UNINFORMED AND UNIFORMED by C. Lakewood JENNY AND BARBIE MEET THE SHERIFF AND ARE INTRODUCED TO PADDYWELL. Part 6 As he dialed the phone, Fred Dobbs whistled a brief, merry tune -- something he recalled hearing recently at the Mayfair Burlesque. But he didn't have long to wait. "Ah, yes.... This is Fred, over at the hotel. Is the Sheriff around? I've got a 'situation' here that'll interest him...." ****************************** Not long afterward, Jenny was roused from a "Project Runway" re-run by a peremptory knock on the door. Her visitor turned out to be a tall, burly man with a complexion like rare roast beef, wearing a a uniform and a badge. He touched the brim of his Stetson. "Miz...Wilson? I'm the Sheriff hereabouts. Sorry to bother you at this time of evening, but I need to ask some questions, and the sooner the better. Alright if I come in?" Jenny blinked. This was rather ominous. And, besides, she was wearing only the robe provided by the hotel and was nervous at being next to naked in this situation. (The robe seemed considerably shorter than it had a moment before.) "Well...um...I suppose so...." He entered, closing the room door behind him. He moved lightly for a big man. "You're Miz Jennifer Wilson? Have some ID?" Jenny handed over her driver's license and asked, "What's this about, Sheriff?" He frowned. "This'll go a lot smoother if you'll just let ME ask the questions." Jenny nodded. He glanced at her license and handed it back. "Who else is here with you?" "My...um...daughter, Barbie. She's taking a shower at the moment." The Sheriff banged on the bathroom door. "This is the Sheriff! C'mon out here...right now!" Two minutes later, clad only in a damp t-shirt of Jenny's, Barbie timidly shuffled out of the bathroom. "This your daughter, Miz Wilson?" "Um...yes, this is Barbie." "ID?" "Oh, well, sh-she's still too young...just an adolescent...." "So it appears. How old is she?" "Um...um...th-thirteen...." "Okay. Then can you explain how an 18-year-old (which your license says you are) has a 13-year-old daughter?" "Oh, well...she's adopted...." "Uh-huh." "But what difference does it make, Sheriff?" "I thought we'd agreed that I would ask the questions." "Um...." "Well?" "Y-yes, sir...." "Fine. You have documentation of this...adoption?" "Well, n-not with me, of course, Sheriff." "Uh-huh. Alright, Miz Wilson, let's stop tap-dancing, whatsay? Maybe you're aware that because of the new security laws -- state and federal -- it's a crime to...'knowingly falsify personal data when so doing might impede an official investigation....'" He could recite from memory the best parts of these laws, but he chose to read the Miranda Warning off a card -- and he then proceeded to do exactly that. "Am-am I under arrest?" Jenny gasped. "You're asking questions again...." He looked at her sadly, with barely contained disappointment. "I'm hoping I won't have to put you in jail, so you'd best be straight with me. Now, is Barbie at least 18 years old?" "Y-yes, sir." "In that case, I hereby present you with these warrants, duly signed by his-honor-the-mayor, remanding you both to Paddywell Academy, pending further investigation. The present charge is '33833.8 PC: Credit Card Fraud' -- but more can be added later." Paddywell! Though she had been teasing Barbie about Paddywell, she hadn't really fantasized about it in detail. Now she began racking her memory to dredge up what various people had told her about the place. It was a private reformatory for women aged 18 to 40, set up along boarding school lines.... The women ("girls") were often sent there for various petty offenses -- such as overdue library books, parking violations, jaywalking, and insolence -- though some were serving time for more serious things, such as trespassing, shoplifting, disorderly conduct, misdemeanor vagrancy, and lewd behavior (not to mention marital insubordination).... And the girls were well-supervised by the staff -- the predominantly male staff.... Both the headmaster, Dr. Leamus, and the Provost, Prof. Lakewood, in particular had reputations as clever and accomplished disciplinarians and prided themselves on turning the rottenest delinquents into nice, polite little girls. Jenny shuddered, but was surprised and chagrined to find the beginnings of a tingling between her legs. Doubly distracted, she was slow to react when the Sheriff turned her about and cuffed her hands behind her back. "Do you have to...?" she blurted. "Yep," he replied, laconically, and handcuffed Barbie, as well. "But-but credit card fraud?" Jenny persisted. "I don't know anything about any credit card fraud. You're making a BIG mistake, Sheriff. Who says fraud? He ignored her and herded them both toward the door. "Can't we get dressed?" Barbie whined. "Nope." And he ushered them out. They went down two flights and into the lobby. Padding barefooted and handcuffed across the parquet, to the amazement of several guests and the amusement of Fred Dobbs, Jenny became aware that she had something else to be concerned about -- the knot in her sash was beginning to slip. "Holy Crap!" she thought. "What else is going to happen?" The knot, however, held (barely), and she slid into the back of the Sheriff's prowl car without a major incident. But Barbie was not so lucky. With her hands cuffed behind her, there was no way she preserve her modesty, and getting into the car rucked the bottom of her t-shirt up around her waist. The Sheriff looked in at her and, with a perfectly straight face, said, "Now don't you be getting my upholstery messy, young lady...." ****************************** It took only 5 or 6 minutes to get from the hotel to Paddywell in the Sheriff's cruiser. The Academy occupied a great, grim, Gothic building atop a low hill. It was guarded first by a massive stone wall. An ornate iron gate swung open, apparently automatically, as the Sheriff drove up to it. Just inside the outer wall there was a manicured lawn, perhaps 100 yards deep, and, beyond that, another fence...a wire one, possibly electrified. Jenny imagined that the guard dogs prowled this grassy area, though she didn't see any. When she exited the car, Jenny's sash just gave up, and her robe parted. She crouched, with a pitiful little squeal, but she was summarily jerked to her feet and hustled