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  1. LOVE WITHOUT MEASURE The sorority girls came down the stairs in groups of four, and as the funereal procession to the dining room advanced, each quartet confirmed the shrewdness of Bernice Miller's judgment. The house mom had scribbled a “C” next to the name of each Council member on her roster, and check marks separated those on the list she considered suspect from those she did not. The most likely suspects had received two checks. The seven members of the governing Council fell in the latter category. While the rest of the officers on duty retreated to the street to restore order and get traffic moving again, Priscilla and three others were charged with getting each quartet seated in the dining room. It was as obvious to Ian as it was to Bernice, Julia and Chief Mischof that the first four groups didn't have a clue. The diapers heaped in a pile at the front of the room didn't register on any of their faces, and they were clearly bewildered when Priscilla ordered them to take seats at the back. The fifth quartet was a different matter altogether. The girls eyes went wide when they spotted the bags of Lullaby's finest, and each paused in mid step as she entered the room. Once seated, they began to talk in conspiratorial whispers, occasionally leaning back to answer a question from one of the girls who had preceded them. The fifth group was the first on Bernice's list to receive check marks. Faltering footsteps and wide-eyed, fearful glances at the bags of diapers betrayed one group after another, making it clear to Ian and the others that fully two-thirds of the sorority seemed to be in the know. When everyone was seated except for the five members of the Council still upstairs, Ian took Priscilla aside and asked her to bring Janis Marsden down by herself. He wanted to see how the others responded to her; in particular, he was curious to learn how many of the girls even knew what she had done. He also advised her to cuff Janis and take her into the office once they had finished making their pitch. He hoped that one dramatic gesture would sober the entire sorority up in a hurry. When Melanie Wilson, Joyce Wiggins, Kimberly Doyle and Amanda Cunningham entered the chamber, the jig was well and truly up. At every turn, they were welcomed with daggers drawn, leaving no doubt in Chief Mischof's mind that he had pierced the heart of the conspiracy. Finally, Priscilla escorted a solitary Janis Marsden to a seat in the front row, which she had all to herself. Ian thought it curious that, like the other members of the Council, she was treated with scorn, but was not singled out for special treatment. Janis was hanging her head in shame, and it took every ounce of resolve that Ian could muster not to rush to her side, take her in his arms, and console her. He only steeled himself by thinking about the tricky game that he was about to play with Spats Belmondo, an ace in the hole that he wanted to hide up his sleeve and perhaps play on a later day. . . . . Decisions, decisions, decisions, Sarah sighed. She was sitting on the couch, arms splayed, occasionally glancing in Vickie's direction to make sure that her baby girl still had her nose pressed to the wall. What do you think, folks? Should I pump again, or warm up baby girl's yummy bottles of laxatives and diuretics? Yeah, you're right. We want her diaper to be wet and messy come the morning. We want her to think that she's already lost nighttime control, and needs her diapers for real. And if she should happen to fill her diapers again while driving to work, Rita can take care of it. Sorry, my little poop monster, but we all know that a steady diet of breast milk will leave you with diminished control of both bladder and bowel. And breast milk is now a mainstay of your hitherto alcohol soaked diet … Getting up from the couch, Sarah strolled out to the kitchen to warm up Vickie's bottles. When they were ready and she was comfortably settled on the floor, her back resting against her couch, she ordered the baby girl to crawl over. Still sucking on her pacifier, Vickie readily obeyed, settling into Sarah's lap in anticipation of her feeding. Gently, Sarah lifted the baby girl's head to cradle it in her arm. She removed the pacifier, and offered her the bottle. Vickie accepted it readily, and began to nurse on the warm milk. “Mommy loves you soooo much, baby girl, do you know that?” Sarah was looking down into Vickie's eyes, her feelings warm and real. “You are going to be Mommy's sweet baby girl forever and ever, and Mommy will always love you. Always!” “Wuv Mama,” Vickie somehow managed to mumble around the nipple firmly planted in her mouth. “Wuv Mama,” she repeated. And it was true. Deep inside Victoria Robinson, there was a lonely little girl starved for affection. Her birth mother had been emotionally distant, her feelings genuine only when she was expressing her disappointment in her daughter's behavior. Her father had always taken her mother's side, the prototypical absentee father. She knew that, on more than one occasion, he had forgotten her birthday. An envelope hastily stuffed with cash left bitter memories of the party that he had come home late to attend on her fourteenth. A few weeks later, she had taken her revenge by sacrificing her virginity to a boy whose face she could no longer summon up from the store of her memories. Unbidden, Vickie reached up to clasp her mommy's arm, and the infantile gesture struck a chord deep in Sarah's psyche. She accepts me as her Mommy! Sarah didn't know how or why this was happening, but she could see it in Vickie's eyes: the measure of acceptance. And in that moment, Sarah's world changed. I have a daughter … a baby girl for real! And I love her! My hopelessly confused, totally mixed up, sweet baby girl. I love her! The realization stunned her. In an instant, Vickie had gone from being the friend of whom she was a bit jealous to a responsibility at once in need of discipline and love. For how long have we been deaf to her cries for help? For how long?? God! Is Ian the only person ever to say the three magic words to her … to speak them with conviction and feeling? How could the rest of us have been so blind? Gazing into Vickie's eyes, a baby sucking so contentedly on her ba ba, Sarah impulsively leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I love you, baby girl,” she whispered; “I really, really love you, and we are going to start over. All the years that I've known you, and I don't even know your mother's name. Not once have you ever mentioned her … even referred to her. Was she ever there for you? Ever?” In response, Vickie's grip on Sarah's arm tightened. “Wuv Mama.” It was all that Vickie could get out, but her grip on Sarah's arm never faltered. Is it possible to repair damage that runs this deep? There is only one way to find out! . . . . Standing at the front of the room, arms folded, Bernice Miller was genuinely angry, and she was letting it show. “In the morning,” she began, “Chief Mischof and I expect to be summoned to the Dean's office. After he reads the Chief's report, it would not surprise me if the Dean reaches out to national and gets our charter revoked. It's happened before, and for reasons far less serious.” Bernice walked over and lightly kicked one of the bags of diapers. “Twenty-three separate acts,” she continued, “not including Janis' stealing from the hospital. Twentythree. And guess what … you get to meet the last victim because Professor Grady is sitting right here. Do you know his story? If not, let me share some of it with you: three tours in Viet Nam … four purple hearts … barely alive when evacuated from his last battlefield. Then came nine months of surgeries and rehabilitation before he left the hospital-- wearing a diaper and leaning on a cane. And his is just one story; there are twenty-two others. It's screamingly obvious that the Council put a lot of time into this, and that more than half the people in this room knew what they were planning. Did any of you ever think about the people your actions would be hurting? Anyone?” “No, I didn't think so,” Bernice concluded. No one was willing to look her in the eye. As Bernice sat down, Chief Mischof stood up to take her place. “Let me bring you up to date. Tippi Bjornsen and Cindy Carlson have been taken into custody, transported to jail, and in the morning will go before a judge. Processing them will take time, because the poor clerk who has to type up the charge sheet has his work cut out for him. Miss Marsden here is also under arrest, for a separate but related crime, and in due course will be joining them. I expect others in this room to be taking the trip as well.” The Chief walked over to the untidy cache of diapers, and shook his head. “You may wonder why we are taking this so seriously, even to the point of reading each of you your Miranda rights, and being prepared to seek warrants to search the rooms of anyone here who does not cooperate. Well, let's start with the fact that the houses make up less than five percent of the student body population, but are responsible for more than seventy percent of the complaints that we have to investigate. The judge is going to hand out some hefty fines because someone has to pay for the twenty-three officers dispatched to investigate the thefts and write up reports on each one of them. Someone has to pay for the processing, housing, transport to the courtroom-- and did I mention the District Attorney's office? Well, guess what; Mister Ballstrom was here earlier, and is going to present this case to the court personally. He takes it very seriously.” The Chief began pacing back and forth in front of the assembly. “Want to plead not guilty, and take your case to trial? See why that fine is just going to get bigger and bigger? And the press will have a field day … they just love the term 'criminal conspiracy'. Right now, we can keep your names out of the press, but once this case is scheduled for trial? Nope. You will be splattered all over the newspapers, the TV and the airwaves. Whether you are found guilty or not, the notoriety will follow you for years to come. God forbid what it will do to your parents.” “In the ordinary course of things,” the Chief continued, “this would be a slam dunk. Plead guilty. Pay the fine. Do community service. Mind your P's and Q's while you're on probation. Your names remain hidden, and in the end your records are expunged. But the DA is going to handle the matter personally because, this time, the same old, same old will probably get you killed. Detective Canon will explain.” Julia took over. “I'm the lady you ran all over town.” She noted with satisfaction that the shock waves that the Chief's closing remark had triggered were still rippling across the room. “And sometime tomorrow, I expect to have an ugly meeting with the client who hired me to investigate this matter-- the gentleman who owns Lullaby Diaper Service. His name is Vincent Belmondo, although he is better known as Spats Belmondo. Congratulations, ladies; you targeted Minneapolis' Mafia kingpin, and he hired me to find you. He does not want the police mixed up in this because you have humiliated him, and he wants revenge. He cannot afford to turn the other cheek because it would be seen as weakness, and rivals would seek to exploit it. No. He wants you, and what he's planning to do with you is feed you, feet first, into a wood chipper. You will, of course, be alive when he turns on the switch. I should imagine that it's a most unpleasant way to die.” “Oh, God,” one of the girls moaned. “You stupid cunts,” someone else yelled at the members of the Council. They were trying to make themselves invisible, and failing miserably. “So the problem,” Julia calmly continued, “is to find a solution that will make Spats happy, and that the DA can sell to the judge. We think that Professor Grady has come up with the answer, inspired no doubt by his many years of practical experience wearing and using diapers. I'll let him explain.” Julia nodded at Ian, and sat down. “The DA and I have cut a deal. A stiff fine, probation, and community service as candy stripers until you graduate. I can place some of you in the hospital over yonder.” Ian nodded in the general direction of the river and the complex just beyond. “But there are two other medical facilities within walking distance of this house, so placement won't be an issue.” Ian looked around the room, seeking and making eye contact. “This will satisfy the judge,” he went on, “but not Spats Belmondo. What may satisfy him is if you become his clients-- clients of Lullaby Diaper Service. So, it comes down to this: everyone in this sorority will have to agree to wear and use diapers 24/7 until you graduate. Spats can turn a nice profit, revel in your humiliation, and you walk away with your reputations reasonably intact. Your social life will be ruined, but on the plus side, your grades should go up. As deals go, it sure beats the wood chipper.” “No!,” a girl at the very back of the room protested. “I had nothing to do with this, and I'm not about to spend the next year and a half shitting myself to appease a mobster. Go screw yourself!” “Fine,” Ian mildly rejoined. “Who would you like to start with? Come on, you choose the first victim. Melanie Wilson, perhaps? She's in this up to her eyeballs, so she'd be a good choice. But perhaps there's someone else on the Council that you'd like Spats to run through the wood chipper, to become a tasty snack for the pigs that he keeps on a farm down in Iowa. You decide.” Ian had strolled up to the second row of seats, and he reached out to clamp a hand firmly on Melanie's shoulder. She looked like she was ready to puke, and he wanted to spare her the indignity. “You de … de … cide,” he stuttered, the room suddenly spinning around him. The rats feasted, initially on the exposed flesh. But when there was no resistance, they were emboldened. Some got inside the clothing and burrowed into the intestines, eating their fill. Others went after the eyes, a tasty morsel. The photos had come later, when the tropical heat and humidity had taken over where the rats had left off. Identifying Nguyen had been a challenge, Anh and his parents-inlaw more difficult still. The entire village … “IAN!” Somebody was screaming his name … “But that's not right. I'm Street Racer ...” “SMELLING SALTS,” Priscilla yelled; “SMELLING SALTS!!” Bernice dashed into her office to grab the first aid kit. Standing close by and paying close attention, Priscilla had heard Ian's voice trail off, got to him as he dropped to his knees, passing out as she caught him, his weight carrying both of them to the floor. It had taken hours to reach Minh … or so it felt. Rationally, Street Racer knew that it couldn't have been more than a minute. “Can't walk,” Minh had grunted, “legs are gone.” “It's a nice day.” Street Racer grimaced, the transition to Vietnamese seamless but the pain getting worse by the second. “A good day to die. Can you light 'em up?” He had somehow hoisted Minh onto his shoulders, his brother-in-law still gripping his weapon. He was vaguely aware that Quy had risen from the rice paddy, closed the distance to protect his right flank. Slowly, staggering under the weight, Street Racer headed in the direction of the LZ, the choppers now landing in a steady stream, evacuating the POW's that they had liberated from the hellhole southwest of Hanoi. The raid had been a brilliant success, until the rains had come early, forcing them to head west, into the mountains that separated them from the Laotian frontier. Everything had conspired to slow them down, to miss the rendezvous at the secondary … A stray round slammed into his chest, the right side of his rib cage on fire. He was looking to his right, toward the tree line when Quy's chest exploded in a cascade of torn flesh and blood, knocking him off his feet. Street reached out to get a grip on his fatigues, his mind willing him to drag his brother-in-law to safety even as his body began to give out ... “We need to elevate his legs.” Janis was struggling to remain calm, fighting to draw upon the knowledge that she had won in the long hours of her rounds in the hospital. She had found a couple of throw pillows to put under his ankles, but needed more. Chief Mischof removed his jacket, hastily bundled it, and pushed it under Ian's left