FASSBINDER: Part I

from Anthony - Tuesday, December 17, 2002
accessed 1511 times

I want to turn the completed story into a screenplay someday, if I’m not bent over and plagiarized first; the risk I take by posting this on the web, I guess.

FASSBINDER: Part I

It was supposed to be a relatively fail-safe plan: infiltrate DMAC (Data Mining Advantage Corporation), one of the two high-tech data communication and information management companies vying for a monopoly in this industry. He was a freelance corporate spy retained by Datakomen, the other company, which currently had a substantial competitive advantage, but not the monopoly, which it was desperately seeking. So, what when wrong with the plan, with the mission?

“How many niggas does it take to kill a cop?”
This was the question he once heard from a dying gang who he was transporting while working for his father’s ambulance service. A couple of “brothers”, the Compton Duo, were hired to kill an Elliot Ness type of cop, they botched the job…very badly.
“How many corporate spies does it take to steal trade secrets?”
This was his rendition of the question, which he could not ask himself without an undertone of self-loathing because he knew he messed up – big time.

What do we know about Mr. Fassbinder? Do we care? If so or if not, why? Presently, this question is best addressed to those who know him, and best answered by them. For those who know him not, the following is casual and superficial information on him. I don’t care to say too much about his psychological state just yet, for as the story unfolds, bits and pieces of the “stuff” which makes our man will emerge.

You know that feeling you get when a needle is slowly and whimsically pierced into your cornea of your eye? Well, that’s the same feeling our protagonist gets when he indulges in quasi-introspective session. Here we have an individual who believes he is the end and aim of his own being; the jury is still out on that one. He came from a “normal” American family, (whatever that means). His mother taught pre-school off-and-on, but her main goal in life was to raise her only child the best way she knew how, and please her husband the best way he dictated, she didn’t mind this, because after all, it was her duty as a good Christian woman, “even in this progressive age”, she told herself. As was alluded to earlier, his father ran an ambulance service, the most successful on in that area. As a young man, his father had begun studies to be a medical doctor, and some people see him as a failure because hi never reached his goal. However, that all depends on perspective, after all, like a doctor, he was daily surrounded by sick and dead bodies. There seems to be two main courses of action taken by children of loser parents: 1) they become just like their parents, or 2) they strive to rise above and surpass their parents, the latter taken by Mr. Fassbinder. He excelled in school, earning a master’s degreed, his highest level of education to date.

Datakomen had bought Newton’s Applets 5 years ago, a small interactive data specialist company. The company was forced to file Chapter 11 for various reasons, the main one being they had developed a killer data retrieval application using their proprietary technology. However, their timing for introducing it onto the market sucked, and the huge development and subsequent marketing costs never generated the expected return on investment. Datakomen cut around the worms, made apple pie, and discovered gravity. In other words, Newton’s Applets would prove to be their greatest asset. There is a small group of people, with whom I agree, who think that Datakomen had something to do with the downfall of Newton’s Applets for many reasons.

Information is a precious commodity, all the glittering data is gold, and some individuals and entities would stop at nothing to obtain and/or protect certain clusters of data. His espionage had been going well for 1 year, a regular James Bonds, he had been hire by DMAC as a full-time employee as a data analyst, but now his cover was blown to bits and they were coming for him, and they would surely kill him, there and then, despite not knowing who he was working for. It would be a daring escape seeing that his office was on the 16th floor of the high-rise. Now he wished he had not worn those pink silk panties he purchased from the Victoria’s Secret catalogue; he was not at all gay but, “they’re just so comfortable”, he told himself.
He reached for his Walther P22 handgun and thought to him-self, “how many corporate spies does it take to steal trade secrets?”

To Be Continued.

Regards,
Anthony