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AARDVARK, PLATYPUS, AND TWINKLETOES: ATTORNEYS AT LAW, SCENES 6-8

 

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.”

 

CHILDREN OF THE HEART

 

“What's going on,” Ruby asked scornfully; “Homecoming at the lockup?  You da Homecoming Queen, cutie pie?”

 

Baffled, Melanie looked to Tippi for an explanation.  She had no idea what the skank in the slutty dress was talking about.

 

“A hooker,” Tippi shrugged; “semi-permanent resident.  She's been schooling us on what to expect in the morning.”

 

“And it's not the sort of thing we learn in the classroom,” Cindy giggled.  “Anyway, how's it going on the home front?”

 

“You didn't tell them?”  Melanie was looking at Janis, shocked that she hadn't brought their sisters up to speed.

 

“What was I supposed to say, Mel?  Maybe you know how to answer Cindy's question.  I don't.”  Janis was sitting on the edge of a fold down bunk, holding her head in her hands, trying as best she could to hide from the world.

 

“Chief Mischof, that female detective, and Professor Grady laid it out for us, and they didn't pull any punches.  The DA was there in person, and the four of them worked up a deal.  The whole sorority does community service as hospital volunteers until we graduate.  We get hit with a big fine, which means our parents get hit with a big fine.  We'll all be on probation, and have to keep our noses clean-- no more drinking, no drugs, no parties, no nothing.  Hit the books, get the house's GPA out of the dumps, and our records will be wiped clean.”

 

“Pretty predictable,” Tippi mused, “and nothing we can't live with.”

 

“There's one more thing.  Because we seem to have such a hard on for diapers, they've decided that we're all going to wear them 24/7 until we graduate … wear them and use them.  We're losing our toilet privileges.”

 

“Hoo boy,” Ruby clapped, “ain't that a hoot?  You hear that, ladies?  We done sharing this cell with a bunch of babies!”

 

The other four miscreants were hooting and laughing so hard that two of them were bent over, swearing that they were going to bust a gut.

 

“You all'd look so pretty in them pink baby dresses,” Ruby crowed, “crawling on the floor and all.  And I know some boys that'd just love to have you suck on their binkies.  For sure, my home boys'd teach you a thing or two!  Hoo boy!”

 

“How'd they nail you?”  Tippi chose to ignore the ruckus.

 

“I confessed,” Melanie answered, strangely proud of the decision that she had made.  “Tip, we didn't just rip off the diaper service; we ripped off a mobster named Spats Belmondo ,,,”

 

“You ripped off the wood chipper king?”  Ruby licked her lips, and grinned wickedly.  “Hoo boy, you ladies thought you wuz in trouble before?  Well, now you got trouble!  Dat Spats, he one mean mother fukker.  He gonna put your asses to hooking in the streets, get you a pimp weigh about three hundred pounds when he dieting, a pimp who'll beat some manners into you.  And when you all dried out and used up, then he gonna feed you to the wood chipper.  That's his specialty … the wood chipper!”

 

“Professor Grady thinks that our best shot to get out of this alive is to become his customers … get our diapers every week from Lullaby.  He makes money and we get humiliated.  Considering the alternative, I'm doing it.”

 

“And the others?”

 

“Eleven of the girls who don't know the score are bailing, some in the morning, some at the end of term.  But five others are confessing to a crime they didn't commit, and everybody who's in the know is going to plead guilty as well.  If you're in, that's forty-one of us.  Safety in numbers.”

 

“But how?”  Cindy couldn't comprehend what she was hearing.  “I mean, how did he persuade the five to go along with this?  It doesn't make any sense!”

 

“It would if you had been there.”  Janis lifted her head and stared at the others.  “That poor man … we found out that he married a girl in Viet Nam, moved into her village, and they had a baby.  But when he was wounded and put in the hospital for all those months, the men under him moved on, leaving the village defenseless.  And somebody attacked it.  They slaughtered everyone, Cindy … his wife and sister-in-law, the rest of his family, the whole village … everyone except the babies and the little children.  He thinks that someone who knew that he could speak all those languages found out that he had a baby, and thought that it would be very valuable … a real prize, but they didn't know who to look for.  So they took all the kids, and slaughtered everyone else to keep the secret hidden.  For years, he's been looking for his daughter all over the world, him and the CIA both.  Everybody seems to think that the little girl could be turned into a really dangerous weapon if she can absorb languages the way he does.”

 

“I still don't get it,” Tippi cut in.  “What does any of this have to do with us wearing diapers?”

