Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Work in Progress Wednesday: untitled back story

David Inman had always thought of his body as one more tool, useful but only a carrying case for his mind. He had first used it to reward a loyal minion when he was twelve–the same year he’d first killed--only to discover that sex for its own sake meant little. He was well aware, however, that there were many men who coveted his slim fairness.

Men like the one recently seated across from him. Handsome and predatory, in his mid thirties and Middle Eastern looking. David sat in the interrogation room, smoking and staring at him, watching every move of his long elegant fingers, his full, cruelly sensual mouth and his subtle black eyes.

“Smart enough to graduate Harvard at fourteen. Smart enough to hack every major banking network by sixteen. Still dumb enough to smoke. Maybe you aren’t what I’m looking for after all.”

David blew a perfect smoke ring in his direction. “Every genius should have one vice. And they’ve engineered out all the carcinogens, anyway.”

“And you have a multitude. From the brandy you are not old enough to drink to blackmailing the men who enjoyed you before today.” He laid a thick file on the table and set a stack of papers beside it. “The file contains all I know of you. I assure you it’s much more than the police have. And they are already speaking of four hundred years in prison.”

David lit another cigarette from the butt of the first. “Morons,” he said, tossing his head. Shoulder-length blond waves caught the light in a very deliberate way. “As if it could hold me. I’m a minor.”

The predator flashed the date of his watch. “Happy birthday, David. Eighteen as of now. And the paperwork will all have today’s date.” He smirked. “Data piracy, computer theft, information trespassing, and grand larceny.”

David laughed without humor. “Are you my intake officer to tell me all I already know?”

“My name is James Ligatos. I run a specialized rehabilitation program for promising young criminals such as yourself.”

David removed and polished his round wire-framed glasses. “Criminal is such an ugly word. I prefer homo superior. So what, precisely can you rehabilitate,” his voice turned bitter and mocking as he resettled his glasses, “a thieving little four-eyed faggot into?”

A small, secretive smile turned up the corners of Ligatos’s mouth without reaching his eyes. “More than you can imagine. The best mind in a century is meant for far better things than petty thievery and being sold for four cartons of cigarettes or half a bottle of whiskey.” He reached over and stroked the backs of his fingers along David’s cheek “You’re very pretty, very young and already gay. You’ll bring a good price on the inside, for a while. Until you are no longer so pretty.”

“Petty? Seven billion dollars is petty?” David looked him over appraisingly. “I have plundered the monkeymass, putting them to work for me as is my prerogative.”

Ligatos laughed in his face. “Seldom does one meet an elitist so blatant about it.”

David shrugged. “Humility is a method of control created by churchmen and enforced by lesser minds. It does not apply.”

“In twelve hours, you will be expounding your Heinleinian-Nietschzean philosophy to Bruno “the Mangler” Franzetti before he begins pounding on your ass. If you take my training, you will have three years of intensive, doctoral-level study and afterward, you will be well sought after.”

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