knee. Watching her daughter the whole time, Julia did the same, sliding her coat under his right knee. Bernice unceremoniously dropped to the floor, cracked the ampule, and waved it under Ian's nose. Ian was prone on the floor, his head cradled in Priscilla's arms. “Ian, do you hear me? Do you?” She was sobbing, willing him to wake up. “I love you. Do you hear me, Secret Agent Man, do you? I love you, and you are not going to die on me! Not now, not ever!” “Here!” Kimberly had had the presence of mind to race to the living room, grab two cushions off the couch, and rush them back. Janis used them to elevate his ankles still higher. “Wha … what happened?” Ian was returning to consciousness, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. He remembered being in Viet Nam, but not how he had got there. It was all a blur. “Another seizure,” Priscilla cried. “It happened, just like Vickie said it would happen.” “The pig sty,” he groaned. “The rats,” she guessed. Someone brought a wet wash cloth, and she used it to mop his brow. His skin had been pale and lifeless only moments before, and now sweat was pouring off of him. Priscilla feared that the rats would haunt her dreams for the rest of her life. “I love you.” “I know,” she said with a manufactured smile. “Your third lady of the week, and fourth of the month. But that's okay. I'm lucky to have you, and I'm willing to share. But there will be no more running off to save the world, do you hear me? The President can send somebody else to Poland, or Iran, or wherever it is that you're supposed to go next week. I'm not having it!” Julia started to speak, then shut her mouth with an audible snap. Now was not the time. “Do you think that you can stand,” Bernice asked as she slowly climbed to her feet. “Lying on the floor in the middle of the dining room is a bit undignified.” “I'm getting too old for this,” the Chief huffed as he also stood up. “And we still haven't resolved this mess.” “No,” Ian agreed as he managed to get onto his knees, and then with the Chief's help onto his feet. “We haven't.” Staggering, Ian reached out to grab the back of a chair, knowing that there was still work to be done. And perversely, he badly needed a diaper change. Later. Looking around, Ian could see that the room was in turmoil. Some of the girls were still seated, while others were up and milling around, talking to their friends and trying to get a handle on the situation. As he watched, two of the girls tried to leave, but the officers blocking the doorways politely but firmly instructed them to return to their seats. They are all so young … The floodgates opened, and memories began pouring into his conscious mind-- memories of childhood and innocence, and innocence lost. Lives lost. Willie Ross swam up once more from the depths, the nineteen year old kid with the perpetual smile, raised by loving parents to treat everyone around him with kindness. A baby abandoned on the outskirts of a village, lying there helpless, unable to escape the pitiless sun? Of course Willie picked the child up-- it was in his nature. And the anti personnel mine concealed beneath the infant had detonated, shredding them both. Holding onto the chair for dear life, eyes tightly shut in a hopeless attempt to ward off the pain, Ian shuddered. From a great distance, he felt a hand reach out to clasp his own. They need to hear the truth. You cannot let them make the wrong choice. Open your heart to them … teach them to love without measure … Nguyen? Rapidly blinking, Ian opened his eyes, unaware of the tears that were trickling down his cheeks. “You can do this,” Priscilla whispered, gripping his hand still more tightly to reassure him. “You are the bravest person I have ever met, and you can do this. Open your heart, and they will look inside theirs. Go on.” “Listen up, everybody!” Priscilla clapped her hands to get the room's attention. “Ian … Professor Grady has something to say that you need to hear. I'm not going to sugarcoat this. When he confided in me this afternoon, parts of it were so bad that I came close to putting my head in the trash can and puking my guts up. Some of it is going to give me nightmares, so I've asked him to edit it. But you need to hear it.” The girls looked at one another in confusion, no one quite knowing what to do. “Park it,” Bernice roared. Everyone scrambled to find a seat. “Thank you.” Ian said, stalling for time while he collected his thoughts. “What you just saw was a flashback, my third of the week. My doctor says that, just as a fuse blows to protect an overloaded circuit, my brain hurls me back to Viet Nam … back to the worst moments of my life … to prevent me from making decisions. And it does so with good reason.” Looking around the room, it was clear that some of the girls were paying attention, but others were just going through the motions for the sake of politeness. Ian abruptly decided to try a different tack. “I'm curious. How many of you are twenty-one?” Hands went up throughout the room, but instead of counting, Ian looked over to Bernice. “Fourteen,” she said, “including the two who are still absent.” “I was twenty-one when I landed in Viet Nam, and took command of a platoon. I was in way over my head, but I was fortunate to have a highly experienced sergeant to lean on. But I still made mistakes, and one of them killed a goodhearted kid from Alabama. He was nineteen years old, which I guess would make him a sophomore today … maybe a member of one of the fraternities. But he came home in a body bag, and yet he still talks to me in my dreams. That's guilt, and I have a mountain of it eating away at me. My therapist says that, to get better, I have to bring it out into the open, embrace it, and somehow find the grace to forgive myself, but that's easier said than done.” Ian had their attention now. Even the cops in the doorways were listening hard. “In February of sixty eight, I was wounded badly enough to end my army career, but not my military service. My ability to speak Vietnamese, and several other languages, kept me in country, but fighting in the shadows. I was now outside the chain of command, reporting to a civilian at the Pentagon, the Special Assistant for Counterinsurgency and Special Activities. The unit I pieced together became the tip of the special operations spear, carrying out one high risk mission after another in the North and South, in Laos and Cambodia. We had little interaction with the regular military, and in our isolation truly became a band of brothers … a family in the truest sense of the word … and I failed them.” Ian barely registered the sharp intakes of breath that swept across the room. “We had sworn an oath … our Commandment, really: everyone comes home. Whole, wounded, in a body bag, we leave no one behind. And in the last battle, I left two men in the field, two Vietnamese sergeants … my brothers-in-law, Minh and Quy ...” “WHAT,” Julia yelped, her cry echoed by others, a shock wave rolling back and forth in the confined space. “It's a compact,” he whispered, the pain visible now, framing each word, every syllable. “and I … I … I was wounded, but they … I was carrying Minh over my shoulders, and dragging Quy … already dead, maybe … I'm not sure. And then another round came in, fragmented in my spine, knocked me down. I lost my grip just as a chopper swooped in … the last chopper … someone dragged me aboard … I remember him screaming something like 'they're dead, let's go' … and we left them behind. My family.” “No! That's not fair!” Janis had not spoken with her mother, but Marilyn had left a message with the office to let her know that she was now representing Ian and would be shielding him. The note was still sitting on the desk in her room, asking her to thank all of the sisters that had stood duty outside his office, keeping the headhunters at bay. Her mother could not protect him from a nightmare. “You can't do this,” she protested, climbing to her feet, “because it's wrong. You were hurt so bad that you spent months in hospitals. There was nothing you could do! Nothing!!” “I'm sorry, Janis, but there's more.” Ian didn't know why, but it was somehow easier to confess his sins to one person than to a sea of disembodied faces. “We needed a base of operations, and because it was ideally located and we were welcome, I gravitated to Minh and Quy's village.” Ian took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “I was twenty-two when I met Nguyen, and fell in love with this beautiful, kind and caring woman who loved me in return. And our marriage was blessed. I have a daughter, Janis; her name is Linh, which is pronounced 'Ling' in Viet Nam, but 'Lynn' in America. We were, you see, thinking ahead.” A wistful smile creased Ian's features. They had batted names around in the dark, his head resting on her belly, the baby kicking out in protest. She had run her fingers through his hair, always so unruly. Julia gaped, as stunned as everyone else in the room. She stared at her daughter, watching the play of emotions washing across her features. Her gaze never wandered, and what Julia saw was pride and pain infusing love so intense that it radiated off of her in waves. In that moment, she realized that she had lost her little girl. And she knew how this story would end. There could be only one reason for this man to tell this story to this audience, to revisit all this pain. Scanning the room, seeing in their faces that none of the girls sensed how it would go … she pitied them for the choice that he would set before them. And she understood why her daughter had fallen in love. Julia had been wrong. Ian had not pulled the wool over her daughter's eyes. He had told her the truth. And Priscilla had embraced it, granted him the absolution of the confessional. Bernice Miller also knew what was coming. She had been widowed at twenty-seven, the telegram coming out of the darkness, her husband fallen at Pork Chop Hill. Eighteen months later, she had moved into the house, sharing it with young women less than a decade her junior. She had never remarried, and still wore her wedding ring. Bernice did not know what choice her charges would make, but they would choose, and their choices would have lasting consequences. This was the night, she sadly thought, when they would suffer childhood's end. Walt Mischof turned his head just enough to steal a glance at Bernice. They had known each other for so long, and had made the short trip together more than once-- to lay flowers on the graves of Bernice's husband and Walt's brother, both laid to rest in the VA cemetery out by the airport. The Chief knew that Bernice was childless, and that for all her bluster, she dearly loved the girls in her care-- an entire generation, and more, that she had taken from … How does the song go? “From crayons to perfume” … He knew that she was hurting, sadness and regret marring her features. Although the ground was snow covered, he resolved to ask her to join him in another visit once term came to an end, when almost every student went home for the holidays. Although it won't be much of a holiday for these girls … “I always left a skeleton force behind to secure the village in our absence,” Ian continued, “but not once did I leave Minh and Quy behind … and that was my mistake. When I was wounded … while I was in the hospital … the unit was disbanded, and my men moved on. There was no one left to defend the village … and at some point it was attacked. I knew nothing until I went home … to the village … and found it deserted. Even then, it took time to piece together what had happened ...” Ian dipped his head and so did not see the looks of horror as the truth began to dawn around the room. “I saw photos,” he went on, still oblivious. “My wife … my sister in law … her parents … everyone was dead, their bodies left where they had fallen. Everyone except the babies and small children. We … we think that someone who knew about my gift for languages also knew that I had a child, who would be incredibly valuable if she inherited my gift. But whoever did this did not know which child, so they played it safe by taking them all and leaving no one alive to tell the tale. And it was only by accident that we were able to piece together what had happened.” Ian looked over at Julia, knowing full well that she had unmasked him. “This was eight years ago, and on that day the search for my daughter began. I made a deal … some would say with the Devil. I travel the globe putting my talents to work for the CIA, and in return they have made finding Linh a priority mission. Others are searching as well, including ...” Looking up, Ian grinned sheepishly. “Including Mafia overlords, with whom I have a somewhat complex relationship. And that brings me to Spats Belmondo.” Reading the room, Chief Mischof chuckled to himself. The hammer was about to fall, and every head was upturned, awaiting the blow. “I don't know the man, but I do know the mindset. Julia is right. You've humiliated a Mafia don, and he can't ignore the hit. If he doesn't respond, his enemies will sense weakness and seek to exploit it, and the danger of betrayal within his own ranks is greater still. We have to make him the proverbial offer that he can't refuse; otherwise he will come for you, and there will be no easy deaths. An oldie but goodie would be to turn you into addicts, and then put you to work in the streets. Life expectancy? Less than three years.” The Chief estimated that more than half the people in the room were terror stricken-- and his officers covering the doorways didn't look so good either. But it wasn't every day that a CIA agent with the Professor's vast experience showed up so bluntly to talk about the facts of life. “I don't envy you your choices,” Ian concluded, “but I pray that you will prove wiser than me. There's the family you're born into, and the family you choose. Look around you, and ask yourself who you see. Are these mere acquaintances who share your life for a few years, and then depart, never to be seen again? Or are these what sorority girls have long styled themselves … sisters? Is this the family you have chosen?” Ian once more rested his hand on Melanie's shoulder. “I chose a family, and my mistakes cost them their lives. I'll carry that burden with me to the grave. If Tippi and Cindy, Janis and Melanie … others here … are your family, don't abandon them. If you do, the knowledge of what you have done will haunt you forever.” Ian turned to Priscilla, and mouthed one word. Nodding, she walked over to Janis and got her to her feet. Ian was gambling that cuffing her would bring home the reality of the situation in a way that mere words couldn't. Priscilla led her out of the room; she would get one of the officers on duty outside to put her in the back of a patrol car, collect Ian's diaper bag, and then return to change him. The battle for the sorority's collective soul would either be won or lost before she reentered the dining room. . . . . “Mommy, I poopy,” Vickie whined. “Let Mommy check,” Sarah replied as she kicked off the covers to roll over and sniff Vickie's butt. They had gone to bed only minutes before, entwined in each others arms. Vickie's head was cradled against Sarah's chest, and she was praying that her baby girl would begin to nurse. Sarah would cheerfully exchange the breast pump for Vickie's hungry mouth any day of the week and twice on Sunday. “Yep, you're poopy, all right. But don't worry; Mommy will clean you up and get you into a nice, dry diaper. Then we'll go to sleep, and Mommy will change you again in the morning.” Sarah reached over to the nightstand, grabbed Vickie's pacifier, and held it out to her. Vickie opened her mouth, accepted the offering, and began eagerly sucking on her binkie. Sarah had given up on the idea of sending Vickie to work in a dirty, stinky diaper. In so many ways, Vickie really was a big baby desperately in need of a mother's love, and Sarah was determined to see that she received it. In the morning, she would let Rita know that there had been a slight change in the plans for their new household, and a massive change in strategies. The antidote to Vickie's rebelliousness was to be found in diapers and baby pants, bottles and binkies, and above all in the love that a mommy and auntie could lavish upon their baby girl. A return to infancy would give the lonely little girl inside Victoria Robinson a chance to heel.
