HARIJUBAL@aol.com wrote:

   "Good morning," she said, her voice calm, even, still; her 
face much the same.  It had been that voice that had fooled him, so 
calm, so knowing.  As if she held a vast secret close to her.  That 
lent her an ageless quality, a spiritual maturity that he mistook for 
a physical maturity.  It was, frankly, what had attracted him to her.
 

Sexaroid.

   "I'm sorry," he said.  "I only have Whole Wheat Quincy-
Os for cereal."
 

(snarf!  I nearly choked when I read this line.)

|  He coughed, uncomfortably aware of her red eyes on him.

Sexaroid.

   He stared at her, shocked.  Was there nothing that broke her 
calm?  Finally, perversely wanting her to hate him, he said, "I 
don't even remember your name."
 

Maybe because she never gave it?

   She smiled, then, a small, soft smile that transformed her 
completely.  Her eyes shone with an inner brightness that made 
him feel glad to have lived long enough to see it.  An 
overwhelming affection for her came over him, making him want 
to take her in his arms and make sure that she smiled like that 
always and forever; his heart began to beat heavily in his chest.
 

Sexaroid.

   "No, thank you."  She walked to the front door and opened 
it but turned before she crossed the threshold.  She stood on her 
tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, a short peck.  "I like you very 
much.  I hope I can see you again, Fargo."
 

Maybe he'll leave Sylia alone now.

   Then she was gone, leaving him gaping after her.  She had 
called her Fargo, and he was damned sure that he had never told 
her that name, his trade name, his most intimate alias and he never 
gave it out except for intimates.  And despite what happened last 
night, she was definitely not one of those intimates.  And he could 
never have been drunk enough to give it out to a girl he'd only met.  
So how had she known?
   He stood just before the threshold, shivering in the morning 
cold.
 

So somebody set Fargo up with a Lolita sexaroid ("Lolitoid"?).  He's 
badly infatuated,
and feels guilty.  Gee, what might happen next?  Perhaps some 
apres-screw prying as to the
identify of the mercenaries he represents?  And whoever could be 
interested in learning
that, plus manufacture the Lolitoid?

Seriously, this is an interesting premise, and could be a good story.  
As a prologue
to a longer story, it may be a bit overwritten (it seems appropriate as 
a standalone
piece).  Hiding Fargo's identity until the end is a good strategy for a 
mystery fusion-type
standalone short, but may not be for the prologue to a longer work.  
Going on at
this length about Fargo might work in a longer piece if it's focused on 
Fargo, but we
actually didn't learn very much about him in this piece (except a bit 
about his religious
beliefs, perhaps).  You might consider having him think about one or two 
incidents
in his past, to flesh him out:  "Sister MacRary, his old teacher, would 
have cheerfully
flayed him alive if she could see him now."   "Despite having lived in 
Mega-Tokyo
for most of his adult life, as heart he knew he was a small-town boy.  
This was WRONG,
and he knew it."

Looking forward to more.




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