by Brian Parker
“Are you telling me that he didn’t die right away?” Rob pressed.
“That’s right, could have laid there electronically hooked together for an undeterminable amount of time until somehow they disconnected or something else.”
“Or something else? Hmm,” Rob replied as he turned and looked at the bodies. They were still embraced leaving no evidence of having disengaged.
“Rob,” I said to get his attention before I mouthed the word urine to him. He caught on and so did the maintenance man.
“Ya, could have done it. I don’t know how, but it could cause a short I reckon.”
“Alright, well you’re not going to be able to work on this unit anytime soon. It’s got to go to the lab downtown for a couple weeks, then we will see.”
“I figured as much, doesn’t matter. I’m under contract, so just give me a jingle if you need anything,” he said and handed me a card that had a stock image of a repairman in two hundred-year-old coveralls and old fashioned hand tools poking out of his belt. The card read Skelly’s certified repair and maintenance service for Cybertronic, Mattronic and Luvalux. He provided website, social media links and a twenty-four hour implant ping. Rob gave him a nod before looking at me.
“I thought that all of these were required to use factory service,” Rob mused.
“They changed last year after the election. They have to open things up to private contractors now. I think parts and manufacturing will be following suit.”
I’ve always had a head for politics and the legislation opening up business to private contractors was found out too late for me to capitalize on, I’m hoping I don’t miss out on something like that again. I will, because I got no money, but I’ll keep on dreaming. I’ll probably be a research cop for life—but that pays okay too.
“Stay back here, Officer Misha,” Rob warned. “We never get closer than this until the science team gets here.”
“Really? That’s not what they taught us at the academy.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t. In extreme situations, to save a life for instance, or if the crime is unfolding around us, we can violate that space. Otherwise, we can’t risk contaminating anything.”
“Skelly!” Rob called to the service man who was just finishing up giving a report to one of the uniformed guards. “When was the last time you serviced this droid?”
“Never. They’ve only been using pleasure droids for the last few weeks, preferring the human version before. I haven’t had to service any of them,” Skelly replied.
“Oh, what did you do before this?”
“I was at the Luvalux factory until the law changed and independents had a chance at making a go of it.”
“I see. Who else has access to these…machines?” Rob hesitated as he looked at the immobile pleasure droid on the bed. They looked so real that I could even see pores on her skin.
“I don’t know; whoever the management allows I guess.”
“Okay, thanks,” Rob said before turning back to me. “Not much to learn from but that is about the size of it. I have to stay here until the lab shows up and they’ll cart the entire scene back to their shop and dissect it. Otherwise we simply guard the scene and go from there.”
“What do you mean? You haven’t interviewed any of the staff, or checked for foot prints or anything like that,” I said, feeling cheated.
“It’s not the type of crime that requires footprints or fingerprints. If there was something malicious going on with this, then it occurred long before we got to this room. You’ll see that in time. As far as interviews go, I’ll be doing those while I wait. I already know how it’s gonna go, though: all I’m going to hear is the amount he paid, how long he rented the room, and what he preferred in the way of services. The towel boys or service personnel are mostly droids so we’ll get records downloaded direct from each unit that has his profile picture in their memory banks. In all honesty, to me it looks like death by mechanical failure. It might end up as a lawsuit against Mattronics, but much more than that and I just don’t see it.”
Rob was right. Mechanical failure was the obvious conclusion at this point, but I decided to stick around for the manager’s interview and was disappointed when it turned out to be exactly as Rob said, so I left. The man was almost mechanical in his responses and related his exposure to the victim as if it were recorded within an implanted database. It’d been a long day and I was tired.
Something was off here, I just didn’t know what.
I left the club and was surprised to see Tracy standing on the corner waiting for me. Wait, not waiting, she’d been watching for me, anticipating. She smiled brightly when she saw me look her way. I didn’t know if I was happy to see her there or not. I mean, a little fling might be nice, but it could be a set up. Then, I reminded myself that even though I was on scene and Tracy might be impressed by that, I was not a level one field investigator and had no claim on this case, and therefore I couldn’t jeopardize the case’s integrity. Besides, she’s hot and I do have a scanner in my apartment to insure that she’s truly human, and therefore legal. Her skin though. Her skin is perfect. It could be cultured and grafted, but that didn’t make her a droid. It did, however, imply that she had access to big money clients and/or employers.
I paused, I didn’t scrutinize or stare as much as I tried to take in her overall form to see if it was a workable package. It was. From her short-cropped skirt and polka dot top that was barely up to the job of containing her to the spikes that elongated her legs. Tracy was trouble if ever there was trouble and I didn’t seem to care. In fact I was looking forward to it.
“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing alone down here at night?”
“Just a series of unfortunate events, I guess. Lost my job a few weeks ago and then I was down here with my boyfriend and—”
“Boyfriend? Your boyfriend brought you down here to the Vacillate Inn?” I interrupted, more than a little disappointed at the mention of a man friend.
