.” “It won’t be coming through here,” Carter opined. “Freight infrastructure has been the big thing slowing down local businesses in town since the sixties. Whatever operation Arrencani’s got here, it’s going to be local scale.” “And new,” Ballard commented. “He doesn’t run anything here, not yet. We had a couple reports that he’s threatening the local dealers, trying to muscle in, but this looks like an opening shot to me. Shock and awe.” “I suspected,” Brock said, looking around the scene as if the carnage was an everyday sight to him. “This matches his style, though. I’ve read the reports from other towns. But you always got the possibility it could be a copycat. Victims… same colours, I’m betting one gang plus bystanders. The redhead’s a big name round here?” “Max Eagle,” Carter answered. “Used to be a hired gun for the Irish mob, then struck out on his own. We’ve always got our eye on him, if there’s something new going on in the West Side it’s nearly always him behind it, or one of his cronies. Turning into a big player now. You know him?” “No, but I know the type. Shot between the eyes, after he was down.” He glanced over at Carter, who was clearly about to ask a question, and guessed what it would be. “Rest of the scene looks like a drive-by, but this one’s too neat. Look at the bloodstains on his jacket, he was turned over. And there’s a bootprint, just one, so somebody walked over after the shooting started. Probably stopped the car for just one shot, they wanted to be sure.” “I know guys who could do that,” Ballard said slowly. “There’s plenty of people who want him dead, especially O’Hallaran’s son. But can’t imagine any of the usual suspects making a mess like this. They’re more the personal kind. We don’t get many murders here, Mr Pretty, never had anything like this before.” “Still,” Brock murmured, while the two detectives hurried to keep up so they could hear his deductions. “The country-club targets are a known calling card. Could be perfect for someone who wants to make chaos. I’d be waiting for the other shoe to drop, watch to see if anyone’s claiming Mr Eagle’s territory in the power vacuum. We’ll share any relevant information we get, but something about this scene just doesn’t feel like an Arrencani hit.” He walked over to the targets on the wall. They were the kind that you could find at a hundred ranges and gun clubs all over the country, with little to distinguish them. Pinned up all along the walls; Brock wondered if the shooter tried to aim for them while in the middle of a drive-by shooting, or whether they were just intended to intimidate any victims who had heard of them. The concentration of bullet holes along the bottom of the targets suggested that at least the majority of the gunmen were either more concerned with live targets, or weren’t that skilled with their weapons. He looked at the corner of the target, while positioning his body to give the impression he was taking in the spread of holes in the sheet, or contemplating the psychology of someone who would use something like that. “We have been led to understand that the targets are a personal quirk for Arrencani,” he said. “He has plenty of trigger pullers, recruiting biker gangs and cartel hitters disaffected with their superiors’ approach to international politics, but the targets only appear when he is here in person. So we should check his alibi, as discreetly as practical. And if it’s solid, take another look at someone who might want to disguise their culpability. I’ll have someone look into it, don’t want you guys to let him know we’re looking.” He already knew that they would conduct their own investigation. Ballard might be used to playing jurisdictional politics, but Carter would want to close this avenue of investigation first now that his department’s pride had been challenged. And they would find that the Arrencani brothers had both been on the way home from a relatively high-profile bachelor auction when the hit went down. It would be relatively easy for anyone with connections to realise that the men had been doing their part for one of the charities Lorenzo supported, and turn their attention to possible imitators. Brock thought the paper targets on the wall were tasteless, but he had more important things to pay attention to. It took no time at all to check the small print around the border in the bottom left corner of each target; a company name and batch number which were exactly the ones he expected to see. A week or two of chasing down manufacturers and wholesalers would eventually show that this batch had been taken from one of the storerooms at the Yaxley Club, but that would bring the cops no closer to Arrencani himself. And if he judged these two men right, they were likely to jump on his earlier suggestions as soon as they checked the alibis, desperate to prove that they could solve the case without needing outside help. All the players in this city would be being shaken down, favours called in, confidential informants leaned on. It would be enough to have the entire criminal underworld on the edge of their seats, regardless of which side they were on. Brock gave noncommittal answers to a few more questions from the cops, pantomiming uncooperative law enforcement in a way that anyone who’d ever worked the streets would recognise with feelings of animosity. He didn’t want them to be too close when anything big went down, and a few subtle pointers to send them in the wrong direction would be the easiest way to make that happen. Brock spoke to some of the crime scene technicians about what they were finding. They didn’t have any details for him yet, they just told him that everything would have to go back to the labs, and that they could only guess at anything he was interested in. Kneeling in the gutter beside the technicians, however, gave Ballard and Carter a reason to take a step back, trying to talk between themselves while staying just close enough that