  2. Intimations sur La Vie, which is one of the lithographs in Alvar's celebrated Le Miracle Quotidien series (1974).
  3. I never release a scene until I am at least six chapters farther along. This allows you to revise content for next week on the basis of what you know is coming more than a month out (assuming weekly production). A lot of stories around here have died because the author painted her/himself into a narrative corner, from which there was no escape.
  4. Quickie historical quiz: Mafia dons have been treated like royalty in books and movies alike, but the foot soldiers who actually do the work for the families never seem to take center stage. Well, one Mafia foot soldier has an important place in history. His name is: A. Nate Diamond B. Mannie Goldstein C. Mark Jade D. Jack Ruby
  5. It's safe to say that Vickie is going to have a wet and messy night, perhaps the first of many. Her big girl panties are history, but methinks Sarah and Vickie are redefining their long relationship in a way that will be to the benefit of both. Stay tuned. Kimberly is a Senior, so her sentence will run about six months. Poor Tippi, a first year student, is staring diaper chastity in the face for the next three and a half years! But, as we shall see here and in AARDVARK. she is a very resourceful young lady.
  6. Good start. Wish we had more stories around here slanted to the humorous side, but for some reason a sense of humor is rarely on display in the comments, or the stories.
  7. Thank you! AARDVARK is meant to be funny in a kind of Rowan & Martin Laugh-In kind of way. Pompous ass wipes like the Dean made me desperate to find an excuse not to attend department meetings!
  8. Thanks for the comment. I wish more people would take the time, because it's interacting with readers that makes the writing experience on this site so enjoyable. Tippi's role in this saga is going to get larger as we move along, with a serious (and hopefully unanticipated) twist in scene 9 of AARDVARK.
  9. JUST THE FACTS, MA'AM When Vickie used her key to enter Sarah's apartment, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. She knew that it would be more than an hour before Sarah got home, but it was possible that Ian and Priscilla would be waiting for her. It all depended on how the hunt for the diaper thieves was going. The apartment was empty. Deciding that she was hungry as well as thirsty, Vickie began rummaging through Sarah's refrigerator, but she found nothing to her liking. The apartment felt as empty as it looked, the only sign of life the chair ominously sitting in the center of the living room. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to realize that this was where Sarah would be administering a spanking, a paddling, or a caning to correct her bad behavior, as well as Ian's. Shrugging her shoulders, Vickie decided to venture upstairs to Ian's apartment. She knew where Sarah kept the spare key, and she knew that his frig and pantry would be a lot more promising. Since they would be packing everything up on Friday, there would be no harm done no matter what she chose to eat and drink. Ian's frig was a treasure chest filled with mysterious delights. She was familiar with prosciutto, and had had her share of Genoa salami, but the man had a love affair with stuffed olives and peppers that clearly did not start in Minnesota. Not for the first time, she wondered where a guy whose car was buried under a snowbank even found this stuff. And what's this? Vickie took the lid off a container with something called Tzatziki, and sniffed the creamy white contents. She had no idea what it was, but it smelled good, so she was willing to give it a try. Made in Greece. Figures … Prowling around in a cupboard, she found a flatbread that looked like it would go well with the gunk. Pita. Isn't that Lebanese, or something? Diving into the refrigerator a second time, she came away with a nicely chilled bottle of rose. Val Verde Winery … Del Rio, Texas. Huh? Who knew they made wine in Texas? Looking around, she spotted a bottle of deep, dark red wine from Jordan squirreled up against the frig, with a lovely set of Waterford wine glasses keeping it company. She grabbed two, thinking to try both wines after she camped out on the living room floor. Fine food and drink, so long as you don't mind roughing it … Vickie had no way to know that Ian had cultivated the habit of eating and drinking well in the jungles of southeast Asia. Guy's been everywhere … Getting down on the floor, leaning back against the couch, Vickie grabbed the phone and called Sarah. . . . . Sarah reached over to turn off the pump, and disconnected the lead from her left breast. She had given it fifteen minutes per teat, just as the lady running the infants and maternity wear shop at the mall had instructed. And there was no getting around the fact that having a machine slurping away at your boobs felt downright weird. She wondered how a woman was ever expected to feel comfortable with so ridiculous a contraption. Probably invented by a man … Sarah answered the phone on the first ring, her sensuous breasts not yet returned to the prison of her functional but plain bra. She made a mental note to add maternity bras to the trio's next shopping trip. Sitting at her desk on the third floor of a busy urban hospital … nude from the waist up … She felt ridiculous. “Hello.” “Mommy, it's me. I'm at Ian's. There's no one here, and no one downstairs. I'm guessing that the diaper thieves showed up, and that he's chasing them down. Has he called?” “No, baby girl, not yet. How's your diapee holding up? Are you wet, poopy, or both?” “I'm a little wet, Mommy, but okay for now. Will you be home soon?” “As soon as Heidi comes in, I'll be coming straight home. You have been a very naughty girl, and you deserve a paddling. If I find you sitting quietly on my living room floor, like a good baby, you will receive ten swats. If you are anywhere else … twenty. Do you understand me, baby girl?” “Yeth, Mommy, I unnerstan. I be good, Mommy, really! Pwese don't paddle me hard!” Sarah hung up. Training Vickie was going to be an incredible challenge, and she was eagerly looking forward to it. . . . . Am I overdoing it, Vickie wondered. Nah … Sarah is really lapping this mommy shit up! Choices … choices … Vickie reached for the bottle of rose. It would go nicely with her Mediterranean hors d'oeuvres; the Jordanian red, she reflected, was best saved for later: a makeshift anesthetic was preferable to no anesthetic at all. Besides, she was extremely fond of a well turned out, rich red wine. . . . . All in all, Ian reflected, it had gone quite smoothly. When it turned out that they were the first to arrive at the sorority house, on the spur of the moment he had asked Priscilla to drop him off in front. He proposed to stand in the driveway while she parked, lights off, on a nearby side street that offered a clear view of the property. When Tippi and her friend showed up and their brake lights came on, that would be her cue to charge in with siren blaring and lights flashing. The skeptical look on Priscilla's face told Ian that she didn't think much of his plan, but rather than argue with him, she settled for sensibly suggesting that he find a patch of light on the driveway and stand in it. He was wearing dark clothing, she pointed out, and might not be spotted before he was run over. The resulting paperwork would be a nightmare. Ian had grinned, and stolen a quick kiss. Whatever else they were, Priscilla Canon and Ian Grady were, as they say south of the border, simpatico. Narrowly avoiding a brush with the bumper of Cindy Carlson's car, Ian played the innocent bystander while Priscilla, supported by two other officers, carried out the arrests under the watchful eye of campus police chief Walt Mischof. Julia's loudly beeping transmitter made it clear to all that the stolen diapers were in the trunk of Cindy's car-- and made it patently clear to Tippi Bjornsen that the jig was well and truly up. Both girls confessed, and much to the delight of a steadily growing crowd of frat boys from the surrounding houses, were cuffed and hauled off to spend the night in a cold and drafty cell. Arraignment, and a pleading before a municipal judge, would come in the morning. Unless Ian could shut it all down first. At the house mother's urging, the Chief set up a temporary command post in her office. From there, with Bernice Miller's approval, he ordered his officers to fan out and thoroughly search the public areas for the stolen diapers. These were quickly located in a corner of the basement, most of them still in their unopened Lullaby Diaper Service bags. Once they were photographed, the substantial hoard of baby and adult diapers were hauled into the dining room, where in due course the sorority would be assembled to confront the stolen fruits of their collective labor. From Ian's point of view, it was fortunate that a time consuming search for accessories to the crime next got under way. The otherwise bored cadre of campus cops (it was a Wednesday night, after all) were tasked to interview each and every one of the sorority house's fifty odd residents, not all of whom happened to be home at the moment. For example, Janis Marsden showed up when the proceedings were barely under way, praying that her heavily diapered state would go unnoticed. In fact, on a night when the campus cops were breaking up a gang of diaper thieves who had been terrorizing the city (tune in to your local news at ten, brought to you by WPPP's very own Lyle Gunderson and Amy Kinkaid), it was Janis' sheer bad luck that a young woman waddling like an overgrown toddler was going to be noticed by everybody. Cracking under the pressure of a roomful of unforgiving stares, Janis had broken down and confessed. Having been placed under arrest for her daring theft of hospital diapers, she was currently being detained in her room. No one had got around to removing her diaper and baby pants, but it had to be done: the hardened criminals with whom Janis would soon be sharing a cell could use such deadly weapons to unleash a murderous rampage. After due consideration, Chief Mischof opted to delegate the task to Officer Canon on the reasonable assumption that she was the only female officer present with a track record of changing wet and possibly poopy adult diapers. This left Bernice, the Chief, Ian and Julia sitting around a coffee table in Bernice's office. For Ian and Julia, the moment was awkward in the extreme. Ian had made love to Julia's daughter mere hours earlier, and hoped to make love to her again before the night was out. What was one supposed to say to the Mom at moments like this? For her part, Julia had absolutely no idea what to say to an undercover government agent whom she suspected was banging her daughter. Wisely, they decided to ignore one another. I'd like to take Priscilla home, but that might be a tad awkward, given that she lives with her parents … I wonder if he speaks Farsi … shipping him off to Iran would at least buy us some breathing space ... I most definitely do not want to take her to one of those seedy motels up the street. Probably half the girls in these houses lost their virginity in those dumps. Wonder if they give a discount to sorority girls scalping members of the faculty … There's got to be something we can arrest him for … is it against the law to change his diapers in a public setting? Oh, damn it, wait … my daughter is the one changing him! “Sorry about all this, Bernice,” Chief Mischof said sympathetically. “If the Dean catches it on the news at ten, your visit to his office tomorrow is going to be pretty awkward. Hope you don't lose your charter.” Bernice shook her head in despair. “I don't understand any of this,” she lamented; “stealing diapers … what is the matter with these girls? I swear, Walt, I've been doing this for twenty-five years, and this is the worst it's ever been. Half these girls shouldn't even be here; they're wasting their time, and their parents money. And speaking of diapers ...” Bernice shifted in her chair. “Professor, are you all right? I mean … do you need your diaper changed?” She didn't know the source of Ian's incontinence, but the bulge in his pants made it clear what he was wearing in the way of underwear. “I'm fine for the moment, but thank you for asking.” Ian decided to seize the moment. “Chief, what comes next? Priscilla … er … Officer Canon tells me that a fine, a hundred hours of community service, and a term of probation are par for the course in matters like this.” “She's right, Professor. The DA will shake his head, ask me why I can't keep the lid on over here, and give them the proverbial slap on the wrist. Gareth has political ambitions, and sending a bunch of sorority girls to the workhouse isn't going to win him any votes in the suburbs.” “Makes sense, but in this case it won't work. The injured party is Spats Belmondo, and he will see a light sentence as a calculated insult to his dignity. If he lets this slide, he'll lose face with his crew, and with the other capi. So, he won't let it slide.” “Professor Grady is right, Chief; when Spats hired me, he made it clear that he wanted to handle this matter without police interference. These girls are in real danger.” “And yet you took the case.” The Chief was frowning. “Why did you do that?” “Professor Grady and I are on the same page here. If Spats had found these girls on his own, he would have fed them into a wood chipper, feet first. We collaborated to bring the police in, which buys us some time. Now, it's up to the DA to come up with a punishment that Spats will be prepared to live with.” “Precisely,” Ian agreed. “Get the DA on the phone, and tell him to haul his ass over here. I'll tell him how we're going to play this.” “How about telling me first.” “Sure. The whole sorority is going to volunteer to work as candy stripers at the hospital, and to keep at it until they graduate. The fine is going to be stiff enough to cause some real pain, and Spats is going to be generously compensated for his time and trouble. But the