 

“He said … he told us that we all have the family we're born into, and the family we choose.  He asked each of us to think about whether we're a family, real sisters, or just a bunch of strangers living under the same roof for a few years, never to see one another again after we graduate.  I'd never thought about it before, but when he said it … the answer was obvious, to me and most of the others.  The house … we're a family, Tip, a real family, and we're going to stick up for one another, just like real families do.  Forty-one of us are going to plead guilty and take our punishment.  That's a lot of diapers, Tip, and a lot of money going into his pockets.” 

 

“So, we're going to buy him off.”  Tippi began walking back and forth in the limited confines of the cell, thinking it over.  “It's a shitty plan ...”

 

Cindy audibly groaned, not at all sure whether Tippi was being too clever by half.

 

“But it's better than no plan at all,” she finished.  “All right; if that's the deal, we're going to take it.”

 

“Are we all going before the judge,” Cindy wanted to know.  Forty one members of ZAP could easily turn the courtroom into a madhouse.

 

“Yeah,” Melanie answered.  “The Chief and the professor are going to talk with the judge about making it a closed hearing so that the press won't get a hold of our names.  Professor Grady … he's some kind of CIA agent.  The Batgirl calls him her Secret Agent Man … and talk about being in love!  She'd crawl over broken glass if that's what it took to save him!  Anyway, he seems to have a lot of pull.  I mean, he snapped his fingers and the District Attorney came running … the DA himself!  So, there's a good chance he can pull this off.  I hope so!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Excuse me, Professor.”

 

Ian was quietly engaged in conversation with a quartet who had opted to plead guilty, and were awaiting their turn to be ferried downtown.  He had now had several such conversations, and in each case he had been deeply touched by the shows of sympathy and the occasional hug that awaited him.  Twice, he had taken out his wallet, and passed the photo of his family around the circle.  Each time, the poignancy of the moment brought tears to young and foolish eyes.

 

Bernice held up his diaper bag, which Priscilla had passed to her before making a run downtown.

 

“Officer Canon wanted me to remind you to call your fiancee, and let her know where you are.  Have you made plans to get home tonight?”

 

“No,” he confessed.  “It never occurred to us that we would get caught up in something like this.”

 

“Well, we do have a guest room, and now that we have your things, you are welcome to stay the night.  I can even offer you a toiletry kit, courtesy of one of the airlines.”

 

“Bernice, thank you, but I don't want to be a nuisance.”

 

“Actually, Professor, you would be doing me a favor.  If the girls are locked up, this house is going to be virtually empty … more so than at any other time in the twenty-five years that I've lived here.”

 

“Did … uh ...did Officer Canon pass you the key to my diaper cover?”

 

“She did,” Bernice smiled, “along with strict instructions to change you myself, and then lock you up again before putting you to bed.  Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

 

“I wish I could say that we're just having some good, old fashioned kinky fun,” Ian lamented with a sigh, “but the truth is that I risk a sciatic attack every time I change my diapers, especially the poopy ones.  So, my fiancee came up with the idea of using a locking cover to take matters out of my hands.  She wants me to become comfortable with having other people change me.  I must say, her plan does seem to be working.”

 

“I see.”  Then Bernice grinned knowingly.  “But would I be right in guessing that she does not want me to pass this key on to one of my charges … let a sorority girl do the honors?”

 

Ian exploded with laughter.  “Let's just say that Sarah is not on board with scalp hunting!     Nor does she trust me, and with good reason.  Every time that I smile at a woman roughly my age, and she smiles back?  I fall in love!”

 

“And where does this leave Officer Canon?  A person would have to be blind not to see that the two of you are madly in love!”

 

“Well, Sarah is already sharing me with two of her friends, and I've come up with a devious plan to persuade her to add Priscilla to our household.  And before you go there?  

Priscilla is keen on the idea.”

 

“Which leaves her parents ...”

 

“Working on it.”

 

“Right, then.  Go say goodnight to Chief Mischof, and remind the girls that you will be there in the morning to wave your magic wand and make everything come out all right.  Then, I'll show you to your room, change you, and tuck you in.  But promise me that you will call this Sarah of yours.  You don't want her to be up all night worrying about you.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian!!

 

When the phone rang, this was the first thought to run through Sarah's sleep fogged brain.  In the darkness, with Vickie's head resting peacefully upon her chest, she could not reach the phone or the lamp on her nightstand.  As gently as she could, she eased Vickie onto the pillow. 

 

The phone kept ringing.  She was sure, now, that it was Ian.