“Yeah, I am open to a lot of things but droids aren’t one of them. Then he told me…” She paused as if it was hard for her to say the words. Tears flowed freely now and I found myself wanting to reach out to her. She gasped and began to reshape her words.
“He told me not to come home.” She sniffled and held back a sob before continuing to express her anger. “He just left me here for the pimps and carvers. A man was harvested here just last week and he left me here.”
“I know,” I said remembering the case. Human organ harvesting had been going on for many years in spite of the clone labs growing new parts, which was probably where Tracy got her flawless skin.
“Are you hungry?” I asked and she nodded her head as she gave a perky wide eyed smile. “Good, we gotta swing by my place first,” I said and held out my arm to her, which she took.
“Maybe we could find something to eat at your apartment?”
“Maybe we could.” I replied and she smiled and snuggled in a little closer to whisper in my ear.
“Do you have any water credits? I could sure use a hot shower.”
“Sure, but you don’t have a change of clothes with you.” She just smiled and looked forward. I suddenly felt like a high school boy dating way out of his league—well a high school boy without a penis. I was going to have to find out a lot more about this girl before it went much farther. Or at least that was the plan. As it turned out, verifying her humanity was all I needed before Tracy got her hot shower.
The weekend was unlike any I’d ever had before, causing Monday morning to come way too soon. I found myself wondering if that was what it was like to be in a relationship but then brushed it off. She probably won’t even be there when I’m done with work and all my jewelry will be gone. I laughed out loud because for all of the jewelry I own… it was worth it. In fact she was probably way underpaid.
It took two days for the first pieces of potential evidence made it to our office. It turned out that Rob put me in his report as showing exemplary behav
ior, in particular my site awareness which in turn got me assigned as the task lead assignment. I remembered deducing the scene with him, but I didn’t realize that he was grading me. Then again, it was his job. I’m a junior detective spending her personal time to learn and that would look good come promotion time. I would have to thank him, another detective might have never mentioned it. If he wasn’t married I would take him home to meet Tracy, but as it was that would cause a whole scene I didn’t want to get involved with.
I suddenly realized that I might be creating bias in my involvement with Tracy. She was at the scene when I met her. I’m going to have to make sure that… That what? I didn’t know but I was going to have to figure it out.
“Hey, Rob, how’s it going?” I asked, trying to stifle a blush at the nasty thoughts I was just having about thanking him.
“Investigator Misha, how are you today?” he asked. “Congratulations on getting appointed task lead, that’s a big step in this day and age.”
“Thank you, Detective—double thanks for the mention in your report.”
“Just being honest, if you would have sucked, I would have mentioned it. Look, something has come up and I need you to pay special attention to certain areas in your breakdown.” He fished out a piece of paper with hand written notes and gave it to me. I checked and was pleased that it was legible before asking.
“What changed?”
“I’ve received some new intel. It’s too raw to get into details, but this might be more than it seems. Thanks.” He slapped the top of my cubicle before he left and I got to work.
First, I pulled up the new laws that were just introduced concerning the maintenance contracting being forcibly removed from manufacturers’ hands. The companies that relinquished that control under court order didn’t seem to be too upset about it. Or at least they didn’t raise too much of a stink about it and barely even acknowledge the unions and insurance policies that sprung up around the new independent industry. There were others involved in the turnover and I couldn’t help but be amazed at the amount of people who were prepared to deal with it. From service trucks to temporary employment services, people were geared up with plans in hand to turn this into their favor. Bourbon Street is no different than Wall Street when it comes to the amount of people seeking instant wealth off the backs of others. By looking at the going rates it looked like the service company itself would stand to make the least amount of money.
Everything was boxed up and designed to funnel money right back to the manufacturer through rights purchases. That didn’t even mention the cost of the schematics and manuals which are programmed into every bot with its own personal code to unlock them. That code changed so every time you opened her up you needed to buy the rights again.
Deaths have resulted from the use of robotics, not the least of which involved pleasure droids, so insurance was a big expense. Wrongful death, hazard, and liability was required just to get on the job site and doubled if you had an employee with you.
Rob said something was off, so I started a list. Under the heading of ‘Potential Motives’, I had insurance companies to build rates, service men to increase work and credibility, hookers to get their jobs back, unions to gain control of the new industry, and finally, manufacturers to discredit service men.
The last made the least amount of sense. The more workload relieved from a manufacturer, the more they can streamline their work force. So in truth, it would be a wash for them and may even be more profitable with less expense. Service men were probably off the mark as well since they were the least prepared of any of them and were still trying to get fully set up in business.
My angle would be unions, hookers—Is Tracy a hooker?—or the insurance companies. A bonding or holding company that had an angle on a much larger picture might be a player too. Truth is, the robotics industry touched so many others it was hard to pinpoint who had the most at stake.
You’d expect that I’d grab my gear and head out onto the streets to investigate these leads but that’s not my job. Instead, I file it in the case file database and start working on a new angle, which in this case was which private citizens had interests, how much money was borrowed or invested in this venture, and to whom. By the time my day ends I will have a thousand suspects and zero leads.
