Midnight

by Brenden Carlson

  The familiar tipping and tapping of Tiny’s legs resonated once more above the speakeasy’s noise. It hopped onto the table. “Talkin’ business again, eh?”

  “Do you have to eavesdrop?”

  “Aye, I need to know what’s happenin’ in me bar at all times. Can’t let ya be sayin’ shite that’ll get folks riled up. What’s this about a bill?”

  “Congress is pushing a law to keep French and Chinese parts out, and its main opponent is little more than chunks now.”

  “That might be a problem.”

  “For bootleggers, sure.”

  “Aye, and for the people they sell the parts to.”

  I lowered my beer and noticed half the speakeasy was watching me. Not with anger — I was used to seeing people look like they wanted to flay me alive — but with concern, or as much concern as an Automatic could show. I might be looking at this politically, but these poor bastards had to look at it practically. The passing of this bill would result in hundreds of dead or dying — I mean, hundreds of broken or breaking machines throughout the States. But, of course, it wasn’t like humans to give a shit about their own kind, let alone another species.

  “Let’s roll, Allen.”

  “But —”

  “You didn’t pay, Roche!” Tiny yelled after me.

  “Put it on my tab.” I got up and went to the front door, which was blocked by the Titan. “Move it, lard ass.” The Titan moved aside as I stepped out, and Allen was right on my heels.

  It was starting to feel like everything I had to deal with was world-shaking. Why couldn’t things be quiet for once? Always the fate of the world on my shoulders — our shoulders now, it seemed.

  I had parked a few blocks away from the speakeasy so as to not draw attention. The entire walk back to the car, I was fraught with nerves, the hairs on the back of my neck sticking up. I could have sworn something was watching us the entire time, but I had no idea from where. Allen could tell I was agitated and did its best to not speak until we got to the car.

  Even driving home was a chore, as I had to try not to crash while constantly looking out all around us for something following us. No matter how far I drove — and I drove around all of south Manhattan to try and put distance between myself and my imagined pursuer — I never lost the feeling.

  Arriving home, we walked past Yuri and gave him a nod. He’d known me long enough to tell when I was unable to talk. I felt some measure of comfort once we reached the elevator. The liftbot in the bellboy uniform grumbled something under its breath on seeing Allen and pressed the button for my floor.

  “I think I know what’s watching us,” I said, finally breaking an almost hour-long silence.

  Allen turned to me. “Someone’s watching us?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really know.” There was a clicking sound coming from the little gearbox just above the elevator. That was new, and unwelcome. “You got Robins’s gun?”

  “Yes.”

  I pulled out my Diamondback, keeping it close to my chest. “Best load it, because whatever it is, it ain’t human. Don’t use it unless I get in trouble.”

  Allen retrieved the handgun and loaded a round, then held the weapon near its side, with its finger off the trigger.

  “Excuse me!” the Blue-eye liftbot exclaimed. “Put those away!”

  The clicking was getting louder. And it was slowing down.

  “Have you ever gotten stuck in an elevator, Detective?” Allen asked.

  “Once. I was by myself, though. I wasn’t stuck inside with three other people.”

  Allen scrunched up its face. “Three?”

  The liftbot looked between the two of us. “What in the hell are you two on?”

  The clicking stopped, as did the elevator. It rattled as inertia carried us up a few more inches, then it dropped down to settle on its cables. The fluorescent light in the ceiling was still on, and the bell announcing each floor had been functioning before we stopped, which meant it wasn’t a power issue.

  “I’ll call it in,” the liftbot said.

  “Don’t.” I put my hand out and raised my revolver. “It ain’t a mechanical issue.” I turned to my partner. “Don’t look up.”

  “Don’t you fire that in —”

  I released four rounds into the ceiling of the elevator, cutting the liftbot short. Each shot made Allen flinch from the sound bouncing around in our steel prison. Even I groaned at the pressure on my eardrums. The liftbot, less affected by the sound, was still reaming me out in its muffled mechanical voice. Several seconds later came some loud scrapes and the scurrying of limbs. That shut it up. The elevator started moving again.

