Chapter 1
The iron gate rolled back and Dr Kerry Moriarty stepped into the darkness. A light glowed at the end of the long passageway and she walked slowly towards the figures emerging from the gloom. She was scared, but she knew that she must appear calm and confident before the three men who now towered over her. Two men wore grey shirts, and one wore white. Moriarty presumed that the man in white was in command.
"Dr Moriarty," she announced, holding out her hand. The man in white may have been bald and broad and his baton glowered from his belt, but he offered his guest a warm smile.
"Harold Watkins, Senior Guard, but you can call me Harry. Miss Patterson is already in the Warden's office." Moriarty scowled at the news that Rebecca Patterson would attend the interviews. Patterson had promised Moriarty complete control over all aspects of the project, yet now she was involved in the choice of the pioneer.
"Have you ever been to prison before, Dr Moriarty?"
"No. This is my first time."
"Well, it's not a nice place to be, so don't feel afraid of being afraid. I would like to think, Dr Moriarty, that honest folk should be a bit worried when they come in here. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Miss Patterson."
Rebecca Patterson, six foot tall in high heels with wavy blonde hair and generous breasts, attracted attention even in the most exclusive clubs in Los Angeles. Many men presumed she was film star and more than a few suspected that she was a prostitute. The speculation was not entirely false, because countless times in her thirty four years she had employed her sexual charms to gain a business advantage. This evening was no exception, because Patterson was leaning over the desk, stretching her legs and almost thrusting her backside at the Warden standing behind her as she pretended to read a letter. His erection was visible from the office door.
Patterson offered her colleague a warm smile. The Warden, in contrast, barely acknowledged her existence as they shook hands at Patterson's introduction. Moriarty was not particularly offended by the slight, because in a room containing Patterson she was certain to almost become invisible. Five foot four, olive skin, dark hair and light blue spectacles was no match for the corporate maneater in the tight Gucci business suit.
"Now, tell me Warden, who, to engage in double meanings, is longest in the showers?"
"I don't quite understand. I'm not sure ..."
Watkins helped his chief.
"I think what Miss Patterson is asking, Warden, is which inmate has the longest ... equipment."
"I'm afraid that I cannot answer that question. It is not a subject that has detained me over the years."
"Warden, I can assure you that the size of a man's ... equipment is the most important feature of this evening's visit. It is a subject that has ... detained me more often than I care to remember." She turned to Watkins. "Harry, have you got the candidates outside?" Moriarty noticed that she called the guard by his nickname. She envied Patterson her easy causal manner with all she met, a talent for making all around her feel relaxed and comfortable, and not just the men who gazed at her ample breasts.
"Yes ma'am. There's seven altogether."
"Well, let's begin." She turned to the Warden and explained that the nature of our conversations would require as few men as possible. "Officer Watkins will remain for obvious reasons." She looked at the senior guard and winked. "Someone has to protect these men from me." Watkins departed to return with the first prisoner.
Patterson asked the questions while Moriarty carefully studied each candidate. It was going to be a depressing hour for Moriarty. She had been promised complete autonomy when she proposed the 'Dionysus Project' to The Genesis Corporation, but now Patterson was interfering in 'clinical' decisions. She wondered whether all her preliminary research would be wasted.
The interviews did not proceed well. The first three candidates were clearly perverts and unsuitable, the fourth was just ugly and the fifth had to be restrained when asked intimate questions by Patterson. That was only slightly less worrying than the tears that accompanied the sixth candidate's recollections of his first sexual experience.
Patterson turned to her colleague as the weeping convict was led from the room.
"It's not looking good. There are plenty of other jails, or we could always just place an advert."
"We will need a candidate for at least one year. I can't perform miracles in less than twelve months. I doubt we can use anyone other than a convict, bearing in mind what we plan to do to them."
Patterson sighed and picked up the last file.
"Well, let's see what Dean Heladios Brown Cruz has to offer us, apart from a quite remarkable name."