I was just wrapping up when Rob came back. There was an expression on his face that told me something was wrong. He came over and leaned on my cubicle holding a data pad like he wanted to show me something, but was holding back. I’d expected him to smile or crack a joke. He didn’t; he looked at me very seriously.
“I gotta ask you something, Misha. And I need you to be honest.”
“Is this about Tracy?”
“Is that her name?”
“Yeah. When I met her, I saw no conflict of interest, now though I think that’s changed.”
“It has; there might be issues with meeting someone at a crime scene to begin with, but I think that could be explained away. This…you gotta end it. Immediately or I’ll have to request that you aren’t the task leader on this,” Rob said sternly, yet at the same time giving me an out in not holding the weekend against me.
“I know. I’ll end it when I get home.”
“That’ll have to do. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said and left, never showing me the intel that he’d gathered. I wasn’t trusted anymore; I had become the weak link.
I would not be the weak link.
I took the lite rail home, leaving my data pad locked up at the lab, and my brain lost in thought. Tracy had seemed so sweet and in need of someone to help her, but why? She hadn’t been starved or beaten, and she didn’t seem to be broke, as she had made some purchases. So why did she need my help, why had she approached me that night? There was no way she could’ve known that I’d be on this case, but I was on scene and I look like a cop with my stunner and magnetic cuffs hanging off my belt. Yeah, she knew I was law enforcement.
I was totally bummed out. I really liked her, but the more I thought of it the more I realized that she had to have an ulterior motive. Everything seemed to be just a little too convenient, how could someone so sweet, so harmless, so…luscious be involved in this? Then again, what exactly was this? Was it murder or was it something much less sinister?
It didn’t matter, really. Either way, she had to go or I would ruin my first chance at moving up in the ranks to detective. Yes, my little Tracy was going to have to go and my days of living with a potential high-dollar, well-practiced call girl were over. Goddamn, it was a good weekend though. I’ll always have that to remember.
I paused at the street entry up to my Brownstone. The stairs seemed to lead towards the end of all things good in my world and I was dreading it. I walked up the stairs and bypassed the elevator in lieu of the stairs up to the fourth floor. I heard shuffling above me and looked up in time to see a dark haired man pull back out of view followed by the door on the third floor opening as what sounded like two bodies filed out. I rested my hand on my stunner and primed it with my thumb to be ready for anything, or anyone, who might jump out at me.
I peeked out onto the third floor to find the hallway empty and looking as if no one had passed through it for hours. The smell of curry and ethnic music emanated from one of the apartments. I continued up, keeping my hand on the stunner.
Something was wrong. I don’t know if it was paranoia or heightened senses but something told me that the men in the stairway were there for me and I’d tripped them up when I took the stairs instead of the elevator. Then again, it could all be innocent. I didn’t know, but I remained on edge with my head on a swivel as I got my magnetic key out and slid it through the scanner on my door.
The door opened into my apartment that smelled like a wonderfully seasoned pork roast cooking with potatoes, onions, and carrots in the same roaster. No one greeted me at the door, so I walked to the kitchen to find Tracy with her back to me standing over the stove. Her outfit was so scanty that if she were on the streets I wou
ld have to give her an indecent exposure citation, regardless of how decent her exposure actually was.
I just stared at her backside for a minute, dreading what I had to do and wondering if we could maybe have one more go round before she left. Her every move was dainty, precise, and sensual without her even knowing I was there.
She turned and caught me out of the corner of her eye. Startled she flew back against the counter with her hand held to her chest her entire body quivering with the furtive movement.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said before she stepped up and placed her full lips on mine to give me a tender kiss that tasted like vine-ripened honeydew harvested in the early autumn. I couldn’t help it as my hand slid down her waist and on to her ass, feeling the firmness and shape of her perfect anatomy. I pulled her closer for a kiss that was a bit more sensual, wondering to myself what I was doing. I had to kick her out of here, boot her to the curb and clear my reputation; I just didn’t know if I could do it. I wondered what it would be like to leave my job and wallow within the pleasantries that this fantastic form could offer.
It was a dead end street, much like this was a dead end relationship. A girl like this could never be interested in a girl like me. Her experience displayed during our lovemaking told me of someone who was way out of my league and was usually paid thousands of dollars a night to do some of the things she’d done with me.
Wake up Misha! I shouted to myself when I realized where my mind was going. This road leads nowhere, I thought and then pulled away from the beautiful being that called herself Tracy. She never offered a last name, but then again I’d never offered my first name so we were even on that score.
I pulled away, my brown eyes locked upon her emerald orbs that inspired tales of the sea. My pain must have been evident.
“What’s wrong, Misha? Have I done something to upset you?”
“No, Tracy. You haven’t. Not that I know of anyway.” I paused wondering how to approach this, but then realized that honest and straight forward would be the best way.