 

“Hello,” she whispered.  Glancing at her alarm clock, still drowsy, she was surprised to see that it was not even ten o'clock.  “Ian?”

 

“Is this Sarah?”  A woman's voice.

 

“Yes … yes … who?”

 

“Sarah, my name is Bernice Miller.  I'm the house mom for the Zeta Alpha Pi sorority.  Ian is here.  Professor Grady and the Canons, mother and daughter, traced the stolen diapers to this property, and now, in concert with Chief Mischof of our campus police department and the District Attorney, they are trying to keep this from turning into a circus.  Fully forty-one of the fifty-two girls in this house will plead guilty in court tomorrow morning.  If you turn on WPPP for the local news at ten, at some point I should imagine you will see some of what has been going on over here.”

 

“Ian.  You say that he is there, in your house?”

 

“Yes.  Sarah, it's late, he has no transport, and between classes and the court appearance, he is going to have a busy morning.  We're calling to let you know that he will be staying here overnight; we have a guest room that over the years has accommodated many a stranded parent, so it's not an inconvenience.”

 

“Can I speak with him, please?”

 

“Of course; I'll put him on … but don't hang up when you're finished.  We have more to discuss.”

 

“Mommy?”

 

Vickie had slowly come awake, and realized that Ian was on the phone-- Ian and someone else.

 

“Shhh, baby girl; let me talk to Ian first.  You can speak to him when I'm done.”

 

“Hello.” 

 

Sarah recognized his voice instantly.  “Are you okay?”

 

“It's been a long day and an even longer night, and I had another seizure, but Priscilla did exactly what Vickie taught her to do, so I wasn't out very long.”

 

“Oh, Ian ...”  Sarah choked, the words caught momentarily in her throat.  “This can't go on,” she finally managed to say.  “What happened?”

 

“It was just another frat house stunt, but it's put some of the girls in serious trouble.  They were at each other's throats in the dining room, about to make a terrible decision that in time some of them would come bitterly to regret, so I … I … I told them what happened to me in Viet Nam … what happens when you fail the family you choose … I didn't want them to repeat my mistakes, but just talking about mine … trying to persuade them to choose more wisely than I did … triggered the episode.  One moment I was fine, and the next it felt like I was being sucked into a whirlpool, and I ended up … one second I was talking about the last battle, and the next I was living it.  Again.”

 

“Mommy?”  Vickie's voice was much more insistent.  She knew that something was wrong, and knew that it involved Ian.

 

“He's had another seizure,” Putting her hand over the mouthpiece and wanting to keep Vickie calm, Sarah made it an offhand remark.  “But he's okay.”

 

In response, Vickie simply held out her hand.  She wanted to speak with Ian, and she wanted to do it now.

 

“Vickie's here,” Sarah said as she returned to the phone.  “She wants to speak with you.”

 

Sarah passed Vickie the phone.

 

“Vix, it was another seizure, but Priscilla had everything under control.  You taught her well.”  Like Sarah, Ian didn't want Vickie to jump off the deep end.

 

“Ian, this is the third time in six days.  We have got to get on top of this before it happens when there's no one around to help you.  I want you back in the ward, where we can safely use Princess Poopy Pants to take you deeper.  The sooner, the better.”

 

“Sunday morning,” Ian suggested, knowing that the revelations he would deliver to the Circle on Saturday night might end more than one relationship.  “Please put Sarah back on.”

 

“Bernice wants to talk with you again,” he said as he passed the phone.

 

“About his diapers,” Bernice began.  “My first thought was simply to change him, and then leave.  But after he told me that you're an RN, I changed my mind.  I'd like you to walk me through this.”

 

“Do you have the key to his diaper cover?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good.  Simply insert it.  It will attach to the lock, and pull it out.  Don't let him interfere when you're changing him-- and don't hesitate to slap his hands aside if necessary.  For the rest, it's just like changing a baby … there's really no difference.  When you're finished, reinsert the lock, and you will hear it click into place.”

 

“Anything else?”

 

“Yes.  If you look in the side pockets of his diaper bag, you should find four bottles of breast milk.  Warm up two now and two in the morning, and bottle feed him just like you would any other infant.  If you can manage it, cradle him in your arms and treat him to your version of baby talk.  I know it sounds silly, but this is an important part of his therapy.  To get past these seizures, we have to regress him to infancy.”

 

“I understand.  Your fiance is an extraordinary man, Sarah, and I want to help.”

 

“One more thing.  He's due for an over the knee spanking.  If he gives you any trouble, I'd like you to give him twenty hard spanks before you feed him his ba bas.  Think you can do that?”