icing on the cake? Since Zeta Alpha Pi has a hard on for diapers, they can spend the rest of their time here wearing them, and using them. And Lullaby Diaper Service will be supplying them, which guarantees Spats a tidy little profit going forward. He's a businessman, and as such won't be inclined to murder his own customers.” “Interesting. I'll make the call. Not sure the DA will bite, but I'll give it a try.” “Let me deal with him. I can be very persuasive.” Oh, this ought to be good, Julia thought. “Drop my name into the conversation, and suggest that he call your counterpart downtown. What do you think, Julia? Will that do the trick?” “Professor Grady has friends in very high places,” she admitted in the most neutral tone of voice she could muster. “Very high.” “Once he's here?” Ian had a huge grin on his face. “I'll make him an offer that he can't refuse!” . . . . Pulling into her garage, Rita was on a mission. The first order of business was the four remaining breast pumps. One would stay in the trunk to go to the office, and a second would end up in her bedroom. The most fitting home for the remaining two, she decided, was the empty closet in the third bedroom that they were converting into a nursery for Ian and Vickie. She liked the idea of hooking Vickie up when she was lounging in her crib, but when it came to finding a way for their baby girl to pump at work, she was completely stumped. With luck, Sarah would have the answer. Dragging the boxes into the foyer one by one, Rita hung up her coat and kicked off her shoes. She visited her bedroom first, saving the nursery for last. But when she opened its door, she nodded in satisfaction. It was a tight fit, but with the two cribs set back to back in the center of the room, there was just enough space for the changing table on one wall, and the dresser and chest of drawers on the other. It seemed symbolically fitting, almost a sacred ritual given the solemnity of the moment, that Vickie's two breast pumps ended up on the closet floor. Returning to the kitchen, Rita opened her liquor cabinet, choosing to mark the occasion with a glass of Courvoisier, the expensive cognac being her most cherished indulgence. Then she strolled into the living room, studying her walls and thinking about Ian's art work, the boldness of its colors. He must like Vermeer … Looking around her living room, Rita sadly shook her head. The empty walls, the usual furnishings laid out in the usual way-- it was all so dull. As dull as my whole life. Ian? The guy's been everywhere. And me? One trip out of the country, the old 'If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium' tour … nine countries in eighteen days, and I didn't even have an affair with the tour guide. But I did fall in love with Vermeer … there's that. “The Alvar is going directly over the couch,” she said out loud. “All that red ...” She took a sip of her drink. “But on his income, how could he possibly have afforded a Chagall?” She thought that it would look nice in her bedroom. “We definitely are going to need a bigger house! A much bigger nursery … hell, with four of us and the babies … we're going to need bigger everything!” Rita had started to peruse the real estate listings, concentrating on her dream home-- an honest to goodness mansion on the shores of Lake Minnetonka. With their four combined incomes, the only limit to what they could afford was her imagination. . . . . When Sarah finally made it home, she was disappointed to discover that Ian was still not there, but relieved to find Vickie sitting in the middle of the living room floor. She was going to try out her new paddle on Vickie's shapely ass, but with a diaper rash in play, she was afraid that the threatened twenty swats would be way over the top. Ten swats would do nicely. And seeing that Vickie had already stripped down to her blouse and diaper cover, and was sitting with arms outstretched waiting for a hug, she decided to go a bit easier on her rear end than originally planned. “Did you miss your mommy, baby girl,” Sarah cooed. “Mama,” Vickie answered; “binkie, Mama … binkie!” She was pouting like an adorable little toddler. Vickie had spent several minutes in Ian's bathroom, comparing pouts and frowns in front of the mirror. She concluded that pouting, which she had long practiced to good effect with her various boyfriends and one night stands, was her best choice. “Ah, you're so cute,” Sarah oohed and awed as she reached into her pocket; “yes you are, yes you are! Open wide, baby girl … here comes your binkie!” Vickie happily accepted the pacifier, and began enthusiatically sucking … Coat this thing with crème de menthe, and it wouldn't be bad at all. Definitely beats chewing on a pencil … Sarah left the room just long enough to fetch her breast pump, and with it the cane and paddle. Vickie's eyes went wide when she eyeballed Sarah attacking one of the throw cushions on her couch with the cane. “It feels like all it takes is a flick of the wrist,” she muttered, but loud enough for Vickie to hear. SWISH … CRACK!! SWISH … CRACK!! Sitting down in the chair that she had used to punish Ian the night before, she centered the cushion on her lap, raised her new paddle on high, and repeatedly brought it down on the cushion with a resounding … THWACK … THWACK … THWACK … Satisfied with her choice, Sarah stared hard at Vickie, and stabbed her thigh with her middle finger. Vickie obediently crawled over and, using Sarah's legs for support, climbed to her feet. Sarah first unfastened and removed the baby girl's blouse. Taking the key from her pocket, she then reached out to unlock her diaper cover, which she slid down to her ankles. Vickie's pink baby pants came next, and finally her heavy diaper, which was only slightly damp and unfortunately poop free. The laxatives in your breast milk will make you go potty in your diapee, baby girl … hmm … should I add a diuretic as well? Unbidden, Vickie eased herself over Sarah's lap, her legs helplessly pinned by the heavy canvas shackling her ankles. Sarah grasped her baby girl's right hand, and pinned it to the base of her spine, then wrapped her legs tight around Vickie's calves. With her bottom protruding and her body expertly immobilized, Vickie was finally ready for her paddling. Rubbing lazy circles around Vickie's cheeks and lightly slapping her thighs, Sarah took her time with the preliminaries. When she was finally ready, she raised the paddle on high, and brought it down, but not with full force. Thwack … Thwack … Each butt cheek received a measured blow, and then Sarah began Vickie's punishment in earnest. THWACK!! THWACK!! THWACK!! THWACK!! Vickie moaned, then screamed into her pacifier, her body contorting with the pain. Sarah had not spared the skin already red with diaper rash, which was now an ugly, livid crimson shade. Four more strokes, delivered more gently, finished the first part of Vickie's punishment. Now, it was time for her upper thighs to feel the weight of Sarah's palm. Nor did she hold back, one heavy blow after another raining down upon the exposed flesh. Only when she was finished did Sarah release Vickie's imprisoned right arm, so that the wailing toddler could slide off her lap and onto the carpet. Vickie was on the threshold of a massive orgasm, her entire body seemingly on fire. Struggling to her knees, she turned wide eyed to face Sarah, sucking mindlessly on her pacifier, desperate for relief. “Mommy,” she whispered, “make me come … please make me come. Your fingers … anything … make me come!!” Sarah looked down at her baby girl in disbelief, then leaned over to run her fingers between her thighs. Sure enough. She was wet, and when Sarah grazed her clit, Vickie moaned like a wounded animal, a sound born at once of anguish and pleasure. “Please,” she whispered again. “Baby girl,” she said sternly, “I want you to roll over on your back and stretch out. Do it now!” When Vickie obeyed, Sarah grabbed the thick hospital diaper, which she knew could not be defeated by the baby's questing fingers, and slid it under her tortured bottom. Bringing it up between Vickie's legs, she efficiently pinned it back in place before pulling up her baby pants and diaper cover. Vickie offered no resistance, but her body shuddered when she heard the lock click home. In the silence of Sarah's living room, it sounded like a thunderclap. “There,” Sarah said in a soothing voice. “Now, I want you to crawl over to the corner, get up on your knees, and press your nose against the wall. Naughty babies need time outs as well as spankings. Stay there, and don't move while I prepare your ba bas.” Sarah retreated to the bathroom, and found her water pills. Two of these, in bottles already laced with fast acting laxatives, would guarantee Vickie a very wet and very messy night. But Sarah would not be changing her in the morning. She was going to send her naughty little girl straight to Rita's office, and let her do the honors. . . . . When the District Attorney walked through the door with his bodyguard, it was safe to say that Gareth Q. Ballstrom was not a happy camper. He had managed to avoid the local news crews on the way in, but he did not fancy his chances on the way out. He knew a FUBAR when he saw one, and with the next election less than a year away, bad publicity he did not need. The bottom line was that he needed something good to feed the press when he walked out the door. It was hard for Ian to keep a straight face. He put the DA in his late thirties, with a lanky frame and chiseled jaw straight out of central casting. A three hundred dollar haircut, and enough hair gel to keep things under control in a class five hurricane, would go hand and glove with the practiced insincerity of the professional politician's smile. Ignoring the others, the DA marched up to where Ian was sitting. Ian did not bother to get up. “You must be Grady,” he barked. “The Chief tells me that I need to listen to what you have to say. I'm listening.” “Take a seat.” Ian was smiling graciously as he pointed at the lone empty chair in the room. “Chief Mischof will bring you up to speed, then we'll figure out what to do next.” The Chief neatly summarized the crime, the arrests to date, and the recovery of the stolen articles in a public area of the house that they had permission to search. The evidence would be admissible in court, and they had post-Miranda confessions from two of the girls that would also hold up. His officers were currently interviewing everyone else in the house, and in due course would haul them into the dining room for a heart to heart talk about their immediate futures. His immediate objectives were to get permission to search all their rooms, and to gauge who else had been actively engaged in the planning and execution of this conspiracy. “Now let me get this straight,” Ballstrom snorted when the Chief finished his report. “You dragged me over here in the middle of the night because a bunch of sorority girls have been running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches? What am I supposed to do? Go before the judge in the morning, and urge him to lock up these hard cases and throw away the key? Puh … lese!” “Spats Belmondo.” Julia spoke up for the first time. And I'm ...” “I know who you are, Missus Canon. Your firm handled my sister's divorce two years ago. She was pleased with the results. What's Belmondo got to do with this?” “He owns Lullaby Diaper Service, which is the injured party here. Spats hired me to find the thieves, and then report back to him so that he could handle the matter privately. I'll leave that part of it to your imagination … you know what Spats is like. Anyway, the Professor and I hatched a plan to have the police make the pinch, and it worked. Now, the trick is to find a punishment that will make both Spats and the judge happy. Ian has the solution; your job will be getting the judge to go along. Professor?” Ian took over, but when he got to the part where the girls would be wearing diapers for the rest of their university days, the DA climbed angrily to his feet. “Are you nuts, Grady? How the hell do you expect me to sell this nonsense to the unlucky bastard who draws this case in the morning?” “Well, you could bring a wood chipper into the courtroom and show him exactly how it works,” Ian scoffed. “But it would be easier simply to ask the judge to endorse a plea agreement that the girls will be affirming before they go to bed tonight. The four of us will sell them on the idea, and you sell the judge. Then you can campaign on a law and order platform, get reelected, and we all live happily ever after. Oh, and my friends back East will remember you kindly, if and when you choose to run for higher office.” The DA grinned wolfishly, pleased that the professor had got to the point without too much beating around the bush. “Professor, you've got a deal. The fine and community service is easy, but you have to sell these girls on the diapers or I won't bring it up. If they agree to it, the judge will as well. He's also up for election in the fall.” The two men shook hands, and Ballstrom left to grab some free publicity from the local news hounds. Ian fully expected him to tap into his well honed sense of righteous indignation, and preach the need to bring a little law and order to the notorious denizens of Fraternity Row. . . . . “So, what's going to happen to me?” Janis Marsden was sitting cross-legged on her bed, head bowed, utterly disconsolate. But she was no longer wearing the hospital diaper and vinyl pants; these had been set aside with the diapers in her backpack. “Well,” Priscilla began, “you were apprehended in the possession of stolen property. So, at some point you will be taken downtown and processed. You'll spend the night in a cell, and in the morning you'll be taken before a judge. If you plead not guilty, the prosecuting attorney will request that you make bail, which means that your parents will have to come to terms with a bail bondsman. If you plead guilty and agree to whatever punishment the DA's office seeks, you'll probably avoid a return trip to jail.” “It