CHAPTER ONE

 

CASE STUDY: M/91134Y/91

SUBJECT: "J"

AGE: 34

HEIGHT: 1.68m

BUILD: Mesolithic

HAIR: Black

EYES: Brown

COMPLEXION: Dark

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: None

OCCUPATION: University Lecturer

SYMPTOMS: Innate feelings of aggression manifesting in the urge to dominate and/or humiliate women.

DIAGNOSIS: Classic symptoms of sexual and social dysfunction resulting from feelings of inadequacy allied to an Oedipus complex.

TREATMENT: Ideal candidate for standard therapeutic model. Recommend admission to rehabilitation centre.

PROGNOSIS: Excellent prospect of full recovery and assimilation into the community as a useful member of society.

 

John Phillip Xavier. Sounds like a designer name, doesn't it? Perfect for the second lead in a pastel-plotted TV cop show. And in a sense that is correct for he would be loathe to answer to any but the full, euphonious form.

But it is genuine enough for his father was a devotee of military music. It is everything else about him that is contrived. For example if it doesn't have a 'label' he won't wear it. He once even toyed with the idea of having his name tattooed across his third cervical vertebra. Which should give you a fair idea of the sort of ego we are talking about.

On the face of it John Phillip Xavier is little more than a product of his times. But that is just the surface gloss, a mix & match carapace as expendable as the Ad-men who sell us on ourselves. For under the top dressing he is a truly nasty piece of work.

Of squat, almost simian build, his mental capacity belies a personality which would do justice to any number of household names. Caligula, Attila the Hun, Vlad the Impaler, the Marquis de Sade and Hitler to name but a handful.

Notwithstanding that it has, however, grudgingly to be admitted that John Phillip Xavier is also an intellectual man, an academic no less. As well as a flash git.

It is tempting to write him off in terms of the classic definition of the intellectual, that is 'a man educated beyond his intelligence' but that would be to seriously underrate him. JPX's problems lie solely with &at part of the brain concerned with greasing the social cogs and generally making life bearable.

Perhaps it is unrealistic to expect any economist to consider folk more important than monetary systems or their actions more complex than allowed for by the concept of marginal utility. But that is certainly how John evaluates his relationships. Partly due to scholastic training but mainly the result of a misconceived reality seen through his mother's eyes.

Mother. Now there is a word to conjure with, a simple pair of syllables we all instinctively understand. Well don't we? The selfless purveyor of all our worldly needs? So why pick on her? Well, certainly not for anything she intentionally did. Mothers have to get through the day just like the rest of us and John P Xavier's survived as best she could in the circumstances.

If the ideal culinary metaphor for a mother is Veal Bonne Femme, Mother Xavier was the bap for a double, quarter-pounder flame-grilled burger; hold the onions. The burgers being Little Johnny and his father, Randolph.

Randolph was that blissfully happy entity - a field archaeologist. His entire existence was devoted to holes, the sort without hair around them, until one day one took offence at him prodding around in its entrails and entombed him. I'd rather skip the Freudian implications but there's no denying that where excavations were concerned he elevated single-mindedness to an art form. Which is where the root of Johnny's evil lay.

You can't dig a hole from a distance so Father was obliged to live from trowel to mouth fulfilling his filial obligations via a healthy if not obese, bank balance and leaving Mother and Son to play'Happy Families' subtitled 'Who's the Boss?' I'm sure you don't need me to tell you the answer to that one!

All in all she didn't do too badly, managing to stave off the worst ravages of frustration with a mixture of Good Works and over-indulgence. Whilst understandably, it is not entirely excusable that Little Johnny should have been the one to profit so by his father's loss. But then, what is a faithful women to do?

John Phillip, as he already insisted on being called, swiftly learned the essential facts of life. Namely:

1) Asking - he readily accepted his mother's assertion in the face of concerned criticism that no, he was not a demanding child - loudly and frequently enough always gets you what you want and the only obstacle to getting is not wanting badly enough and

2) Anyone giving without being asked either wants something in return or is at best trying to get off lightly. In either case JP's response was the same. He upped the price.

In time these childhood principles acquired the status of universal truths, rationalised and refined to suit any and all applications. The only redeeming feature was that he had inherited Randolph's unalloyed enthusiasm, thus allowing his victims to delude themselves that the boy too, was striving for some higher goal. In that way was egocentrics passed off as Destiny written large.

Unfortunately his ploy worked. People rushed like lemmings to throw themselves off his cliff, only too eager to believe the best about he worst for no better reason than that to concede the truth would only add a millstone to their crown of thorns.

For his long suffering fellow school and college students an additional burden was the dispiriting case with which he absorbed information. A quick read through the night before invariable sent him sailing through the toughest of exams degrading the meritocracy aspirations of his peers to the level of a wet dream. As a consequence of which not even Mother Xavier was spared, being the recipient at one graduation ceremony of a conspiratorial whisper - courtesy of another graduate's parent - advising her that according to college gossip that 'refugee from the Rue Morgue' wasn't collecting a degree but a contract with Lucifer couched in blood.

You will understand why she opted to smile and remain anonymous.

His effortless accession to Academism guaranteed an endless supply of impressionable souls for usurpation. Of all the 'soft' sciences it is hard to think of one better suited than Economics to his particular brand of cynicism, both pure and applied. It provides unlimited opportunity for the manipulation of young minds hungry for the solution to life's balance sheet. More so even than Politics. For where else could sexual harassment be justified as a practical lesson in the barter system of trading?

To a smattering of slow developers and plain no talent students endowed with nothing more prepossessing than a surfeit of ambition a 'favour for a grade and let's worry about the Finals when they get here' approach seems a Godsend. Certainly John Phillip found and still finds, a steady trickle of takers for his tutorials on the theme of Accounting for Yourself. Not all of them female, though each invariable of a feminine submissive disposition. And every one grist for his bullying mill.

No-one has complained, so it can't be all bad. The only trouble is he can't get enough of them. Which is why he has expanded out of extra-curriculum into extra-mural activities. In the real world outside he can hunt for real.

The approach is necessarily different so the darker side of his nature - yes, I know you can scarcely believe your luck but he does indeed have one - comes to the fore. As a result, he tours the streets and alleyways like a cross between Jack the Ripper and a drunken sailor. Choosy, but ready to settle for whatever comes along.

Which is where we find him this crisp spring evening, designer clad as usual in a camouflage outfit indistinguishable from any other over priced jogging suit and trainers.