up the broad limestone steps into the "school." Of course, no one offered to close her robe and re-tie the sash. As she was hurried along, she couldn't prevent the robe from streaming out behind her, revealing many of her choicest attributes. Somewhere along their route, the sash dropped to the ground unnoticed and was left behind. Inside, it was very quiet, except for the faint sounds of Jenny's and Barbie's bare feet on the terrazzo floor. (The Sheriff moved silently.) There was a heavy-lidded middle-aged man on duty at what must have been a reception desk; he nodded to the Sheriff in passing. The only other people about were bored, slowly-moving cleaning crew. The Sheriff marched his prisoners down the broad main hallway to the end, into a quaint Edwardian-style elevator, and then, on the top floor, along a lushly carpeted corridor to a heavy mahogany door. "Headmaster's study," the Sheriff growled. "Mind your manners." He knocked on the door as a formality and opened it without waiting for a response. The room was spacious, but at the same time seemed cozy. Barbie was impressed; this was her kind of place. Aside from the stereo (Tchaikovsky...5th Symphony, wasn't it?) and the PC in the far corner, the book-lined study might have been as it was a century or more ago. Even the telephone and the electric lights appeared antique. There were red Bokharas on the floor, three Toby jugs on the slate mantel, and a number of military and naval paintings on the walls. There were two men in the room. One, wearing a dark sweater, was sitting behind the massive desk, looking over his steepled fingers, staring off into the middle distance, apparently rapt by the music. He had sharp features, and both his brown hair and thin moustache showed some touches of grey. The other man, older and heavier, was sitting in a red leather wing chair near the fire, a glass in his hand and a square decanter and a soda-water syphon at his elbow. He was a study in various shades of grey -- short hair, bushy eyebrows, thick moustache, baggy tweed suit -- his only concession to color was a repp tie, dark red with blue stripes edged in gold. He lifted his glass to acknowledge the Sheriff, who nodded back amiably. The man at the desk continued to listen to the music until the end of the movement, then turned it down a bit. With a somewhat ambiguous expression, he gazed at Jenny and Barbie and said, "I am Dr. Leamus and this is my colleague, Prof. Lakewood. You two are the Wilson girls, I presume...." Barbie, who had been lost in her admiration for this room, was suddenly wrenched back to reality. Jenny spoke up. "There's been a huge mistake...." He held up his hand. "Hmmm. Sheriff, I think the handcuffs are not needed." The Sheriff nodded and removed both pairs of cuffs. "Thank you, sir," Jenny said, rubbing her wrists. Dr. Leamus continued speaking to the Sheriff. "Now, let's have a look at them." Without changing expression, the Sheriff reached out with his left hand, grasped the bottom of Barbie's t-shirt, and whisked it off over her head -- while, at the same time, he pulled off Jenny's robe with as much style and grace as Manolete handling a cape. Barbie managed to take it stoically, but Jenny shrieked and fell into a crouch. All three men looked at Jenny sadly. "Tsk, tsk," said Lakewood. He sighed. "I expected a LITTLE more discipline." "Oh, yes...disgraceful," Leamus agreed. "But the little one is controlling herself well. Already shaved, too." He smiled at Barbie. "And I'm informed that you already have your Academy uniform." "Y-yes, sir...." "Admirable. We'll fetch it from the hotel. Of course, you'll have to be processed tomorrow, just like your...well, whatever this other girl is.... But, after that, I imagine you'll be on your way to becoming an honor student." He turned his attention then to Jenny, whom the Sheriff had pulled to her feet and re-cuffed. As for you, young lady, I can see we'll have be stringent -- very stringent -- with you if we're to correct your deficiencies." He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that filthy patch of hair between your legs just can't be allowed to remain even until morning. We'll have it off tonight." He reached for a manila folder lying in his in-box. "Now, who's on duty at this hour?" Lakewood downed his drink. "Doesn't matter. I'll take of it." The headmaster beamed. "Excellent. Most generous of you." "Not at all. I like to keep my hand in...as it were." Leamus glared at Jenny. "And you should be thanking Prof. Lakewood, girl. Ingratitude is not tolerated here." "Th-thank you, sir," Jenny managed. "But...." "'But' nothing," Leamus went on. "And, since you don't have a proper uniform, you must do without for a while, until you can earn enough credits to pay for one.... But, for the present, you can continue to wear those cuffs, as your uniform." "You-you can't do that...can't hold us just like that. I'm expected back at school. I'll be missed...." He heaved a sigh. "So many entering students insist that I can't do this or that, but I keep doing it anyway.... And it's all quite legal, isn't it Sheriff?" "Quite legal." "Incidentally, girl, what school do you attend?" "Doeville State." "A fine institution. We have very good connections there, so we needn't concern ourselves there. Starting tomorrow, you will rise at 7:00, lunch at noon, dine at 5:00, and usually be in bed by 8:00. The rest of the day will be filled up with classes and work assignments. Do well, and you'll earn credits -- which will result in priviledges -- do poorly, and you'll get demerits.... Tomorrow, of course, will be slightly different, since much of the morning will be taken up by the processing procedures. So...." "Excuse me, Alec," Lakewood interjected. "But how long has it been since you've processed a student personally?" Leamus looked nostalgic. "Personally? Oh, quite some time...." "The good old days, right? So why don't we take a trip down memory lane and do these two tonight? The Sheriff might even like to lend a hand." "Sounds like a plan," the Sheriff replied. "You've talked me into it," the headmaster said. He rose from behind his desk with a smile twitching at his moustache. "Let's go." Barbie, the potential honor student, suspected things were going to get worse before they got better.