Chapter #25Chapter Four: Dossiers of Doom by: Seuzz   Chapter Four
Dossiers of Doom
"He looks like a goddamn faggot."
Barnes let a little half-smile play on his lips. "He has a girlfriend."
"He still looks like a goddamn faggot."
Barnes pushed the file aside and opened another one.
"Faggot."
The third folder.
"Faggot."
Barnes scratched an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to work for us?"
"Show me someone who doesn't look like a faggot."
"I think they're all going to look like faggots to you, Carson," sighed the other man in the room. He looked just like Barnes—in fact, he'd introduced himself as "Todd Barnes," just like Steve's first friend. The two looked so much alike that Steve couldn't tell them apart, even up close. The second one frowned more often, though, so Steve thought of him as "Sourpuss." Both of them, though, were "Fuckface" in his very private book of thoughts.
"What my colleague means," said Barnes, "is that these boys have all had a rather privileged upbringing. Their parents are all extremely well-off. They are smart, hard-working kids. They get good grades, do lots of extra-curricular activities. They're popular with their peers, who are also hard-working, good-grade-getting types. They are all going to be good, well-scrubbed, and mostly obedient teenagers."
"Like I said," said Steve with a half-sneer. "Faggots."
"I guess," Barnes sighed. He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "But remember, we're asking you to be a ... a faggot ... for only a few weeks. After that, you can quit."
"With my share of the loot."
"Of course."
Steve scratched his chin. If these guys were on the level—and everything they'd shown him in the place suggested they were—then this could be a really sweet deal. He flipped past the picture that lay atop the still open file. Underneath was a large picture of a very big house. It was more than a McMansion: it sat on huge acreage, and the aerial view showed not one but two Olympic-sized outdoor pools. He flipped to the next page in the file: a family photo showing the "faggot" with his parents and a girl who looked to be in middle school.
Steve scratched his head. This was the part that he wasn't so clear on.
"This guy," he said, waving vaguely at the family photo. "How am I supposed to fool his family?"
"We've got a dossier on him, as we have on all the prospects," said Barnes. "All the facts that are on public file, plus a few of the private ones. Everything from his hospital files to newspaper clippings about his piano recitals."
"I can't play the piano," Steve said in alarm.
"I'm just offering a hypothetical," said Barnes. "Obviously, we'll do a deeper check on whatever prospect you settle on, to make sure there aren't any serious problems like that. After you've picked someone, we'll hack into their emails, Facebook, cell phones; anything that leaves a record of what they say and what they think and how they act. It will take several months of intense study, but you will train and familiarize yourself with every aspect we can uncover about the target."
"There are also certain psychological techniques we can train you in," Sourpuss chimed in. "We've picked the teenagers as targets rather than the adults because teenagers are ... Well, let's just say most teenagers are moody and unpredictable, so anything they do out of character can be written off as 'hormones.' You'd have to act a little bit like a 'faggot,' Carson, but you should also mix it up a little. Fights, slammed doors, rocketing off in your car, back talk. Nothing to break the illusion. Just enough to keep them off balance and prepared to write off your mistakes as 'mood'."
Steve flipped idly through the folder, then closed it and returned to the first folder. The guy in this one was well-scrubbed like the others. He had a broad forehead and eyes that sloped lazily down at the corners, giving him a slightly sleepy look. His mouth and nose were well-formed, and he had a broad, confident smile. His polo shirt was open at the collar, showing a solid neck flanked by strong muscles.
"You said this fucker had a girlfriend?"
Barnes flipped a few pages, until they came to a large photograph of a cheerful girl with long blond hair. She tilted her head coquettishly and flashed a dazzling smile, and raised her arms and legs in something that looked like a cheerleader pose. Steve felt a quickening in his cock, and gave a low whistle. He tapped the folder thoughtfully. "This is a possibility."
The door opened and the female doctor came in. He'd only met her once, during the second tour, where she had followed the group, listening to his questions and murmuring to a third Barnes. She was short and severe, with unsmiling eyes behind her very large glasses. Only once had she spoken, when he flexed his bicep and compared it to the ugly, skinless thing growing on some scaffolding in a vat of liquid. "The tattoo will have to come off," was all she'd said in a flat, slightly nasally voice.
"I've got another one I'd like you to take a look at," she said now without any reintroduction or acknowledgement, and slapped a slim folder down on the desk in front of him. "I think he'd make a better fit for you. Not nearly as faggoty."
Steve started a bit, to realize that his words and reactions were being monitored and probably recorded. But he opened the folder, and stared down at the picture in disbelief.
"This is a girl!" he exclaimed.
"No, he's just fifteen years old," said the doctor in her adenoidal whine. "A little young, but within range. He's also an outdoorsy type, lots of energy and stamina, can't sit still. Bit of a smart aleck too, it seems. Can easily pass as a trouble maker."
Steve sucked on his cheeks. It really was just a kid. Thick, almost wiry blonde hair sticking out in lots of angles and curling at the end; not longish, exactly, but in the back it fell to the top of his neck. His smile was sharp and his eyes gleamed with mischief. He'd struck a boxer's pose and was pretending to jab the camera with one of his hands. He wore a navy-blue sleeveless sweatshirt with "BAYPORT'S BEST" stenciled in white letters across the front.
Sourpuss glanced up skeptically to the doctor. "You really want to do this job? You want Carson for it?"
"Personality wise, it's a better match than the others," she sniffed. "You heard him. The others are too faggoty. This one is a little less so than the others. Pay is better, too."
Steve's ears perked up. "Really? They must really be loaded, then."
"No," said the doctor. "But you'd get a special rate that would net you more. That's because there are special challenges." She paused, and her cold eyes held his. "You're ambitious, aren't you, Carson? You like a good challenge, right?"
* * * * *
To continue investigating the room: "Disposing of Lucy"   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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