 

“Easily,” Bernice laughed.  “You'd be amazed to discover how many times I've delivered an over the knee spanking in this house!”

 

Bernice winked at Ian as she hung up the phone.

 

“I think we've found another sitter for little baby Ian,” Sarah grinned as she rolled over and pulled Vickie close.  She had thoroughly enjoyed changing her baby girl's wet and messy diaper at bedtime, and she was confident that the diuretics and laxatives would continue to work their magic during the night.  Reduced to infancy, a hopelessly incontinent Victoria Robinson would finally receive the love and attention she so clearly craved.

 

For her part, as she returned to sleep Vickie opened her mouth and latched onto her mommy's breast.  As she nursed, Sarah could feel a stirring in her body that wasn't sexual.  She was certain that in time she would begin producing the milk that her babies required.

 

.  .  .  .

 

“And the hits, they just ah keep on ah coming!”  Hands on hips, Ruby was shaking her head in mock disappointment.  “Look, ladies, we got us three more of dem babies to play with!  Oh, yes we do!”

 

Ruby's four friends, all of them veterans of jailhouse row, were gleeful.  “I want that tall, skinny one,” one of them declared as she pointed her finger at Tippi.  “Her tongue as long as her legs, we gonna have ourselves a good, old time!”

 

“Hail, hail, the Council's here,” Tippi muttered as Joyce Wiggins, Kimberly Doyle and Amanda Cunningham piled in, the door slamming loudly shut behind them.  The three newcomers were as wide eyed as Janis had been upon arrival, but Tippi knew that they would settle down soon enough.  Misery, after all, did thrive on company.

 

“The press is having a field day.”  Kimberly wanted to bring Tippi and Cindy up to date.  “We'll be all over the news at ten, and the campus cops love us.  They're hauling us over two to a squad car, which adds up to a lot of overtime.  The Batgirl started at seven this morning, and she's still going strong.  Can you imagine what that's gonna do to her paycheck?”

 

“What I'm trying not to imagine is what my parents are going to do to my ass,” Cindy spat out through gritted teeth.  “They watch the news at ten, and my Dad is going to go ballistic.  When he gets to work in the morning?  He'll probably find a pile of bibs, baby bottles and diapers sitting on his desk, with a note to the effect that everybody wanted to pitch in for my layette.  And Mom will make me use them.  My life is in the toilet.”

 

“Well, since our social life has been flushed, on the plus side at least we'll have a lot of time to hit the books.”  Joyce was determined to find the silver lining.  “We might actually graduate!”

 

“Legacies,” Melanie groaned; “why did they have to put me in a cell with Legacies?”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Just out of curiosity, how many?”

 

“Spanks, you mean?”

 

Ian simply nodded.

 

“Twenty hard ones.  Your mommy says that you're a very naughty baby, and that if you give me any trouble … any trouble at all … I'm to put you straight over my knee.  I've meted out many a spanking in this house, and speaking frankly, I rather enjoy it.  So, I'm going to change your diapee, and put you to bed with a couple of nice, warm bottles of breast milk-- and if you do give me any trouble, straight over my knee you'll go.  Are you going to give auntie Bernice any trouble, baby?”

 

“Uh … nope … going to be good as gold.  My bottom has still not recovered from the paddling that I got yesterday!”

 

“Then let's get to it.  Am I supposed to undress you like a baby?”

 

Again, Ian nodded.  He figured that the less said, the better.

 

Bernice removed his coat, necktie and shirt, unbuckled and dropped his pants, then ordered him to sit on the edge of the bed so that she could remove his shoes and socks.  When his trousers had also been set aside, she had him stand so that she could examine his thickly padded bottom.  She tried, and failed, to get so much as a finger inside the waist band of his heavy canvas diaper cover.  She nodded with approval.

 

“This is impressive,” she remarked; “in fact, I'd like to buy a few to keep on hand.  They would definitely come in handy.”

 

Again, Ian said nothing.

 

“I've had quite a few bedwetters living here over the years,” she went on, “and they have all fallen into one of two groups.  The first are the ones who know that they need to wear protection, and don't make a fuss about it.  These I can trust to manage the problem on their own.  But the second group?  These are the girls that swear it was just an accident, and won't ever happen again.  Well, it won't, at least not in this house, because I diaper them myself, and finish off with a pair of locking baby pants.  It means extra work in the morning, but the savings on ruined bedding and mattresses makes it worth it.”