was all so stupid,” Janis sniffled. She was wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “Janis,” Priscilla cautioned, “although I've read you your rights, I want to remind you that anything you say to me can be admitted into evidence if I'm called to testify. Remember, you don't have to say a word to me, or to anyone else. Just because Cindy and Tippi have already confessed doesn't mean that you have to as well.” “But I want to because … because it was all so stupid … the usual crap that goes on up and down the Row all year long.” “And yet it was very well organized,” Priscilla countered, hinting at the argument the Assistant District Attorney would surely make before the judge. “Methodically researching the diaper service van's stops beforehand … using at least two cars to orchestrate the theft across a series of outings … playing Fox and Hounds with a highly experienced private detective, and getting the best of her.” Priscilla shook her head sorrowfully. “This was a conspiracy, Janis, and you were a participant. Even if you weren't physically stealing the diapers, you were an accessory both before and after the fact. And we haven't even got to the hospital yet … the betrayal of trust. Did you ever stop and think about how disappointed everyone would be with you if you got caught?” “Tippi … Cindy … Melanie … they said that it was just a few lousy diapers, and that if I got caught, I should just say that it was a sorority stunt. They all thought that they'd probably help me carry the diapers out to my car!” “Well, they were wrong, and here we are. So, get a grip on yourself. We're going downstairs to hear what Chief Mischof has to say.” Priscilla made a mental note to track down Melanie. She appeared to be another one of the ringleaders. . . . . “We have fifty two girls in residence,” Bernice summarized. She was looking down at the print out of the roster in her lap. “We had forty seven at dinner, so making allowance for Cindy, Tippi and Janis, nearly a full house. Only two are still out and about.” “Probably scalp hunting,” she muttered under her breath. “And you're sure of the breakdown?” The Chief had asked her to run down the list, and tag the names of those most likely to be involved in the planning and execution of the heist. “Supremely so,” she replied, her eyes flashing. “Walt, in my job you take the measure of your charges, try to figure out which ones are okay and which ones are trouble. Right now, this house is top heavy with Legacies, and they're all sitting on the Council. Cindy is currently the chair, Tippi a mover and shaker, and Janis a go along to get along type. I'm sorry that she's caught up in this. Her mother did not want her to join ZAP, and went along with it only when Janis agreed to do volunteer work at the hospital. Marilyn is going to be furious.” “And you're sure about this Melanie Wilson,” the Chief pressed. “One of Cindy's ladies in waiting? Yes, I'm sure.” “Janis' mother is Marilyn Marsden? Recruitment Services International?” Ian had not been paying much attention to the back and forth between Bernice and the Chief, but his head had snapped up at the mention of Marilyn's name. He vaguely recalled that Janis' name had come up in a passing exchange between Priscilla and Marilyn earlier in the afternoon in his office, but once again his attention had been elsewhere. Between the afterglow of making love to Priscilla, and the upcoming calls with Donnie and Irina, his attention had most definitely been elsewhere. “Yes,” Bernice agreed. “Do you know her?” “She's my agent,” he admitted with an embarrassed grin. “A nice lady … and she's gonna be pissed, if you'll pardon my French.” "It's quite all right, Professor.” Bernice quite liked Ian's down to earth demeanor. “We speak it a lot around here!” “So, you've gone and hired an agent?” Walt was relieved to hear it. “Guess this means that you won't be needing Officer Canon to chaperon you around campus anymore.” Ian stole a sideways glance at Julia. Rapidly running the pros and cons of the opening the Chief had just given him through his mind, he opted to tiptoe through the tulips. “Sorry, Chief, but I'm stealing her from you, at least for a while. I put the arm on a guy at Langley who owes me a favor or two, and Pris is now Quantico bound-- the embassy security training program. Don't know if she'll want to stay with your department when she returns, but the prospect of a substantial raise might influence her decision.” “Well, I'll be damned.” Walt was shaking his head, trying to process what he had just heard. “Quantico, eh? That's quite a feather in her cap. I'll see what I can do.” “Thanks … and sorry, Julia. She's planning to tell you and your husband tonight or tomorrow morning, depending upon when we all get out of here. Please don't spoil the surprise.” “I'll try not to.” Julia nodded her head, thinking it over. She'll be over a thousand miles away, and right now? Maybe that's not such a bad idea. “Here's what I want to do,” the Chief announced. "We'll bring the girls down to the dining room in fours, starting with the ones on Bernice's list that seem least likely to be involved. We'll seat them at the back, and watch their facial reactions when we bring the most likely suspects in. That'll tell us a lot.” The Chief stood up, and headed out the door, leaving the others to follow. But Ian lagged behind. Catching Bernice's eye, he mimicked making a phone call. “Go ahead,” she whispered as she turned to follow Julia to the dining room. . . . . “Getting a lot of calls from this area code, but I don't recognize the number. That you, Street?” “In the flesh. Sorry to disturb you at home.” In reality, Donnie Freeman was saying that he was free to talk, and Ian that he was not under duress. Years earlier, they had devised a series of casual phrases that they could use over the phone, each one of them containing a code word. “Got an interesting one for you. Vincent Belmondo, otherwise known as Spats Belmondo. A local Mafia capo. I'm looking for petals and thorns, not later than tomorrow morning.” “Not a problem. Do we have any interest?” “It's possible we owe the guy a favor. Do you remember Antonio?” “Ah, yes! I thought the name sounded familiar. A distant relative, perhaps?” “Hard to say. Vinnie's niece speaks Italian straight out of the streets of Naples, but Antonio sounded Catania born and bred. But a lot of those families headed north before they came here.” “Interesting. And I've got one for you. From the looks of it, your fiancee is following in her mother's footsteps.” “How so?” “She went shopping earlier today … used a credit card in a sex shop in the northern suburbs. Think she's into edible underwear?” “Donnie, FYI? She wears granny panties. I'm hoping that Vickie will rub off on her, so this might be a good omen.” “The Director's offer still stands: honeymoon for you and your various loves in the Greek isles, all expenses paid. But he wants a blow by blow description of your sex life in return … a morale boost, so to speak, for a joint that's down in the dumps these days.” “Too bad that I don't know any good restaurants in Teheran, but I don't. Sorry.” “Wouldn't dream of asking you for a recommendation, Street. It's not in the cards. Get back to you in the morning. Ciao.” “Ciao,” Ian replied, hanging up the phone with a heavy sigh.
  10. BOOK 'EM, DANNO “Seems a bit late in the year for the sororities to be running pigs up the flagpole,” Ian observed. “Too close to finals.” “It is out of character,” Priscilla agreed. They were in her squad car, making the short drive across the river to Fraternity Row. “But what's really odd is that Zeta Pi Alpha, or ZAP as it is known to all and sundry, doesn't have a reputation for partying hard. Academically, it's a bottom feeder, but I've never been summoned to deal with anything more serious than a drunk and disorderly. It just doesn't make any sense.” “And then there's Spats Belmondo ...” “Yeah,” Priscilla nodded. “Then there's Spats. When it comes to theft, especially theft this well organized and hurtful, the Chief won't look the other way, but the usual slap on the wrist won't be enough. If these girls aren't punished to his satisfaction, Spats will find a way to even the score.” “La vendetta è un piatto che va servito freddo,” Ian shrugged. “Revenge is a dish best served cold. Spats won't be in a hurry, not with his honor at stake, and he could strike from a direction no one expects.” “That the way Chief Mischof will see it.” “What's the usual drill in a case like this?” “The DA doesn't like to waste his time, so normally we offer them a plea deal. A hundred hours of community service, a fine, and two or three years of probation. In return, the record is expunged.” “Sensible, but in this case, not enough to feed the bulldog. I'd start by placing them under arrest, cuffing them, and tossing them in the slammer for the night. Schedule an arraignment in the morning, with an eye to forcing them to lawyer up if they don't fully cooperate. Any criminal attorney will run the bill up into the thousands … and while we're talking hard ball, be sure and ask for a stiff bond. Go for something high enough that the parents will have to put up collateral to get them out. Make it hurt.” “You think that will be enough to satisfy Spats?” “No, but it will get his attention. Leave the rest to me.” “WHAT?” Priscilla was so shocked that she almost slammed on the brakes. “No way, Ian … NO WAY. You are not going to … what's that cute phrase that you secret agents use … 'terminate with extreme prejudice'? You are not going to 'whack' Spats Belmondo, to use the term that he would choose. And while we're at it, I want you to promise me that you will stop running around the globe killing people!” “Honey, don't overreact!” Ian patted Priscilla lightly on the arm. “Honestly, it's been years since I last killed anyone … years!” But only for lack of targets … if I ever find out who killed my wife, I am going to paint the streets red with their blood … “Let's start with the community service,” he continued. “Hospitals all need candy stripers, and Tippi and her friends will have dishpan hands after they've cleaned and polished a few thousand bedpans. And the girls are all going to become customers of the diaper service, 24/7, for the balance of their time in school. That way, Spats gets to humiliate them, and turn a profit at the same time. And while we're at it, maybe my favorite hospital will give us a group discount if we offer to buy locking diaper covers for the whole crew. That should be an easy sell after I persuade Spats to donate generously to some hospital endowment fund or other.” “And all you have to do to make this happen is what? Snap your fingers? Make a few phone calls?” Priscilla honestly couldn't tell whether Ian was pulling her leg or being serious. Pretty much. The real challenge is figuring out how to change all those dirty diapers. Who's going to do the honors? The logistics are daunting.” “And this conversation is beyond bizarre! Ian, I can just hear my parents now: 'Pris, why couldn't you fall in love with somebody normal? You know, a polite ax-murderer, or a charming serial killer? Why did it have to be Secret Agent Man'?” “Officer Canon, are we truly in love?” “We are,” Priscilla said firmly. “Well, just to keep this in perspective, you're the third woman with whom I've fallen in love over the past week, and the fourth this month. It's a bad habit, I know, but what's a guy to do?” “Don't you worry about it, Dear.” Now it was Priscilla's turn to pat Ian gently on the arm. “I'm going to call a meeting. Between the four of us, somebody's bound to come up with a sure fire way to make you keep it in your pants!” . . . . CH.....E.....EP … CH.....E.....EP … Now that she had an address and the thrill of the hunt was gone, Julia felt curiously deflated. The diaper heist was just another stupid sorority prank, although there was a sadistic edge to it that left a bad taste in her mouth. Nearing downtown, she reached out to switch the nerve wracking tracking device off, but then she pulled her hand back. Perversely, she decided to leave it alone until she pulled up behind Bjornsen at the sorority house. What she really wanted to do was nail the little bitch to a chair, and let her listen to the maddening, metallic chirping for the next twenty four hours straight. Maybe longer … Then wrap her in tin foil, and drop her on Spats Belmondo's front porch. No charge for the service, Spats. Consider this a freebie … What really sucked was that she would not even have the pleasure of arresting the little psychopath. Instead, she would just have to stand there, thinking very dark thoughts, while her daughter read Bjornsen and her lunatic friends their Miranda rights. Julia well understood her husband's longing for the good, old days when a cop could use his nightstick to persuade a miscreant to confess his sins. What Bjornsen really needed to see the error of her ways was for someone to shove a nightstick up her ass and pound it home with a sledgehammer. Julia was eager to volunteer. Winding through downtown, the traffic now much heavier, Julia switched lanes to catch up with her quarry. At the Mississippi, she pulled in directly behind the girls, knowing that she would be invisible in the darkness that had descended over the city during the chase. When they exited and made the turn for Fraternity Row, she was content to follow at a sedate pace. Her daughter would be lurking somewhere in the neighborhood, ready to pounce once the thieves returned home. My daughter and God only knows how many other cops of the campus variety. This will probably end up being a real frolic. And what do I say to Grady, besides 'thank you for your help'? What a mess! . . . . “Home, sweet home,” Tippi sighed. “Be it ever so humble,” Cindy laughed as she turned into the driveway. With winter parking restrictions in effect on city streets, finding a slot in the limited space at the back of the sorority house was always a challenge. “WHAT THE FUCK,” she screeched as she hit the brakes so hard that only her seatbelt spared her a