by Brian Parker
“This guy’s already tried to kill me once,” I muttered, bringing the two of them back to the fact that their house was a mess. “He probably saw the news conference—no, that’s not right,” I amended. “If he used Paxton to get to me, then he already knew I was alive…”
It was puzzling. Why had he waited to attack until today? He could have come on Sunday when we were all here. Hell, he could have had Paxton strangle me in my sleep… “Wait a minute.”
Amir dropped the piece of tile he’d picked up. “What is it, Zach?”
“It is the robots.”
“My friend, I am confused. What are the robots?”
“The robots are the last ones to see the victims alive. They’re in the rooms with them, then they leave and the victims die. Someone else discovers the body…”
The image of the robot at The Stud Farm purposely focusing on the wall and then the video footage being edited out ran through my mind. The robot either added the oleander to the bag of weed or put it in the bong, where Barilla couldn’t see when he went to the bathroom. I didn’t see the other videos yet, but it was likely the same with them. I’d be willing to bet that the robots focused on a point in the room where blood wouldn’t splatter when they killed their victims so the video could be spliced by the hacker.
It was a simple, yet effective technique. I’d taken the timestamp for face value and focused my attention on who could have entered the room after the robots left. But, they didn’t leave, they were programmed to appear like they left and they killed during the missing video segment. How could I have missed that?
Because it hasn’t been done before, I answered my own question. A serial killer, obviously a computer hacker or programmer, had taken over four different robots and murdered people along a timeline of his choosing—five, if you counted Paxton. I wasn’t sold that the killer had used her, though, because I couldn’t quite figure out where she fit into things.
If the killer controlled her, why go to the elaborate effort, he could have killed me at any point along the way—like the tea for example. He could have poisoned me outright. Was Paxton a part of this, or was she acting on her own to fulfill Cybertronic’s mandate that she live and work as a human?
“Zach. Zach, are you okay?” I became aware of Amir snapping his fingers in front of my face.
“Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, Amir. Several parts of the case just fell into place in my mind. The robots are the ones killing the victims in the sex clubs.”
“I knew it!” Amanda hissed. “Those things are Satan’s spawn, sent here to destroy marriages and destabilize the family.”
Amir sighed. “They’re not. A lonely man designed them for other lonely men and the industry has grown since then. If used properly, they have a role to fill, just like any other appliance in the house has its place.”
“We are never getting one of those things in this house…”
She trailed off and looked around her broken home. Then she began to cry. Amir comforted her so I made my way over to one of the guys in a suit and introduced myself.
“Nice to meet you, Forrest. I’m Van MacGee,” the detective replied.
“The Khalils are friends of mine, Amir and I go back to junior high. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Okay, will do. To be honest with you, this is the first drive-by we’ve had in Read East in three years. Do you know why this family would be targeted?”
“I’m almost positive it’s because of me,” I replied quietly so Amir and Amanda wouldn’t hear me.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m in the middle of a homicide case right now. The story hasn’t broke widely yet, but we may have a serial killer on our hands in Easytown. He’s tried to kill me once already… I think he’s going after my support base now.”
Van harrumphed. “Easytown. Makes sense. We clean up the city; they just move over there.”
“The rent’s lower,” I deadpanned. “I don’t think the Khalils are safe here. We need to get them moved before he comes back to finish the job.”
“You’re right. This house was specifically targeted. Do they have someplace to go?”
“I’ll have to ask. Amir’s the only one left in his family that emigrated from Egypt, but Amanda may have family in the area where they could stay and not disrupt the children’s school.”
The detective nodded. “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep you in mind if I need any assistance.”
He went back to his work and I returned to my friends. “Do you guys have a place to stay for a few days?”
“Why? Do you think we’re in danger here?” Amanda asked.
“No,” I lied. “It’s a standard police precaution in situations like this. Don’t worry.”
“My… My parents live in Slidell. We could stay there and still get the kids back and forth to school for a few days.”
“Okay. Good idea,” I replied. “It’s probably for the best.”
“What are we going to do with all of our belongings?” Amir asked. “The windows are broken; thieves can come in and take everything.”
I held up my hands to calm him. “Amir, who gives a shit about your stuff? Somebody tried to kill you. Possessions can be replaced. Lives can’t.”
“I don’t want my possessions to be replaced, I want—”
“Dammit, Amir,” I whispered angrily. “What if you stayed here and whoever did this comes back to finish the job?”
I could tell that I still wasn’t getting through to him. “What if they murder Amir Jr.? Slit his throat from ear to ear with a dull knife. Or rape your little girls while you’re forced to watch? Would your stuff be worth it then?”
That worked. I saw the fire leave his eyes and he deflated. “You’re right, my friend. We cannot stay here.”
I placed a comforting hand on Amir’s shoulder. “I’m sorry this happened, buddy. I’m gonna get this guy. I promise.”
He grasped my upper arm and said, “I know you will, Zach.”