  I looked up at the four holes I had made next to the elevator service hatch, which was open. A thick black liquid dripped from one of the holes. Disregarding my order, Allen looked up, too, and touched the strange liquid with one of its fingers. The doors of the elevator opened on my floor, and we proceeded to get out.

  “What —”

  “It ain’t oil,” I answered. “Don’t ask.”

  Allen decided not to question me. It put its weapon away. I exited the elevator first after making sure the coast was clear.

  “You’re paying for these damages!” the liftbot screamed after us.

  We ran down the hall to my apartment. I threw my partner the keys, and it began to unlock the door, its hands trembling. My hand was still tight on my revolver, though I’d need more than three rounds to ward off this thing, let alone kill it. I peered down the hall, desperately trying not to blink.

  But eventually I did, and in that fleeting moment, something appeared near the still-open elevator door. It was wrapped in black cloth, and its head was inches from scraping the high ceiling, which was peppered with holes made by its metal fingers. It was well over thirty feet away, but I knew how quickly it could move when it wanted to. It could have crossed the distance between us like a footstep. Allen glanced at it and dropped the keys in panic, then crouched down to grab them again.

  “You’re getting predictable,” I said to the figure, levelling the barrel of my revolver at it.

  “AM I?” Its voice was more grating to the ear than that of any regular Automatic. It sounded unnatural — more unnatural than machines usually did — each syllable like it was speaking through a metal tube, making my skin crawl. Its red eyes looked back at me from under the cloth.

  “I was hoping you’d been scrapped for parts by now.”

  “IS THAT ANY WAY TO GREET AN OLD FRIEND?” it asked.

  “You stay away from us, you hear? I don’t know where you were or why you’re here now, but you stay back. I won’t hesitate to kill you, you metal fuck.”

  “I’M SORRY I’VE BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG, BUT I PROMISE WE’LL BE WORKING CLOSELY FROM NOW ON. SERENDIPITY HAS BROUGHT US BACK TOGETHER.”

  “Detective …” Allen hammered out.

  “The door, Allen!” I called over my shoulder. “I’m guessing you were responsible for kidnapping that guy two weeks ago?”

  “PERHAPS. YOU’VE MISSED PLENTY OF OTHER THINGS.” There was a silence between us for a moment or two. I faced it for what felt like an eternity. Then it spoke again. “BE CAREFUL, DO YOU HEAR? YOU’VE BEEN IGNORING HER, AND YOU KNOW HOW SHE FEELS ABOUT BEING IGNORED.”

  Allen finally got the door open, and we got inside. I slammed the door shut and secured it with every lock I had. If Allen’d had skin, it would have been as pale as I was.

  “Detective, what on earth was that?”

  “An old partner of mine.” Shit, I shouldn’t have used that word. “No, more like a co-worker, sorry.”

  “Another henchman of your mysterious employer, I presume?”

  “Sure,” I grumbled.

  “Who do you really work for, Detective?” Allen stood and assumed a commanding presence. “Because this is pretty damning proof that you haven’t been completely honest with me.”

  You’re not wrong. “It’s complicated.”

  “So you better start explaining.”r />
  “Goddamn it, Allen, what do you want me to tell you? That I’m some mindless gun for hire, or that I work for someone who’s dangerous enough to have you killed if I even step out of line once? Which would put your mind at ease?”

  It paused to think about this. “The truth.”

  “Well, the truth is both, sorry to say.”

  “Detective!”

  “Fine. Fine! I work for a particular group of people … the Iron Hands.”

  Its jaw practically dropped. “Supposedly the largest cartel in America, whose exploits are so exaggerated that some civilians consider them a bogeyman myth — you’re working for them? For actual hardened, organized criminals?”

  “On the side, mostly. Sort of. Yes.”

  “In what capacity? As an informant?”

  “As … an enforcer.”