 

“So, this is what my girls are going to be wearing from now on,” Bernice mused as she ran her fingers over the impenetrable canvas.  “Well, it looks like I'm going to be cleaning a lot of messy bottoms.”

 

“The logistics is the one part of this I don't have figured out.”  Ian figured that he was back on safe ground.  “Things will sort themselves out when they're at the hospitals, but you're going to need help here, and I haven't a clue how we see to their changes on campus.  Setting this up is going to be a real challenge.”

 

Rummaging around in Ian's diaper bag, Bernice had no difficulty finding the baby bottles, powder and wipes, but she also came up with a pacifier, which she triumphantly held aloft.

 

“Babies don't need to think about such matters,” she said dismissively as she waved a warning finger in front of Ian's eyes.  “Now, no more talk.  Suck on your binkie like a good baby, and don't even think about taking it out, unless you really do want me to spank you.  Do you?”

 

“No, auntie Bernice; I'll be good.”  Ian was beginning to wonder whether every female on the planet had a barely concealed spanking fetish.  Not at all sure whether Bernice was serious or just playing around, he opened wide.

 

“Be back in a moment.”  Bernice dashed into the office to collect a diaper pail and a changing pad, which sported enough stains to make it clear that it had seen plenty of use.  Unlocking and removing Ian's diaper cover and baby pants, with a grimace she waved her hand in front of her nose.

 

“Definitely messy,” she declared.  Bernice spread the pad across the bed, and ordered Ian to lie down.  Gingerly opening the diaper and surveying the damage, she wasn't at all sure that she had enough wet wipes, but she set to work with a will.  Surprisingly, however, it was easy to clean the mushy poop off of Ian's bottom.

 

“Breast milk does have its advantages,” she murmured to herself as she methodically scrubbed his diaper area, paying especial attention to the folds of his skin.

 

“And I love your diaper,” she commented.  “It's so thick, and it looks to be super absorbent.  Too bad that we can't get these from the diaper service; it would cut down on the workload.”

 

Why didn't I think of that?  Spats will need to add to the inventory to outfit all his new customers …

 

These hospital diapers are good quality, and the girls won't be able to conceal them … he'll love the humiliation factor …

 

Got to put him in touch with whoever does the ordering for the hospital … just one more carrot to ward off the stick!

 

When she was powdering his behind, Bernice paused.  The bruising was mottled, some of it an ugly shade of purple.  She wondered whether this Sarah person actually knew what she was doing.

 

“I'm glad that you're staying here tonight,” she went on.  “And that you are being such a good baby.  Another spanking you definitely do not need.”

 

When she pulled them back up, Bernice carefully inspected Ian's vinyl pants.  There were no telltale poop stains-- still another endorsement of the four pin method.  The diaper cover quickly followed; the lock slid in easily, and slammed home with a satisfying click.

 

“There,” she said as she helped him to his feet.  “Let me have your binkie … ah, such a good baby.”  She sat it on the nightstand, and pointed Ian in the direction of the bathroom.  “Can you brush your teeth, baby, or do you want your auntie to do it for you?”

 

“I think I can manage,” Ian grinned.

 

“Then get to it while I go warm up your bottles.  When you're finished, park that cute little butt of yours on the couch.  I'm going to feed you just like any other baby.”  With that, Bernice left for the kitchen.

 

THE LONELY NIGHTS OF LONG AGO

 

“Good evening, Chief Mischof.”  As Suzie watched, two more of the girls were brought out of the house, locked into the back of a squad car, and driven downtown.  “What, no need for a SWAT team?  How disappointing for you.”  Like so many in the surrounding houses, Suzie had drifted over to find out what was going on.

 

“Good evening, Miss Marshall,” the Chief calmly replied.  “And yes, everything's under control.  Just another sorority stunt, although particularly well planned and executed … a gang running around town stealing diapers off of people's front porches.  Alas, the diaper service in question is a Mafia operation, and the mobster in charge is a rather nasty piece of work.  Thankfully, Professor Grady is confident that he can make Spats Belmondo an offer that he can't refuse, so there are forty-one girls here that hopefully will be living to see another day.”

 

“Forty-one?  Chief, that's virtually the whole sorority!”

 

“All but eleven, and the fact that five of the girls are pleading guilty to a crime of which they had no knowledge is a testament to the Professor's persuasiveness.”

 

“This is surreal!  How did Ian get involved?”

 

“His was the last batch of diapers stolen.  But there was a tracking device in the bag, and it led us straight here.  As the saying goes, we caught them with their hands in the cookie jar.”

 

“I should speak with Bernice.  How's she taking it?”