close encounter of the first kind with the steering wheel. There was a man standing in the middle of the driveway, with his back turned to them. He appeared to be admiring the old mansion's ornate, early twentieth century architecture. “HEY,” Cindy screamed; “what the hell ...” Ian turned around with an amiable grin on his face. He strolled casually over to Cindy's side of the car, signaling for her to roll down the window. “Professor Grady?” Tippi's eyes had swollen to roughly the size of dinner plates. “Good evening, Miss Bjornsen.” Ian's tone was as amiable as his grin. “Glad to see you made it home in one piece. Would you care to introduce me to your friend?” “Cindy … I'm … uh … Cindy Carlson.” Cindy was stuttering badly. “Nice to meet you, Cindy … and thank you for not running me down. You've got good reflexes.” “What … what are you doing here?” Cindy was still badly shaken. “Ah, reinforcements have arrived.” Ignoring the question, Ian was looking down the street. Right on cue, Priscilla was arriving with siren howling and lights flashing. She pulled into the driveway, effectively preventing Cindy from trying to escape in a moment of panic. Priscilla climbed out of her squad car, and in the distance she could hear other blue and whites fast approaching. Chief Mischof had been true to his word. Fighting hard to keep from doubling over with laughter, Priscilla somehow managed to put on her game face as she approached Cindy's side of the car. Nudging Ian to step aside, she looked down into the vehicle. “Are either of you armed,” she asked in her best cop voice. “Wh … at,” Cindy squeaked. “Of … of course not!” “Is there a weapon in the vehicle?” “No,” Tippi hissed; “we're clean.” Priscilla and Ian exchanged brief looks. Both of them were thinking the same thing: this was not the first time that Tippi Bjornsen had been confronted by a cop. “Officer, what is this about?” Judging Cindy to be useless, Tippi had opted to take over their side of the conversation. Ian noted that Julia had pulled up to the curb, and even from a distance he could hear the receiver merrily chirping away. He laughed as he slowly turned around. Several girls had come out of the house, and were now watching the proceedings from the veranda. Heads were peeking out the front door of the properties on both sides, and curiosity seekers were venturing out at a number of houses across the street. Two more squad cars arrived, their lights and sirens adding to the chaos unfolding in the driveway of the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority house. Ian wondered how long it would take for the vans to arrive from the local TV station newsrooms, and whether they would show up before or after Suzie Marshall decided to put in an appearance. “We have a report that this vehicle is being used to transport stolen property,” Priscilla grimly announced. When her fellow officers were in place, she ordered Cindy to exit the vehicle first, and then Tippi. “Stolen property? That's absurd,” Tippi protested. “What is this? Some kind of elaborate joke?” Finally recognizing Priscilla, and seeing Ian hovering in the background, Tippi was adding it all together-- and coming up with the wrong answer. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP Device in hand, Julia had walked up to the trunk of Cindy's car. The receiver was going crazy, sounding for all the world like a panicked hatchling trying to find its way back into the nest. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP “Don't think so,” Ian said as he reached down to flick a small switch and silence the transmission. “This receiver is slaved to a miniature homing device sewn into one of the diapers that you liberated from my doorstep, Miss Bjornsen. With your help, they appear to have found a home in the trunk of Miss Carlson's vehicle.” “Tippi, is what this young man's saying true,” a middle aged woman angrily asked. She had come storming out of the house, and Ian presumed that she was the house mother. ''Did you steal his diapers?” Her high-pitched, incredulous voice easily carried to the surrounding houses. “I'd like to hear the answer to that question as well.” Chief Walter Mischof had now arrived on scene, his squad car artfully parked to block an entire lane. If nothing else, the ensuing traffic jam would insure the prompt arrival of local news crews. He reckoned that at least one of the networks would lead off at ten with so bizarre a story. If Dean Turgeson was watching the right channel, he would probably choke on his nightcap. “The jig's up, Cindy.” With no way out, Tippi calculated that a show of contrition would minimize the consequences. “You're right, Missus Miller; we stole Professor Grady's diapers. It was just a prank … a stupid, sorority prank.” “PROFESSOR GRADY? YOU STOLE DIAPERS FROM A MEMBER OF THE FACULTY?” The sorority mom was so angry that Ian swore he could see steam escaping through her hair. “CINDY CARLSON, YOU OPEN THE TRUNK OF THAT CAR RIGHT NOW!” “Yes, Ma'am.” Cindy hastened to obey. Everyone gathered around, but when the lid went up, everyone also stepped back. “My God,” Chief Mischof yelped, “I remember that smell, but I don't remember it being this bad! Professor, what have you been eating?” Priscilla burst out laughing, and for his own part Ian was sorely tempted to tell the Chief the truth. However, prudence being the better part of valor, he decided to take refuge in a bad burrito. “TIPPI BJORNSEN,” Missus Miller roared, “YOU WILL TAKE THESE DIAPERS DOWN TO THE BASEMENT. YOU WILL RINSE THE POOP OFF, AND THEN YOU WILL WASH THEM, DRY THEM, FOLD THEM NEATLY, AND RETURN THEM TO THE PROFESSOR WITH YOUR MOST SINCERE APOLOGY! DO YOU HEAR ME?” Priscilla leaned in to whisper in Ian's ear. “Hell hath no fury like a sorority house mom inconvenienced by one of her charges. Bernice is going to have an ugly meeting with Dean Turgeson in the morning, and if the chapter loses its certificate, she'll be out of a job.” “Wait one,” Ian called out. “Chief Mischof, you should know that this is not an isolated incident. These girls have been systematically stealing diapers from customers of Lullaby Diaper Service for several days now. I suspect that others in this house are also involved. I hope that Missus Miller will allow you to search the premises and recover the stolen property without a warrant, but for my own part I'm going to file a criminal complaint, and I should expect the owner of the diaper service to do so as well. He has suffered significant financial loss, and emotionally his employees have been put through the wringer. It would not surprise me if a civil suit follows in due course. So, we should ask Missus Canon here whether washing these dirty diapers would be tampering with evidence, and make it inadmissible in court. Julia is the Twinkletoes of Aardvark, Platypus, and Twinkletoes: Attorneys at Law.” Ian sidled up to Julia, and eased the receiver out of her hand. The last thing that he wanted was for the little gizmo to be taken into evidence by the police. “Professor Grady is correct, Chief. To be admissible in court, the evidence must be in the same condition in which it was received into evidence.” “You want me to store these shitty diapers in our evidence locker?” Walt Mischof could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You want an Assistant DA to haul them into court, and wave them under a judge's nose?” “Sorry,” Julia shrugged. “The rules of evidence ...” “Yeah, yeah, I know the rules of evidence. Geez ...” “Book 'em, Danno,” one of the frat boys yelled out from the sidewalk, where a sizable crowd had quickly gathered to entertain themselves at the sorority's expense. The cry was taken up and instantly turned into a chant … BOOK 'EM, DANNO! BOOK 'EM, DANNO! Slipping the receiver into his pocket, Ian inadvertently activated it … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP BOOK 'EM, DANNO! CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP It was at about this moment that the first on site reporter arrived at the scene with his faithful cameraman. With traffic now at a standstill, the enterprising driver had made use of the sidewalk, bouncing off it to bring his vehicle to a halt directly behind Julia's rusted out beater. Walt Mischof smiled benevolently. Finally! He finally had a chance to stick it to Fraternity Row! And he was going to stick it good!. . . . . “And now, for the lighter side of the news. Earlier this evening, there was quite a fracas over on Fraternity Row, and our own Emmett Bailey was there to report on the chaos. What's happening, Emmett?” “Lyle, earlier this evening campus police descended upon Fraternity Row, and specifically upon one of the sorority houses, Zeta Alpha Pi. It's being alleged that an organized gang of diaper thieves has been terrorizing the city, and that the police caught two of the thieves red-handed. We spoke with Chief Walter Mischof of the campus police, who showed us the evidence taken from the trunk of a car belonging to one of the sorority members. We were looking at two bags of adult diapers delivered weekly to a member of the faculty, a highly decorated veteran rendered incontinent when he was severely wounded on his last battlefield. We did not, however, get too close, because one bag was, how shall I put it? More than a little ripe. We spoke with the Chief about where this bizarre case goes from here." “Emmett, what can I tell you? With the cooperation of the property manager, who is known informally as the house mom, we were able to examine all of the public areas in the residence, as well as the rooms occupied by the more than fifty students, all of whom agreed to a search rather than forcing us to get a warrant. In total, we recovered over a thousand diapers stolen off the porches of customers of Lullaby Diaper Service. We have taken two of the ringleaders into custody; they have been charged, and will be arraigned in municipal court in the morning. At present, we are interviewing each sorority member individually, with a focus on discovering just how widespread this conspiracy really is, and whether there is more to it than just the usual nonsense that we have to deal with up and down this block, term after term, year after year.” “Emmett, a quick check revealed that Lullaby Diaper Service is owned by Vincent Belmondo, more commonly known as Spats Belmondo. We sent a second crew to interview Mister Belmondo at his residential estate on Lake Minnetonka, but when our own Lisa Jenkins asked him how a man of his colorful reputation could be running a diaper service, he told her in rather colorful terms to go jump in the lake. When Lisa pointed out that the lake is frozen at this time of the year, he waved her off with an obscene gesture known far and wide as 'the bird'.” “Lyle, we'll be following up on this story in the morning, but it has already taken one more strange twist. In a separate but related incident, still another member of the sorority who works as a candy striper at the local hospital was caught trying to smuggle a half dozen of the hospital's own adult diapers into her room. What makes the story odd is that she was wearing one of the diapers, complete with a pair of vinyl pants-- what we parents all commonly refer to as 'baby pants'. The young lady in question will also be spending the night in the municipal lockup, but alas, without her diaper, since jailhouse rules do not allow prisoners to have potential weapons such as diaper pins in their cells. Live, on scene, this is Emmett Bailey reporting for Channel 36, WPPP News!” . . . . “My name's Ruby; what are you in for?” “Theft,” Tippi tersely replied. Along with Cindy Carlson and Janis Marsden, Tippi was in a large cell in the basement of the central police station-- a cell nicknamed “the Tank” by the regulars. Ruby was one of them. “What did ya do … jack a car?” “Diapers,” Cindy moaned, still wiping tears out of her eyes. She had never been arrested before, and she was terrified. “Diapers? That's low girl, really low. Stealing a baby's diapers? The judge ain't gonna like that! Girl, the judge … he gonna throw the book at your white ass!” “What about you,” Tippi asked. Anything to change the subject. “Solicitation,” Ruby grinned. “In my line of work, it's an occupational hazard.” “And what is it you do,” Janis asked. Like Cindy, she was terrified, but it was the five hard cases with whom they were sharing the cell that scared her. She didn't want to become somebody's bitch. She just wanted to go home, and hide away from the world. Ruby did a double take, wondering whether she was being disrespected, or whether this chick really didn't know the score. Ruby didn't take kindly to being disrespected. “I'm a whore, Darling. Can't you tell? I do dress the part. Oh yes, I do!” “I've got an outfit just like yours,” Janis confessed. “I wear it to Disco clubs. I really dig Donna Summer.” “I like the Bee Gees myself,” Ruby laughed. “That one boy, the one with the high pitched voice? He'd look really good wearing my threads.” “So, what happens in the morning?” Tippi wanted to bring the conversation back to the fact that they were in jail, and screw Donna Summer and the Bee Gees both. “Oh, they gonna put us on the chain, and march us into the courtroom upstairs,” Ruby replied. “Then, one by one, we go before the judge. Some low life from the DA's office will read out the charge, and you'll be asked to plead guilty or not. Either way, the judge will set bail, and then you come back here until someone posts a bond to get you out. Hope you all got rich parents, cause the DA, he gonna throw a whole, heapin' bunch of charges at you, earn you some serious jail time. But don't worry; a good lawyer, he get you off easy this being your first offense and all. A few months in the workhouse … that would be my guess, this being your first offense and all. Mind you, though, good lawyers don't come cheap. Someone gonna need a new mortgage to pay for your lawyer's next holiday in Hawaii!” Ruby laughed, a high pitched cackle. Janis wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Her mom would probably help her on her way. Cindy