  “An enforcer!” I hadn’t realized Allen could yell. “You are an enforcer for the Iron Hands?”

  “Well, the enforcer, but —”

  “Elias!”

  “Technicalities aside, I’m a peacekeeper, Allen. I settle disputes, whether with words or with bullets. She roots out the small fish for Robins and me, and I deal with the sharks myself.”

  “You are actively working for one of the most dangerous organizations in the history of the human race and you lied to me about it?”

  Our roles had been reversed: for once I was calm and Allen was losing its mind.

  “Yeah, I lied, because I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

  “I’m taking it pretty darn hard, Roche!” Oh man, it was getting serious … it had used the word darn. “I can’t believe that you would go behind my back to serve these murderers and degenerates! Police officers are meant to uphold the law, not help people break it!”

  “I ain’t a cop, Al.”

  “Even so, I’m connected to this by association with you! I never thought … Oh my, I’m an unwitting accomplice to I can’t even imagine what!” It threw its arms up in exasperation, obviously struggling with all the questions running through its head. Eventually, it posed the simplest one. “Why?”

  “Why? Because I was in an emotionally compromised state when she found me, and I let her use me for her own ends.”

  “Being emotionally compromised is not an excuse for throwing out your morals and becoming a glorified murderer!”

  I approached Allen, and it backed up. I challenged it the same way I had Maranzano weeks before. “I’ve done some terribly stupid shit and I’m still paying for it. Don’t talk to me about excuses and what you would or wouldn’t do until you’ve lost almost everything, like I did!”

  Allen tightened its lips and gave me a few moments to control myself. “Have they helped your investigations?” it asked calmly.

  “Plenty, but regarding our first case, I answered to Robins first, them second. They just sped things along.”

  Allen nodded. “Andrew Stern, one of the suspects from the case — finding his apartment was their doing, I suspect.”

  “It was.” I backed away, letting it relax.

  “And that thing out there was … who you answer to?”

  “No, I answer to the Eye, their leader. She’s … difficult to read, negotiate with, or even contact. Dealing with her can be dangerous. We’re both in danger now because of my recent truancy. And you aren’t helping things. She thinks I’ve gone soft because of you. That’s the only reason she would send the Rabbit after me.”

  “The Rabbit?”

  “That thing we saw tonight. It was her old enforcer, before me.”

  Allen nodded. It looked like it was trying to keep itself from screaming in panic or disapproval, or both. “And why was the Rabbit not an issue in the previous case? Were you doing your job admirably?”

  “Maybe … I don’t know. With the Rabbit, you never know. She sent it on ‘vacation’ a year or so back, after that massacre it caused.”

  Allen frowned, but otherwise did its best to ignore the last part of that sentence. “How are things different with me here? I’m your partner, nothing more.”

  “You’re much more, Allen. I, um … I’m not good with partners. But you knew that. My last partner …”

  “I know about James. Commissioner Robins briefed me so I wouldn’t pester you about your attitude toward me or say the wrong thing. I didn’t want to mention him — it, sorry — until you were ready.”

  I nodded. “Police reports will tell you that I killed Morello and Luciano for the good of the city or whatever bullshit they put down, but trust me, they were not the only ones I killed that day. Or since. There’s a lot of blood on my hands, and I’m not proud of it. The Eye picked me up while I was investigating who set up the 5th to get whacked, and she offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse: she gave me the seven men responsible for killing my partner and threatening the 5th in exchange for the heads of whomever she pointed at.”

  Allen was quiet, rubbing its hands, a nervous habit it seemed to have picked up. “How long have you worked for them? Or for her, more accurately.”

  “Four years. More than four years I’ve been killing for her. The first two were chaos, utter havoc, destruction … It was sickening, even to me. Things are better now, but not much. But your being here, a new partner, means the wounds are healing, and she doesn’t want a hardened and matured man. She wants an animal, an impulsive, violent animal to do her work.”