 

“All but frothing at the mouth.  You know the drill: a meeting with the Dean at eight for the ceremonial dressing down, and then the three of us will be heading downtown for the court hearing.”

 

“The three … who?”  Suzie was more than a little confused.

 

“Bernice, Professor Grady, and yours truly.  I'm looking forward to seeing the Professor  in action; this guy's got some serious chops.”

 

“He's … he's still here?  He hasn't gone home?”

 

“Bernice is offering to put him up for the night.  Hope he accepts 'cause at the moment I haven't got anyone who can drive him back to his place.”

 

“If he needs a ride, I'll take care of it.”

 

“Thanks, Suzie.”  The Chief looked her over shrewdly.  He was good at reading people, and the more the Pi Iota Sigma house mom danced around the subject of Professor Ian Grady, the more obvious her feelings for him became.  “And thanks for helping us fend off the headhunters.  Now that Grady has come to an agreement with Marilyn Marsden, I'm hoping that next week things will get back to normal around here.”

 

“He's hired an agent?”  The news took Suzie completely by surprise.  “Does … does that mean that we're going to lose him?”

 

“I hope not, because if he goes, Officer Canon will be going with him.”

 

“WHAT,” Suzie squealed; “what does the Batgirl have to do with this?”

 

“The Batgirl?”  Walt had a huge grin on his face.

 

“Sorry.  That's … uh … that's her nickname.”

 

“Pretty good one,” he conceded.  “Anyway, Grady had one of the seizures that Professor Lessing warned me about.  He was pleading with the girls to come together as a family, not tear each other apart, and he pulled back the curtain and let them see the mistakes that he made in Viet Nam, and how much they've cost him.  And in the midst of it all, down he went.  Priscilla knew what to do, so he wasn't out for very long-- but long enough for it to be obvious to anyone with half a brain that she's deeply in love.”

 

“But he's engaged,” Suzie protested, “and the Batgirl knows it!  What is she doing?”

 

“Don't have a clue how it's all going to turn out,” the Chief shrugged.  “But for now, why don't you go up to the house, tackle Bernice, and find out where we stand.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Suzie paused in the entrance and scanned the dining room.  There were less than two dozen girls sitting around, most with dejected looks on their faces.  A few officers were also present to maintain order, but in fact they were simply standing around: there was nothing for them to do.

 

“Does anyone know where Bernice is?”

 

“I think she's in the kitchen,” one of the girls replied in a dead voice.

 

“Thanks,” Suzie said as she turned away.  She had been in the house many times over the years because Bernice Miller was Fraternity Row's doyenne.  The house moms and dads came to her for advice, and when they had to assemble for a group meeting, it was in her dining room.  Suzie had long thought it bitterly ironic that the Row's most seasoned and pragmatic parent presided over a house that was forever on the edge of academic disqualification.

 

“Knock, knock.”

 

Bernice looked back over her shoulder, and smiled when she saw Suzie.  She well remembered the undergraduate who had so boldly carved a path through the male faculty during her senior year, setting a scalp hunting record that still stood twelve years later.  And Bernice admired the passion with which Suzie defended the houses against all comers, her never ending crusade to compel a self-interested administration and faculty to concede that a critical part of the education preparing the child for adulthood occurred outside the classroom.

 

“I'll give them full marks for creativity,” Suzie giggled.  “Running around town stealing diapers ranks right up there with that time the Deltas nabbed a billy goat and smuggled it into the Dean's office.”

 

“Or that time the Gammas released all those fireflies in the chemistry lab, then set off the fire alarm,” Bernice laughed.  “I don't think the fire department has ever forgiven us.”

 

Bernice removed one of the baby bottles from the pot of boiling water, and tested the temperature on her wrist.

 

“Is there a baby in the house?”  Suzie was wide eyed with curiosity.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Bernice coyly replied, as she removed the second bottle.

 

“Oh, come on!  Don't keep me in suspense!  Give!”

 

“Professor Grady.  He's staying the night in our guest room, and his girlfriend instructed me in no uncertain terms to change his diaper, feed him his bottles … breast milk, no less … and give him a good, hard spanking if he gives me any lip.  Much to my disappointment, he has behaved like an angel.”

 

“Unbelievable!”

 

“Believe it.   And believe this, too: inside that diaper lurks a beautifully firm, shapely ass that just cries out for a spanking.  You have no idea how badly I want to put him over my knee, but for now I'll have to settle for cradling him in my arms and giving him his ba bas.”