Once I was positive that Amir and Amanda were ready to go, I left them in the hands of Detective MacGee. The chief’s warning that he could only sit on my admission of violating department regulations for twenty-four hours pounded into my brain, making every moment that much more important. I needed to bust this guy quickly.
The BMW turned off of the 90 into the Leonidas neighborhood. I was curious about the money in Jacqueline Wolfe’s bank account. Andi said it was an electronic transfer into the account, with nothing but numbers identifying where it had come from. It didn’t appear to be an insurance payment, but it could have been—although I hadn’t ever heard of an insurance company that paid prior to the death certificate issuance. There was no way to really know until I started digging.
It was dark by the time I got to Wolfe’s World of Gaming and Miniature Figures. The place looked the same as it did a few days ago. As I stepped out, my phone rang. It was from a blocked number.
“Hello?”
“I’m sorry,” a distressed female voice stated on the other end.
“Paxton?”
“I’m sorry, Zach. I don’t know why I did those things to you. I think I might have been drugged.”
“You might have been drugged? You drugged me with that tea.”
“I know. I remember doing it, but I don’t know why I did it. Zach, I’m so sorry. I really like you…” she trailed off. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, Paxton,” I replied, my voice edged with steel. “You’ve complicated things for me, but I’d never let the actions of a droid get to me.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You’re a robot, Paxton. Yeah, remember the CS01 you told me would be the next model, the so-called companion droid…? Well, surprise, you’re it. You’re the prototype, assembled in some factory somewhere and then implanted with a real person’s memories. Then you were sent out to roam the streets, pretending to be a human. All you are is just an upgraded version of a sex bo
t.”
“No. You’re mistaken. I have memories of my childhood. I graduated cum laude from Xavier—I’m taking classes there now. I have parents… I eat real food, the droids don’t require that. I bleed if I get cut.”
“Everything you said is probably a prewritten string of excuses if you’re ever questioned about your existence. Paxton, I watched the video feed of your memory with the investor in the CS01 program. You are the first of your kind; you’re in the operational test phase right now. The programmers want you to experience living as a human for a year to go back in and tweak the software before the company will approve a full materiel release and begin marketing your model to the world. You’re a fucking robot.”
She was silent for several seconds. I could almost hear the chips in her head processing the information, sending it back and forth between the AI learning center and the main processor. She needed to know the truth about what she was.
“I— I need to think about what you’ve said to me.”
“Don’t think too long. It’s the truth.”
“Zach… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Her voice was small, distant.
“Dammit, Paxton. I know you didn’t know. It’s still fucked things up for me at work. I had sex with a robot, that’s strictly forbidden under the department’s regulations. Not to mention, you’re a witness. Whatever it was that you drugged me with clouded my judgement beyond belief. I would never have done anything like that before.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I don’t know why I drugged you. I mean, I have zero clues as to why I would have done it.”
“I don’t think you’re entirely in control of yourself. I think the killer is monitoring your actions and adjusting them every once in a while to make you do his bidding.”
“Huh?”
“The sex bots are the ones doing the killing, Paxton. I have evidence that there’s missing time blocks between when a droid finishes the business transaction and when the victim dies. They’re in the room when it happens and— Holy shit. I just figured it out.”
“What?”
“Kelly is a CS98, she has that self-cleaning feature,” I stated, thinking out loud. “After she killed Wolfe, she absorbed all the blood and then walked out of the room as if nothing happened. I thought it was a little odd that she walked down the hallway naked to the environmental services room, but didn’t question it. And that’s why the stuff that came out of her during the cleaning process was so thick; it was a mixture of the victim’s blood and other fluids from her body. She disguised the contents by mixing them and then discarded it in the shower.”
“Hmm. That sounds plausible,” Paxton agreed.
“Do you know if Bobby, the missing droid from The Stud Farm, is a CS98?”
“I believe so. But, I don’t know a lot about the other clubs, Zach. I’ve told you that before.”
“If you’d search your database, you could give me all sorts of data,” I muttered. “What about the older droids, you said there were CS90s and 86s, did those have the self-cleaning feature?”
“The CS86 model doesn’t. We had them at the Diva before the upgrade. I’m—”
She stopped, likely realizing for the first time that all those years of work that she thought she’d put at The Digital Diva as she worked her way up were just memory implants. She’d never worked as an environmental services tech or worked on the pleasure droids’ programming; it was all fake.
“I’m not sure about the CS90. Zach,” she finally answered. “If the robots are being programmed to kill, will the city shut them down?”
“Maybe. I know the mayor and the city council don’t want that cash cow interrupted, so they may order a temporary shut down while the robots’ software is upgraded to defend against hackers, but I doubt it would be a long-term thing.”
“What about Kelly, would they turn her off permanently?”
“I don’t know. She may be confiscated as evidence, but if that will be forever or short term, I couldn’t tell you.”