  Allen sat down on the couch. Its metal brow was furrowed, doubtless spinning countless scenarios and thoughts through its head as it tried to calm itself. I went to the fridge and poured myself a glass of Scotch. I returned and sat beside Allen, placing the glass on the table in the centre of the room. I looked over at my phone. The small square recorder beside it was blinking its red light to show that I had messages.

  “The Rabbit. Is it a threat to us? To me?”

  “God, I hope not. But if it is, I’ll kill it. At least I’ll try to.” I had let loose with my trigger finger tonight. Allen knew I was nervous, and now the Rabbit knew, as well. I had to keep my cool, for both our sakes. “I’m still her enforcer, and unless I really screw up, we’re safe.”

  “I hope as much.”

  We sat there awkwardly. I could tell Allen was repressing the rest of his questions. I admired its willpower.

  “It’s for the greater good.”

  “I understand that. While this isn’t the best situation to be privy to … I understand.”

  I thought I’d try and defuse the tension by playing my phone messages. It was at Allen’s behest that I’d bought the new recording machine a few weeks back. And my new TV, too, which stood on four oak legs, its screen grey and lifeless. Just like most machines, only less colourful.

  “You mind, Allen?” I asked, pointing to the machine.

  “Not at all, Detect— er, Roche.” Looked like it was going to start crushing that habit. “If there are any civilian calls, will you be taking them?”

  “One step at a time, Al.”

  Overall, that had actually gone better than expected. Good thing we’d gotten the worst of it out of the way a month ago. I pressed the button, and the tape spooled up and began to play, the audio popping a bit.

  “Hey, Detective Roche? This is Curio. Reginald Curio. This is the third time I’ve called, and I really wanted to know about your story. I’ve heard about the Nightcaller from the broadcasts, and I just have to know more about the real —”

  “Nope.” I pressed the fast-forward button, followed by delete.

  “Who was —”

  “Don’t,” I snapped. The answering machine spooled up again and played the second message.

  “A message for Mr. Elias Roche. This is Elise Schafer calling for the Radio Corporation of America. It is with great honour that we invite the supposed inspiration behind our newest, and so far, most anticipated radio series to the annual RCA Gala this Sunday, December twenty-first. You will be on the guest list with a plus one, should you wish to bring a date. Do call ahead of time to confirm your pre
sence. Thank you.”

  The voice ceased, the tape stopped, and the light went out. Turning to Allen, I found its wide blue bulbs mere inches from my face, making me back away in surprise.

  “A gala tomorrow?” it began. “This must be at least a few days old. She must have called while you were out on a civilian Night Call.”

  “Yeah, plus I’m bad at remembering to check these messages.”

  “An event like that would be extremely helpful for our investigation.”

  “How do you figure that?” I asked.

  “You said it yourself, any number of GE higher-ups could have hired the man who killed Hartley. I suspect many of them will be there, seeing as RCA is a subsidiary of GE. Wouldn’t it be proactive to attend this gala and narrow down a possible suspect?”

  Not a bad idea, metal man. “Yeah, just what I was thinking.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  I laughed, but it didn’t. Jeez, it didn’t even get its own jokes. “You comfortable letting me lead the investigation, knowing who I’m connected with?”

  “Well, as they say, keep your friends close,” Allen said. “I’m not saying I condone your allegiances, but you are still doing your best to act like an officer, even going so far as to protect this city in ways an officer cannot. It’s admirable, if irresponsible.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “No, I’m not comfortable with this revelation, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

  Poor bastard was right, it didn’t have much of a choice. Either it was stuck with me and was protected by my name, or it went on desk duty and some Black Hat tried to Green-eye it next inspection. No doubt FBI Director Greaves had been trying to have it shredded ever since she’d set eyes on it.

  “Just … can you leave the gun in the car when we go?”

  “Well, if we do go, I’ll need a suit. And it’s already” — I checked my watch — “eleven at night.”

  “No tailor shop will be able to get a suit ready for you in less than a day. Where will you get a tailored suit at this hour, on such short notice?”