 

“Unless … Suzie, would you like to nurse him?  There's no one holding down the fort in the dining room, and at the very least the girls deserve my moral support.”

 

“I'd love to!  But I don't want to surprise him; you should ask.”

 

“I will.  But if he agrees … Suzie, I was getting him ready for bed, so right now all he's wearing is an undershirt to go with the diaper, baby pants and canvas cover.  I have to warn you … there's a lot of scarring, and some of it is pretty bad.  But in some ways it's the scarring you can't see that's much worse … the emotional scarring.  He's had a very rough night, so he needs to be comforted.”

 

“Walt said that he had a seizure … that he was begging the girls to stick together, not turn on one another.  It looks like he really got to them.”

 

“He did.”

 

“And yet you want to spank him?”

 

“Very much so.”

 

“I don't get it, Bernice.  You say that you want to spank him, and in the next breath, that he needs comforting.”

 

“It looks like his girlfriend took a paddle to him last night.  Bad move, that, because it instills fear.  But a spanking, properly administered, absolves guilt-- and this poor guy is awash in it.  He'll sleep better tonight if we can take some of it away from him.”

 

“Ah … so that's why you have handed out so many spankings over the years!  A girl does something bad, gets caught, and you spank her not just to punish her but also to get the guilt out of her system before it takes root.  That's clever!”

 

“It doesn't work on every girl, but it works often enough to make it worth doing.  Now, stay here, and I'll check on the Professor, and see how he feels about all this.”

 

.  .  .  .

 

“Check out the hunk,” Cindy whistled as she nudged Melanie in the ribs.  “Man o' man, gimme some of that!”

 

The hunk was striding purposefully down the corridor, a tall, well tanned specimen with chiseled features and incredible hair.  His suit was tailored, both his tie and his shoes imported.

 

“Forget it,” Melanie warned; “that's Hamilton Burger in disguise.”

 

“Oh,” Cindy groaned, her enthusiasm already deflated.

 

The hunk walked up to their cell, and curled his lip in a well practiced sneer.

 

“I'm District Attorney Ballstrom; which one of you is Bjornsen?”

 

Tippi wearily raised her hand.

 

“Miss Bjornsen, we're still processing your cellmates, but the consensus of opinion is that you're the brains of this outfit.  Tomorrow morning, I have the unenviable task of parading the forty-one of you before a judge, but I need one of you to speak for the others.  You've been nominated, and considering that you're the only one with a rap sheet, you'd be my choice as well.  You staying off the booze, or do I need to report you to your parole officer?”

 

The others stared openly at Tippi.  Even Ruby was paying attention.

 

“A DWI,” she confessed.  “And yes, I was well and truly smashed.  I learned my lesson.”

 

“And you're about to learn another one.  Here's the deal; it's got the standard elements: community service, which Professor Grady will set up for you at local hospitals.  A fine large enough to make your parents pay attention; twenty-five hundred each has a nice ring to it.  Probation until you graduate, with an interesting twist.  Professor Grady is big on the idea of family, so he wants me to make all of you jointly responsible for getting the house GPA up to three point one, or you'll all be going before the judge a second time.”

 

Melanie audibly gasped, and Cindy turned pale.

 

The District Attorney glared at them.

 

“You good with that, Bjornsen,” he barked.

 

Tippi nodded her head.  “We can't salvage this term, but I'll commit the house to a three one starting next term”

 

“Works for me.  Now, we get to the bit that could break this whole deal unless we work together and sell it to the judge, because he ain't gonna like it.  All of you are going to become good, paying customers of Lullaby Diaper Service.  You'll wear 'em, and you'll use 'em, until you graduate.  The Professor and your house mom will work out the details, like who's going to wipe your fannies, where and when.  Not my problem, nor the judge's.  The Professor's confident that he can keep Spats Belmondo out of your hair if you agree, so are you in or out?”

 

“In,” Tippi acknowledged.

 

“Good.  You will note that I am not at all curious about what motivated you to pull this cockamamie stunt, but the judge may have a question or two.  I suggest that you ladies put your heads together and come up with something plausible.  See you in court.”

 

“Shit,” Tippi muttered when the DA took his leave, “diapers.”

 

“A three one GPA,” Cindy moaned.  “A three point one!  The Titanic had better odds after it hit the iceberg!”

 

.  .  .  .

 

Ian looked up when Bernice returned, her hands empty.

 

“Suzie's here, Ian.  She's in the kitchen, tending to your baby bottles.”

 

“Well, I guess that cat's out of the bag.”  Ian could only shake his head in disbelief: how could all the women in his life treat his bottle feedings so casually?