“I don’t want her turned off. She’s my friend…” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry to be the one who broke the news to you about what you are.”
“Thank you, Zach. I’m glad it was you and not somebody else.”
“I— Hmpf. Not the response I was expecting.”
“What I mean is that I’m happy that I’ve gotten to know such a wonderful man like you.”
“So you believe me that you’re a robot?”
“I think so. I need to do some deep soul searching, but I’ve always felt an absence of…something. Maybe an artificial intelligence platform will never be able to understand—to feel—the human experience and programmers can’t simulate it.”
“That’s a good thing,” I replied. “Remember our discussion about humans playing God? That part that you feel is missing is the soul. Programmers will never be able to replicate that.” Amir, with all of his knowledge of the church, should be the one having this discussion with her, not me.
“Oh! Zach, my other line is ringing. It’s Thomas Ladeaux. I have to take it, he probably wants to know why the Diva isn’t open yet.”
“I— Take care of yourself, Paxton”
She said something unintelligible and hung up.
“I’m fucking done with these goddamned droids,” I told the BMW. At least talking to her gave me the theory about the sex bots.
I put away my phone and walked across the parking lot to the hobby shop. When I went inside, the place was as deserted as it was before, so I followed the same tight pathway through the shelves and display cases to the counter.
No one was at the register. I tapped the bell. Ping! Déjà vu.
While I waited for Mrs. Wolfe or her mother to come up front I wondered how they prevented theft. They’re awful trusting around here.
I glanced around. The only thing that I noticed that had changed inside was a picture of Charles Wolfe that now hung on the wall behind the register. A black, see through veil was draped over it, indicating that Mrs. Wolfe was in mourning.
I tapped the bell again. “Hello? Mrs. Wolfe?” I called loudly through the beaded curtain covering the doorway to the stockroom.
I heard a door slam in the back somewhere and I pulled my gun as I rushed around the counter. I peeked quickly through the doorway and returned to the cover of the wall while my mind processed what I’d seen. The back was even more jumbled than the front. Boxes of product were piled haphazardly everywhere and a table with several chairs was off to the right.
There didn’t appear to be anyone back there. “New Orleans PD,” I shouted.
No answer. Someone had been back there.
I came around the corner and ducked behind a box. It wasn’t enough to stop a bullet—especially not if the person in the back had an Aegis or its equivalent—but it would hide my movements.
The room remained quiet. I focused on any type of sound, but I didn’t hear anything. I yelled out, “Police!” once more to the empty room.
I took a chance and looked up over the top of the boxes. The place was deserted, but I could see the pale outline of streetlights around the back door. Somebody had run out, which was the banging noise I heard.
I stood up from behind the cover of the boxes and walked deeper into the back. The first body I saw belonged to Jacqueline Wolfe’s mother. A long section of model train track protruded from her eye socket. “Goddammit,” I mumbled and kept moving toward the back.
Mrs. Wolfe’s body lay on the floor with her lower half exposed, one leg twitching slightly.
I rushed over and knelt beside her. Heavy bruising around her neck indicated that she’d been strangled. I placed my finger against her carotid. There wasn’t a pulse. If her nerves were still firing, she hadn’t been dead long. I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services then began administering CPR.
In between breaths, I yelled to the emergency service operator who’d answered the phone to tell him where I was.
> I pumped the woman’s chest, counting to thirty each time, repositioned her head and then gave two breaths. Repeat. Time stretched away as the cycle continued.
The paramedics arrived within ten minutes and I collapsed onto the floor in exhaustion when they took over the CPR. They used shock paddles and even performed an emergency tracheotomy to bypass her crushed larynx, but nothing they were able to do in the field worked.
They finally loaded her into their ambulance, still trying to revive her and left me to talk to the uniformed police officers who’d arrived.
I explained why I was there and what my actions on the scene had been. It was a long night of paperwork, which caused me to lose the time I could have used to work on the case. I was exhausted by the time we were done and had the BMW take me home.
THIRTEEN: WEDNESDAY
“Open up, Forrest. This is the New Orleans Police Department.”
I slapped blearily at my alarm clock, but it wasn’t going off. “Andi, what’s happening?”
“There are three uniformed police officers and a man in a suit outside of your apartment door,” she reported. “They say they are from the New Orleans Police Department and their facial features match the department’s officer database.”
“What do they want?”
“To talk to you, Zach.”
“Fuck. Open the intercom.”
I went to take a piss while Andi explained that she was my assistant. Over the speakers, I heard the man in the hallway say, “I don’t give a shit if he’s indisposed. Open the door.”
“Hold on, I’m putting on some pants,” I yelled at the microphone in the closet.
“Don’t try anything, Forrest. We know you’re armed, open the door and come along peacefully.”
“What? Jesus, hold on.”
I buttoned my pants while I walked from the bedroom to the living room. The toilet computer droned on about my urine in the background.
“Okay, open the door, Andi.”