they might hear what Piretti was asking the technicians as well. “Someone checking this?” he said, as he squatted down beside a fire hydrant. He waved over one of the crime scene guys, and pointed to a slight scratch in the paintwork. “Looks like someone hit it. And recently too, there’s still paint flakes on the ground. If we can identify the vehicle that would be a big step forward.” “We thought–” the technician tried to think of a polite way to say that they had thought the corpses a higher priority, But he was smart enough to realise that this would give them more information, even if it was less glamorous. Brock watched as he tried to thing up an excuse, drew a blank, and shrugged. “We’ll get right on it, sir.” Brock stood again, and slipped one hand into his pocket. In it was a radio tracking device, clearly dislodged from the vehicle it had been connected to when it collided with the hydrant. Local cops probably wouldn’t know what it was, and would stand absolutely no chance of finding out where it had come from; but if they could extract a serial number from the device, any search would immediately have the Agency wondering how this shooting was connected to his investigation. The tracker had led him here in the first place, but he didn’t want it to fall into the hands of local thief-takers. “Looks like you guys are doing a pretty good job here,” he said, and wasn’t surprised that Carter went from totally not paying attention to standing alertly beside him in a couple of strides. “Like I say, I’m not sure it’s connected though. Someone’s playing you for fools.” “We’ll look at all the possibilities,” Carter said sharply; professional pride clearly urging him to say something a little more direct. “Can’t run a case on hunches, right? But you said you want to be there when we question Arrencani?” “No doubt the local cops in his town will want a shot too. They’ve been watching him for months, even years, and found nothing. Take care you don’t step in an ongoing investigation. Better yet, maybe one of our tech guys can check the online grape vine, see if anyone knows where he was last night. No sense letting him know we’re after him if we don’t have to. Wait until we give you the heads up, so we’re not treading on each other’s toes. You worked with other agencies much?” “Ugh,” Ballard joined the conversation again as if he’d always been there. “Had some narcotics task force come in last year, demanding everything is done their way. Everything goes through them, have to double check we’re not in their way, then they grab one mid-level dealer and want us to give them a victory parade. Hope your guys have some more respect.” “You won’t know we’re here,” Brock said with a smile. “Just… hold off on speaking to Arrencani. Don’t want to give him a heads up if his alibi checks out, we’ll let you know when it’s clear. And… will you need our lab to help with ballistics? We’ve got some of the best analysts in Europe.” “Our own ballistics lab is world class,” Carter said, with a little more animosity than he might have intended. “But thanks for the offer. We’ll call you if we need anything.” Sure,” Brock said with a nod, already certain they would already be looking for ways around him. “But I got to go now. Got a meeting in a half hour that I can’t miss, and then need to call my boss before he signs out. And hopefully get some rest, I left Rome at first light this morning, so it’s been a long day.” “Good luck,” Ballard said, accompanied by a gesture that could have been a wave or a salute. Maybe he wasn’t sure of the etiquette, or how much respect an Interpol agent really commanded. “We’ll wait for your word before we poke the bear.” “Thank you,” Brock said, already certain that they wouldn’t. But they would at least try to be discreet, which meant that they would be proud of finding the alibi without outside help. It would probably be weeks before they wondered about the Interpol guy who had barged into their investigation and then breezed out. He gave a wave, not needing to exaggerate how tired he felt, and then walked back towards his car. A half hour later, he saw the first appearance of ‘Fairhaven’ on signs for businesses and attractions. The landscape wasn’t overcast here; farms were a bright patchwork of green and gold fields, since he had escaped the pall of clouds that covered the big city, and the noon sun was helping him to feel just a little more human. Close enough to home now that he was already wishing he could go straight to bed. But that wasn’t a possibility, because he’d been telling the truth about having a meeting in his schedule. He stopped to refuel the car at a little place just off the highway, and while he was there decided to grab an energy drink for himself as well. He wouldn’t normally drink those things, but he figured that a little extra sugar, as well as the caffeine, would help him to keep going just a little longer after a week of pushing himself way too hard. His last stop before getting back on the road was the restroom, which was as poorly maintained as most of its kind, and decorated in the same mixture of ground-in stains and unimaginative graffiti. He flushed the tracking device, sure that it would dissolve before anyone even realised it had been there. And then he was driving back to Evergreen Estates. On the way, he amused himself wondering how the ambitious Carter and self-assured Ballard would have reacted if he’d told them he was going to see Lorenzo Arrencani, to get his orders for tomorrow morning. He could probably have said it and they wouldn’t have believed him. But after all the time he had spent getting close to the man, and carefully navigating the web of conflicting goals and objectives that drove him, he wasn’t going to jeopardise his plan at this late stage. He needed to be at the meeting, he needed to be awake in the morning, and he needed to do exactly what the crime boss told him. Everything else would just fall into place.