 

“Look, I can't be two places at once, and the girls need me.  I asked Suzie to feed you, and she's willing, but not if it will make you uncomfortable.”

 

“Seriously, Bernice?  Seriously?  I like Suzie, but I doubt if she knows one end of a baby bottle from the other.  Maybe I should just go to bed.”

 

“After you've had your ba bas, not before.  The question remains: Suzie wants to help, but will you be gracious enough to accept her offer?”

 

“Why not?”  Ian was already resigned to his fate; if Suzie was going to tell the whole campus that he was dining on bottle fed breast milk, there was nothing that he could do about it.  “Sure.  By all means.  Show her in.”

 

Bernice turned to walk away, but then paused.  “Ian, she doesn't know.  Walt and I are dancing around what happened to your wife and daughter, and I'll do my best to have the girls respect your privacy, but there are no guarantees.  'Minnesota nice' is not an empty slogan, so be prepared.  If the word gets out, an awful lot of women are going to offer you a shoulder to cry on.”

 

Bernice quietly exited the room.

 

“Some Secret Agent Man,” Ian said to himself, thinking about the nickname that Pris had given him.  “There's not an intelligence agency on the planet that doesn't have a file on me about as thick as the Manhattan Yellow Pages, so why should the people I care about be kept out of the loop?  Who am I fooling, anyway?”

 

Ian slammed his fist into a throw pillow, but it refused to fight back.  He ached to find out who had slaughtered Nguyen, and taken Linh and Thu.  All the talk about wood chippers was giving him ideas.

 

“Hi.”  Suzie's voice was soft and tentative.  She was standing in the doorway, oddly unsure of herself, clutching a baby bottle in each hand.  The room was in semi-darkness.

“If you want me to leave ...”

 

“No.”  Ian stood up, and crossed the room to give her a brief hug.  “Thank you for coming.  It's been one of those nights.”  He led her back to the couch.

 

Fully dressed, Suzie was acutely aware that Ian was only wearing his t shirt and diaper.  She had fantasized about this moment, but reality and fantasy were two very different things. 

 

Setting one of the bottles aside, Suzie hesitated, then lowered her hand to Ian's thigh. 

 

Bernice was right about the scarring.

 

“Oddly enough, I never felt it.  Oh, the round knocked me down, but I never felt it.”  Ian gently pressed his hand on top of Suzie's, and patted it with his fingers.  “Somehow, I managed to get back on my feet.  One of my men was down, and I had to get to him.  It seemed like a good day to die.”

 

In that moment, like spun glass dropped from on high, Suzie's heart shattered.  Never again would she think of him as Diaper Butt, and the idea of scalping him suddenly nauseated her.

 

“I want you to lay with your head in my lap,” she whispered.  “I'm going to feed you, then put you to bed.  The Chief says that you're going to have a long day tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah, a long day and a long night.”  Ian stretched out on the couch as best he could, waiting for Suzie to cradle him in her arms.  She slipped the nipple into his mouth, and he began instantly to nurse.  The breast milk was still too sweet, but the taste no longer disgusted him.  He closed his eyes, the tension beginning to drain from his limbs.

 

Suzie watched him, and felt his body go limp in her arms.  Cradling him felt incredibly similar to cradling an infant.  She wanted to ask him what it was all about, wanted him to explain how he could allow himself to be treated this way, but she didn't want to spoil the moment.

 

Ian fell into a light sleep, the warm milk working its magic, but he continued to nurse, gradually finishing first one bottle and then the other.  Suzie knew that she should burp him, but she didn't know how to go about it, so instead she chose quietly to sit there, occasionally running her fingers through his hair.  When she spotted the pacifier, she touched it to his lips.

 

He opened his mouth, and welcomed it as if he was embracing a long, lost friend.

 

Suzie did not know how much time had passed when Bernice finally returned.  Together, the two women managed to get him up from the couch, and taking his weight between them, put him to bed.

 

He was still suckling on his pacifier when Bernice turned out the lamp, and quietly shut the door to allow him to rest.

 

.  .  .  .

 

One by one, the girls gave up the fight, and dropped to the filthy floors of their various cells.  Kimberly fell asleep with her back against the wall, her head drooping.   Janis Marsden fell asleep with her head cradled in Kimberly's lap, her arm lightly clutching her legs.  For her part, Kimberly's arm rested lightly on Janis' back.  As she slept, and without any awareness of her actions, Kimberly occasionally patted her younger sister, calming troubled dreams, and offering a measure of comfort.       

        

 

 

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