wanted to go home, only she wouldn't have one after her parents disowned her. Tippi wanted to kill somebody … anybody would do. . . . . Comfortably ensconced in his favorite lounger, his feet resting on the ottoman, Dean Willard Turgeson turned on the TV to catch the ten o'clock news. The overblown mayhem that the local stations paraded as the outrage du jour held no interest for him, and he had never been a sports fan. No, he would endure the mindless tripe that Lyle Gunderson pitched as news only to get to the weather report. An ardent supporter of all causes environmental, Professor Turgeson prided himself on riding his bicycle to and from the office in good weather and bad, all four seasons of the year. Still, he had no desire to joust with the overpaid louts who drove the city snow plows. Hard experience had taught him this lesson well. “Good evening. This is Lyle Gunderson …” “And I'm Amy Kinkaid ...” “And this is WPPP News at Ten!!!” “Amy, leading the news tonight, the latest report from Teheran, and more bad news on the inflation front.” Sipping his hot cocoa, Willard endured the mindless drivel that passed for national news. “And now, for the lighter side of the news. Earlier this evening, there was quite a fracas over on Fraternity Row, and our own Emmett Bailey was there to report on the chaos. What's happening, Emmett?” “Lyle, earlier this evening campus police descended upon Fraternity Row, and specifically upon one of the sorority houses, Zeta Alpha Pi. It's being alleged that an organized gang of diaper thieves has been terrorizing the city, and that the police caught two of the thieves red-handed. We spoke with Chief Walter Mischof of the campus police ...” Willard's cup shattered as it dropped to the floor, hot cocoa rapidly cooling as it ran all over the highly polished faux stone flooring in his den. . . . . Standing in front of the mammoth fireplace, back turned to the flames, elegantly dressed in an imported silk smoking jacket, a Cohiba Behike smuggled out of Cuba in his right hand and a Lalique snifter of aged Sambuca in his left, Spats Belmondo was staring fixedly, almost maniacally, at the giant TV screen mounted on the wall of his study. “Emmett, a quick check revealed that Lullaby Diaper Service is owned by Vincent Belmondo, more commonly known as Spats Belmondo. We sent a second crew to interview Mister Belmondo at his residential estate on Lake Minnetonka, but when our own Lisa Jenkins asked him how a man of his colorful reputation could be running a diaper service, he told her in rather colorful terms to go jump in the lake. When Lisa pointed out that the lake is frozen at this time of the year, he waved her off with an obscene gesture known far and wide as 'the bird'.” “You bitches are dead,” he screamed; “dead, dead, dead!!!” Taking a puff on his expensive but contraband cigar, his face turning red with rage, Spats whirled around and threw his snifter into the fireplace, the fragile crystal shattering as the flames hungrily consumed the liqueur. “What part of 'no police involvement' did dese fuckin' morons miss? Do I have ta spell it out with crayons? Huh? Huh?” Spats turned, and stared fixedly at an aging but expensively framed photograph on his antique walnut desk. It was a family treasure, a photograph of his father Tommaso taken with the revered Al Capone, about a year after the dust up in that North Clark Street garage. “Wat d'ya think, Al? Huh? Should I pay dese fuckin' morons another visit come da morning? Yeah … I think so … yeah. Me and da boys, we gonna have a chat with Aardvark, Platypus, and da Twinkie. A nice, little chat. But first, da first tings. Think I'll go down to da courthouse in da morning, check out da broads for myself. Yeh, Al, dat's right … da first tings first.”
  11. At the end of scene 3, there was a very good discussion of what should happen to Tippi after her presumed arrest. Some of the ideas kicked around there will be pivotal in scene 9.
  12. A welcome update. Glad to see someone actively resist forced breast feeding; it's a welcome departure from the same old, same old. Well done.
  13. Sarah's parents had a D/s relationship, and Sarah is very much her mother's daughter, but without her experience and hard earned wisdom. Sofia made every important decision for her family, but that doesn't mean that she was going to forbid hubby to go fishing. Did she start out with so pragmatic a view of the relationship, or did she start out as badly as Sarah and get better at it over time? Sarah's inflexibility (no, you can't go fishing!) is simply not practical, and Ian's acts of rebellion are all consciously designed to drive that point home. He's content to have Sarah make all of the big decisions, and he'll eat whatever she puts on the table at breakfast and dinner, but he will see to lunch himself, thank you very much. Have you noticed that Priscilla is also dominant? She is wife and mother, but wouldn't dream of telling Ian that he can't have a pastrami sandwich. And when Thursday morning turns into Thursday night, they are going to go out and get drunk together-- at her insistence! How ironic that Priscilla could be Sarah's role model, but only if she doesn't see Priscilla as a threat. Perhaps Sofia will figure it out, and steer her daughter into a safe harbor. Or perhaps not. Time will tell.
  14. I would be very cautious here. What might be acceptable in San Francisco could get you beaten to death in over 98% of the counties in this country.
  15. TO CATCH A DIAPER THIEF (OR, AS THE LATE PAUL HARVEY WOULD SAY, "THE REST OF THE STORY" “What d'ya think, Tip?” Cindy had turned off the main road onto the residential street, which was lined with single family residences on their right, and a run of four multi-story apartment buildings on their left. There were still more apartments and detached garages inside the sprawling complex, everything centered on a large clubhouse with adjoining pool and tennis courts. The clubhouse, they knew from reading the listing in the Yellow Pages, even featured an indoor racket ball court. “This close to the airport? Looks like a stew zoo to me.” “I meant the street. There's not a single car parked on this entire block.” Cindy was driving slowly, looking up the driveways leading into the parking lots behind the buildings. If they spotted the beater that they had dubbed “the cannon mobile,” it was mission aborted. “Pull into the next driveway, and let me out. I'll walk back, like I'm coming from the clubhouse or something. I'll scout out the premises, locate the diapers, and see if there's anybody hanging around. At this hour of the day, everyone should be at work, so if I run into anyone, we are outta here. I want you to turn around at the end of the block and park, but leave the engine running. It'll look like you're waiting for someone. When you see me come out, pull up. If the coast is clear, we'll make the switch.” “Sounds like a plan. Let's do it!” . . . . Julia hated stakeouts, especially in the wintertime. You froze your butt off, and you emptied an entire thermos of black coffee trying to stay warm and keep awake. Then your bladder started to make its presence felt, reminding you that it was time to make a toilet run. The longer you ignored it, the more you squirmed, and unlike the guys, a lady couldn't exactly stand up in the middle of a high school parking lot and take a leak. Julia was miserable. Maybe, she thought, I'm getting too old for this. Maybe I should be wearing a diaper and a nice, cozy pair of baby pants like the professor. Then I could just piss myself and be done with it. Or maybe I need to take up a new line of work … Julia hated stakeouts. . . . . Tippi walked up the sidewalk with her head down and her gloved hands deep inside the pockets of her heavy winter coat. A stylish woolen cap made her even more anonymous; to anyone watching, she would appear to be a resident returning to her apartment from the rental office or clubhouse. Once inside the four story building, she discovered that there was no elevator waiting to send her aloft. Grimacing, she began to trudge up the stairs, her plan being to start on the top floor and work her way down. Her mood brightened when she exited the stairwell on the second floor. At the end of the corridor, she could see the bag of used diapers propped against an apartment door. Strolling casually, she went to the end of the corridor and peered down to the ground floor. She could see the small lobby and the door leading out to the parking lot. The lobby was empty, so she retreated and picked up the bag, trying to gauge its weight. Tippi nodded to herself and smiled. The bag of old rags that were sitting in the trunk of Cindy's car was identical to the bag outside the door, and about the same weight. Making the switch would be easier than she thought. She proceeded down the stairs and opened the door just enough to peek outside. Tippi was looking not only for the old beater that had stalked them yesterday, but for anything that seemed out of place. Seeing nothing suspicious in the lot, she trudged down the corridor and left the building. Less than five minutes later, she was back up on the second floor, scoring what she guessed would be some two to three dozen very, very smelly adult diapers. Whoever lived in that apartment, she surmised, was paying rent for a toilet that wasn't being used. Tossing the soiled diapers into the trunk, Tippi climbed into the passenger seat and turned the heater on full blast. It was a miserable day, but the first part of the Great Diaper Heist of 1979 had gone off without a hitch. Now, it was just a matter of waiting for Lullaby's truck to show up. They would find an empty slot in the parking lot of the adjoining building, and settle in to await its arrival. With the radio on and thermoses of hot chocolate and coffee to keep them warm, it was time to kick back and relax. . . . . Wheeling her cart through the vast warehouse, Janis Marsden was in awe. It was one thing to realize that the hospital was running like a finely tuned watch, and another to pull back the curtain and actually look behind the scenes. Trolling the aisles, gawking at bins filled with everything from q-tips to bed frames, she now understood why candy stripers never returned empty handed when their supervisors sent them to collect supplies from a storeroom. From the basement to the top floor, the complex operation to which she devoted six hours of her life a week was a well oiled machine. At lunch in the cafeteria, she had initially refused to go along with Tippi's plan to locate the source of Professor Grady's diapers, and casually help herself to a handful or two. Janis liked her job, and was seriously considering becoming a business major so that she could get a foot in the door of hospital administration. She didn't want to risk being excommunicated before she even got started, but as Tippi pointed out, sororities were notorious for their rituals, and if caught she could always excuse her behavior as just another initiation treasure hunt. No big deal. In retrospect, Janis was glad that she had finally caved to Tippi's pleas. Her supervisor had been only to happy to send her to the basement, shopping list in hand, so that the young candy striper could learn at first hand how the hospital really ran. One of the items on her shopping list? Adult diapers. Armed with a detailed floor plan furnished by a friendly young man at the check-in counter, she had had no trouble finding the mother lode. The bin was huge, the diapers neatly folded and stacked by unseen hands, just sitting there waiting for her to wander by. Row after row of adult diapers called out to her, each stack at least a few dozen high. She was staring at hundreds of the enormously thick diapers that Tippi had described … hundreds of them! Janis Marsden was in diaper heaven. She took what she needed to fill the order, then helped herself to an additional dozen. Her plan was to stash them in her locker, and at the end of her shift make two trips out to her car. Her backpack was large enough to hold two, and she would wear a third under her dress. Four trips at the end of two successive shifts would see her prizes safely back to the house. Before she returned to the ward with a cart piled high with fresh linens, Janis ventured off to raid one more bin-- the one containing the vinyl pants that patients in some wards wore over their diapers. She stuffed several of the transparent baby pants into the pockets of her pinafore, taking care to get a variety of sizes. Curious by nature, Janis decided to wear one of the baby pants over her diaper when she headed out to the car for the second time. The thick cloth made it impossible for her to walk normally, her stride now reduced to a toddler like waddle. Would anybody notice? Back at the house, when she took off her coat, would anyone comment on the bulge in her pants? A shiver ran down Janis's spine when she climbed into the car and started the engine. She gave it a minute to warm up, and used the time to wiggle around in the seat, trying to get the diaper to hug her body more comfortably. The child of hard working, conservative parents, Janis was quiet and obedient by nature. She had never done anything this daring in her whole life, and she was enjoying every moment of her criminal escapade. . . . . And more or less right on time,” Cindy crowed as she sat up straight in her seat, “here comes de truck, here comes de truck!” The two girls watched the Lullaby delivery van pull into the parking lot, and come to a stop opposite the entrance. The driver got out, and walked around to open the sliding door on the right side of the vehicle; a few moments later, he disappeared into the building with a lone bag bulging with nice, clean adult diapers. “Now's the moment of truth,” Tippi muttered more or less to herself; “will he spot the switch, or not?” She calculated that it should take him not more than ninety seconds to return to the van. Silently, she began to count backwards. She had just counted down to twenty when the door opened and the driver reemerged-- carrying the stash of oily rags that the girls had loaded into one of the identical bags that they had stolen on Monday morning. Tippi had added a few tokens harvested from Blofeld's litter box to give the rags a more authentic odor. “Looks like we passed the smell test,” Cindy laughed. The driver had tossed his noxious cargo into the back of the truck before driving off, exiting the lot onto the same side street that they were using for their heist. “Now we wait,” Tippi announced, crossing her arms to emphasize the point. “We'll give the old lady and her beater ten minutes to make an appearance. If she doesn't show, we'll make our move … same as before.” “Works for me,” Cindy agreed. “If Janis comes through with some of those super thick diapers that your professor wears, come the morning we'll be ready for business!” “I want to lay my hands on one of those locking diaper covers the prof wears,” Tippi replied. “Maybe Janis can track some down tomorrow. Imagine … keeping a guy in diapers 24/7, taking away his toilet privileges, giving him no choice but to pee and poop himself because his diapers are locked inside a pair of escape proof pants. You'd have a slave to do your bidding for as long as you wanted!” . . . . CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … At first, Julia was fascinated by the tracking device, and the precision with which one could follow its movement. When it was three miles away, it was barely audible, a single ... CH............................E..................................EP... hard to pick up over the sound of passing cars. As the diaper delivery van drew closer, however, the signal became stronger and more focused, and when it turned into the parking lot immediately across the road, it sounded much like the sirens that delivered a continuous blast all over the Twin Cities at one in the afternoon on the first Wednesday of the month. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … Even the short distance that the driver had to traverse as he carried the bundle of fresh diapers from the truck to the building's second floor was enough to alter the signal … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … And so it went, second by second, minute by minute, the mindless noise assaulting her brain, over and over and over again. No end to it. Julia dug into the glove box, desperate to find aspirin … a forgotten flask … anything to ward off the assault. She found nothing. Julia hated stakeouts. . . . . “Time's up,” Tippi declared; “fire her up.” Cindy obligingly turned over the ignition, and backed up, and drove slowly up the road. She exited the lot onto the side street the same way that she had entered, and drove slowly up the road. As soon as she parked alongside the building, Tippi was out the door, dashing off to collect the prized diapers from their second floor perch. She was back in less than five minutes. With the diapers safely hidden away in the trunk, Cindy turned onto the main thoroughfare and headed north towards the interstate-- towards the interstate, and home. The Great Diaper Heist of 1979, brilliantly planned and masterfully executed, was drawing to a close. . . . . CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … CHE …. EEP, CHE …. EEP, CHE … EEP … Julia didn't realize that she had been nodding off until the signal pattern changed. They've taken the bait! Startled into full wakefulness, she mentally reviewed what the professor had taught her about his little toy. A shorter, stronger return meant that the target was approaching. A longer, weaker return meant that it was moving away. The signal was definitely fading! Can't be south or east … the beep would have become stronger, not weaker, as the diapers went past me … Julia pulled out of the parking lot, and headed north on the broad boulevard toward the beltway, some three miles distant. There was another interstate less than a mile to her west, but she had decided to ignore it. The two highways crossed at one of the busiest interchanges in the state, so the odds were overwhelming that thieves bound for Minneapolis to the north or one of the wealthy suburbs to the west would take one route or the other. If she could catch up with them before they reached the interchange … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … Closer! Triumphantly pounding the steering wheel with her fist, and gambling that she could speed in the light, late afternoon traffic without risk of being pulled over, Julia worked to close the distance between herself and a group of vehicles a couple of hundred yards ahead. Catching the few traffic lights on the green helped, and when she finally eased to a stop, it was to make the left turn onto the ramp that would drop her down to join the rush hour traffic heading west on the beltway. There were three cars ahead of her … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … It's one of these three vehicles … the thieves are in one of these three vehicles!!! . . . . “So, who gets stuck washing the dirty diapers that are stinking up my trunk?” Sitting at the light, Cindy was wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I'll do the honors,” Tippi shrugged. She sniffed her hands, and then suddenly thrust them under Cindy's nose. “Oh, yuck,” Cindy screeched; “you smell like a diaper pail! What'd you do, open the bag and rummage around in there just for the thrill of it?” “Light's green,” Tippi answered nonchalantly. “I don't mind changing a dirty diaper; I just don't want to wear one!” Traffic on the beltway was moving, but slowly. “Shitty traffic,” Cindy complained. “It'll thin out once we get on the interstate … should be clear sailing all the way back to the house.” “Are you really going to wash these shitty diapers yourself?” “Sure. I did a lot of diaper duty when I was younger. But you know who's diapers I really want to change? The professor's. The guy's hot, and so, so submissive. I'd give anything to be his girlfriend!” Tippi held her fingers up to her nose, and inhaled deeply. “I'd keep him locked up just the way he is now, but every time I changed him? I'd tease him … keep him guessing whether this would be the day he got lucky … make him beg for it. Like I said earlier, don't think about the poop and the smell, Cindy; think about the payoff! Think about having a guy's cock under lock and key … think about the power that comes with owning his cock! Imagine him on his knees in front of you, begging for the privilege of pleasuring you, all in the hope that in a moment of weakness you'll unlock him and let him cum! You'd be a goddess!” “Geez, Tip … you are one seriously screwed up little girl! But I love it! Why stop at scalping the profs? If we lock their dicks up, none of the other houses will be able to use them to rack up points!” Making the turn to head north toward the city, Cindy smiled broadly. Tip was right: the traffic had thinned dramatically. Smooth sailing, she thought; smooth sailing all the way home! . . . . Julia was impatiently drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change, when her car phone rang. She groped for the handset, her eyes never looking away from the signal. “Hey, Mom! Just calling to see how the stakeout is coming. You staying awake?” Julia ruefully shook her head. Car phones were convenient, but why did someone always have to call when she was in the middle of a pursuit? Couldn't they at least wait until she was entertaining her husband in the back seat at a drive-in? Technology will be the death of us all ... “Northbound on Nicollet, approaching the interstate,” she said in her most businesslike voice. “They took the bait, Pris; I'm fourth car in line at a red light, and the tracking device is in one of the three cars ahead of me. Have a listen.” Eyes still glued to the red light, wondering if the damned thing was ever going to change, Julia waved the handset at the receiver. CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Julia, you're too close! Way too close! Back off a quarter of a mile before they spot you in their mirrors!” Julia was so surprised that she almost dropped the phone. “Ian? What are you ...?” A thousand thoughts cascaded through Julia's brain, and none of them were happy thoughts. Where the hell are you, and what the hell are the two of you up to? I swear to God, if you are playing Happy Couple with my daughter … Still staring at the red light while simultaneously strangling the telephone, Julia somehow managed to get her emotions reasonably under control. “Never mind ... It's a left turn, and I'll lose them on the interstate if I miss the light!” There was a hint of panic in her voice, and she prayed that Pris and Ian would attribute it to her fear of missing the lousy red light. And to make matters worse, she really, really did need to pee. Does anybody in one of those car chase scenes ever need a toilet break? How the hell did Steve McQueen manage to stay dry bouncing around San Francisco that way? Oh, hell, he was probably wearing a diaper … “No, you won't. If they're heading for the junction and you take the wrong highway, the signal will change dramatically. Remember, with both vehicles on the move, it is far more sensitive than it was with you stationary in that parking lot.” And just where did you field test this doohickey? Behind the Iron Curtain? “But the rate of separation … I'll lose the signal in a matter of seconds ...” Priscilla … baby … what have you got yourself into? “Doesn't matter. Reverse course at the first off ramp, and give it the gas. You'll reacquire it when you close in. Worst comes to worst, you set up a search pattern using city streets. Trust me about this, Julia … it's not my first rodeo.” Oh, trust me, that's obvious! Now, where, oh where, did that 'aw shucks' shtick of yours get to? Riddle me that, Batman! “Hold on! Light's changed … got to go!!” Julia dropped the phone, willing the light to stay green as the vehicles ahead of her inched their way through the slush to start down the westbound ramp. As it turned out, hers was the last car to make the turn, and she got a good look at the drivers in the three vehicles ahead of her. You have got to be kidding me ... Holding onto the steering wheel with one hand, her foot dancing back and forth between the accelerator and brake pedals, trying to keep her eyes on the road … Julia felt around for the phone. “Pris … Honey, are you still there?” “Still here, Mom. Just giving my Secret Agent Man a hug and a kiss for a job well done.” “Young lady, I will talk with you about Professor Grady later!” Lord, give me strength! Would someone care to explain how, in a span of less than seventy two hours, my hitherto calm, sensible daughter has gone and fallen madly in love with a crippled vet who's spent years wandering the world doing God only knows what for his country ... “Right now, I need you to call your father. It's unbelievable. I ran into two girls yesterday when traipsing around town in the wake of the Lullaby van. Well, guess what! They're driving a different car, but it's them! They're the diaper thieves! Call Dad, and tell him that I need a local address for the girl he ran through the DMV yesterday-- Tippi Anne Bjornsen of New Ulm!” And what do they call your boyfriend at headquarters … Double Oh Diaper Man, Licensed to Kill? Who should I call first … Rod Serling, or Mike Wallace? CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “No need to bother Dad.” CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … Julia knew that her daughter was laughing her head off, and she could have sworn that she could hear Ian doing a play by play in the background. “Ian … um … Professor Grady … is pretty sure that he knows the young lady in question. She's a student, Mom-- and a sorority girl! So, congratulations! You've cracked the case, and now you get to inform Spats Belmondo that he's the victim of a typical sorority stunt pulled off by a bunch of enterprising juvenile delinquents!” Oh, lucky me … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Julia, head for sorority row; we'll meet you there.” Well, at least he hasn't forgotten how to issue orders. Nice to meet you, Major … CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP, CHEEP … “Pris can read them their rights, maybe place them under arrest. I'm thinking that a night in the slammer would probably do this crew some good!” “Book 'em, Danno!” It was a great line, but unfortunately Ian had already hung up the phone. Julia increasingly had to concentrate on her driving. Heading north on the interstate, there was now only one car separating her from the target vehicle. If it changed lanes, she would be fully visible, and the Bjornsen girl would no doubt recognize her beater if she bothered to look in the mirror. Julia slowed down, willing another car to slide in front of her. CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP, CH..E..EP … When the phone rang again, it was with a sense of genuine resignation that Julia picked up. She had a pretty good idea who was calling, and what she was going to say. “Mom, I just got off the phone with Chief Mischof. I've got an address for you. Ready?” “Fire away.” Priscilla did so, and promised to meet her there, but she went on casually to add that first she had to take Ian upstairs and change his diaper, which was certainly wet and possibly poopy. Remembering her conversation in Rita's office just a few hours earlier, Julia was sorely tempted to ask her daughter if she would need a few extra minutes to feed him his ba bas as well, but she decided that this was a conversation best not conducted while driving fifty five miles an hour on the interstate. But it is a conversation we are going to have, daughter of mine; oh yes, we are! “Aargh,” Julia screamed as she repeatedly pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Is she kinky? Is she kinky, and we simply missed it? CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … And where is this relationship headed? CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP, CH …... EEP … Where...? CH.....E.....EP ...
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