I continued writing yesterday. I think the story is picking up some speed now.😁 My journey back to babyhood – Part 4 I wondered what she meant by “other useful things,” but I left it at that. But there was more news.  As Susan got me ready for bed, carefully oiled my bottom, and fastened my diaper, she explained what I was up to for the weekend. "You know I'm flying to Seattle on Saturday. Of course, I can't leave you alone and unsupervised. That's why I've arranged for a nurse to look after you." “No, let me explain,” she added when I tried to object. “Rita is a very nice retired geriatric nurse who offered her help online. She doesn't mind changing diapers or caring for elderly or disabled people. But to convince her that you need help, I told her that you injured your arm and shoulder when you fell down our basement stairs.” She paused for a moment to watch my puzzled face.  "You told me that one of your dreams is to be admitted to the hospital, wrapped in diapers, and cared for by a pretty nurse. Okay, Rita is a little older, but she still looks friendly and wants to help you over the weekend. We just need to put your arm and shoulder in a cast. But that should be easy. I've already bought everything and we can do it tomorrow afternoon." I didn't know what to say. I was scared of the plan, but at the same time I was excited. And Susan noticed that right away. “Oh, look how happy your little cock is. He likes my idea better than you do.” She pressed her hand against my diaper and moved the cock inside from left to right and back again. "So, it's all settled. And if you behave, I have a big reward for you!  I remember you telling me once that you've always wanted to drive an excavator. And if Rita tells me on Sunday that you were a brave patient, one of my friends will invite you for a ride." Susan was in control. She knew what I liked and probably what I would soon like. I weighed my options, but obviously there weren't many. And I had to admit that I kind of liked the idea of being cared for. I just wasn't sure I wanted to be in a cast and tied to a bed. However, the ride in the excavator finally convinced me and I agreed to my special treatment. On Friday, Susan was home at 2 p.m. She wanted to pack her suitcase, but first she took care of my “broken” arm and shoulder. I really admired her for her energy and determination. While she was putting the cast on, she told me more details about Rita's visit. “Rita will be here at 9 o'clock. I'll give her all the advice she needs on how to treat you and what else she needs to do. I've already spoken to her on the phone and she's looking forward to meeting you. She'll be staying overnight, so you don't need to worry. As I said, she's very friendly and open-minded.” Susan made really good progress with the cast on my arm. She bandaged my left forearm and upper arm in one piece with a small angle in it. And she decided to integrate my thumb into her construction, which made my arm pretty much useless. Then she took care of my shoulder.  By 6 o'clock, everything was finished. Susan had taped my shoulder together with parts of my upper arm, and I could only move my forearm a little. The cast had hardened and I was stuck. “I think it looks professional. How do you feel?” Susan asked. “Strange,” I said, trying to get up. But with my upper body wrapped up like that, it was hard to move, and I was afraid of falling over.  “You'd better stay in bed, my little baby. I'll get you something to eat and drink.” After packing for her flight, she lay down next to me in bed, gave me a kiss, and fell asleep immediately. I was left alone with my thoughts, my plastered body parts, and my diaper.  It took hours for me to fall asleep, and when Susan woke me up at 7 a.m., I was completely exhausted.   …to be continued – next year  

“Mommy is patient,” Annie gave Kayla a wide warm smile, “she will wait. I’m sure you will accept it. Enjoy the care instead of refusing it.” She slowly powdered Kayla’s crotch, diapered her and put a pajama on her, “let’s brush your teeth and go sleep, sweetheart.”

Love it thank u for the new chapter happy new years 🧷🧷

Couldn't sleep and I am up in a wet but not soaked Vivo diaper and plastic pants. I'll go back to bed soon in my wet diaper, not ready for a change, still have more capacity left.