Terminal Compromise, Winn Schwartau [sight word books txt] 📗

States. Nowhere did it say, they were all

turned down, tabled, ignored.

At one point or another, Miles had to snap. The rejection of

proposal number thirty-four gave Miles the perfect reason to

quit.

*

Miles Foster looked 100% Italian despite the fact his father was

a pure Irishman. “Stupido, stupido” his grandmother would say

while slamming the palm of her hand into forehead. She was not

exactly fond of her daughter marrying outside family. But, it was

a good marriage, 3 great kids, or as good as kids get and Grand-

mama tolerated the relationship. Miles the oldest, was only 7

when his father got killed as a bystander at a supermarket rob-

bery.

Mario Dante, his homosexual uncle who worked in some undefined,

never mentioned capacity for a Vegas casino, assumed the pater-

nal role in raising Miles. With 2 sisters, a mother, an aunt and

a grandmother all living under the same roof with Miles, any

male companionship, role model if you will, was acceptable.

Mario kept the Family Honor, keeping his sexual proclivities

secret until Miles turned 18. Upon hearing, Miles commented,

“Yeah, so? Everyone knows Uncle Mario’s a fag. Big deal.”

Mario was a big important guy, and he did business, grownup

business. That was all Miles was supposed to know. When Miles

was 13, Mario thought it would be a good idea for him to become

a man. Only 60 miles from Las Vegas lived the country’s only

legal brothels. Very convenient. Miles wasn’t going to fool

around with any of that street garbage. Convention girls. Miles

should go first class the first time.

Pahrump, Nevada is home to the only legalized prostitution in the

United States. Mario drove fast, Miles figured about 130mph, in

his Red Ferrari on Highway 10, heading West from Vegas. Mario

was drinking Glen Fetitch, neat, and he steered with only one

hand, hardly looking at the road.

The inevitable occurred. Gaining on them, was a Nevada State

Trooper. The flashing lights and siren reminded Mario to slow

down and pull over. He grinned, sipped his drink and Miles

worried. Speeding was against the law. So was drinking and

driving. The police officer walked over to the driver side of the

Ferrari. Uncle Mario lowered the window to let the officer lean

into the car. As the trooper bent over to look inside the

flashy low slung import, Mario pulled out a handgun from under

the seat and stuck it into the cop’s face.

Mario started yelling. “Listen asshole, I wasn’t speeding. Was I?

I don’t want nothing to go on my insurance. I gotta good driving

record, y’know?” Mario was crazy! Miles had several strong urges

to severely contract his sphincter muscles.

“No sir, I wanted to give you a good citizenship citation, for

your contributions to the public good.” The cop laughed in Uncle

Mario’s face.

“Good to see you still gotta sensa’humor.” Uncle Mario laughed

and put the gun back in his shoulder holster. Miles stared,

dumbfounded, still squeezing his butt cheeks tight.

“Eh, Paysan! Where you going so fired up? You know the limit’s

110?” They both guffawed.

“Here!” Mario pointed at Miles. “‘Bout time the kid took a ride

around the world, y’know what I mean?” Miles wasn’t sure what

he meant, but he was sure it had to do with where he was going to

lose his virginity.

“Sheeeee-it! Uptown! Hey kid, ask for Michelle and take 2 from

Column B, then do it once for me!” Even though they weren’t, to

a 13 year male Italian virgin, Mario and the cop were making fun

of him. “I remember my first time. It was in a pick up truck,

out in the desert. Went for fucking ever! Know what I mean?

The cop winked at Miles who was humiliated. To Miles’ relief,

Mario finally gave the cop an envelope, while being teasingly

reprimanded. “Hey, Mario, take it a little easy out here, will

yah? At least on my watch, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Ciao.”

“Ciao.”

They were off again, doing over 100mph in seconds. The rest of

the evening went as planned. Miles thanked his uncle in a way

that brought tears to Mario’s eyes. Miles said, “You know, Uncle

Mario. When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

*

“He’s just a boy, Mario! How could you!” Miles’ mother did not

react favorably to the news of her son’s manhood. She was trying

to protect him from the influence of her relatives. Miles was

gauged near genius with a pronounced aptitude for mathematics and

she didn’t want his life to go to waste.

His mother had married outside of the family, the organized crime

culture, the life one inherits so easily. She loved her family,

knew that they dealt in gambling, some drugs, an occasional

rough-up of an opponent, but preferred to ignore it. She mar-

ried a man she loved, not one picked for he, but had lost him 6

years before. They could not have her son.

Her wishes were respected, in the memory of Miles father, and

also because it wasn’t worth having a crazed Sicilian woman rant-

ing and raving all about. But Miles was delectable bait to the

Family. His mathematical wizardry could assist greatly in gaming

operations, figure the odds, new angles, keep the dollars in the

house’s favor despite all advertising claims to the contrary.

But, there was respect and honor in their promise to his mother.

Hands off was the rule that came all the way from the top. He

was protected. Miles was titillated with the attention, but he

still listened to his mother. She came before all others. With

no father, she became a little of both, and despite anyone’s

attempts, Miles knew about Mario.

Miles was such a subject of adoration by his mother, aunt and

grandmother, siblings aside, that Miles came to expect the same

treatment from everyone, especially women. They praised him so,

he always got top honors, the best grades, that he came to re-

quire the attention and approval.

Living with 5 women and a gay uncle for 11 years had its effect.

Miles was incredibly heterosexual. Not anti-gay at all, not at

all. But he had absolutely no interest in men. He adored women,

largely because of his mother. He put women on pedestals, and

treated them like queens. Even on a beer budget Miles could

convince his lady that they were sailing the Caribbean while

baking in the desert suburbs of Las Vegas. Women succumbed,

willingly, to Miles’ slightest advance. He craved the approval,

and worked long and hard to perfect his technique. Miles Foster

was soon an expert. His mother never openly disapproved which

Miles took as approval.

By the time Miles went off to college study advanced mathematics

and get a degree, he had shattered half of the teen-age hearts

within 50 miles of Vegas. Plus, the admiration from his female

family had allowed him to convince himself that he was going to

change the world. He was the single most important person that

could have an effect on civilization. Invincible. Can do no

wrong. Miles was the end-all to be-all. If Miles said it, it

must be so, and he bought into the program. What his mother or

girl friends called self confidence others called conceit and

arrogance. Even obnoxious.

His third love, after his mother and himself, was mathematics.

He believed in mathematics as the answer to every problem. All

questions can be reduced to formulas and symbols. Then, once you

have them on a piece of paper, or in a computer . . .the answer

will appear.

His master thesis was on that very subject. It was a brilliant

soliloquy on the reducibility of any multi-dimensional condition

to a defined set of measured properties. He postulated that all

phenomenon was discrete in nature and none were continuous.

Given that arguable position, he was able to develop a set of

mathematical tools that would permit dissection of a problem into

much smaller pieces. Once in manageable sizes, the problem would

be worked out piece by piece until the pieces were reassembled as

the answer. It was a tool that had very definite uses in the

government.

He was recruited by the Government in 1976. They wanted him to

put his ingenious techniques to good use. The National Security

Agency painted an idyllic picture of the ultimate job for a

mathematician – the biggest, fastest and best computers in the

world at your fingertips. Always the newest and the best. What-

ever you need, it’ll be there. And that’s a promise. Super

secret important work – oh how his mother would be proud. Miles

accepted, but they never told him the complete truth. Not that

they lied, of course. However, they