I grasped the sides of my leather couch and pulled myself upright. My face was on fire. I knew, though, that I could do little for the pain besides put some ice on it. I looked at my watch. It was four in the morning. All I could remember was getting in a police cruiser and closing my eyes for a moment.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
At this question the robot turned, its blue eyes gleaming brightly.
“It was not hard to find you, Detective Roche. The commissioner told me that you had a serial number in your possession, and I deduced that you would want to get some information on it promptly. Therefore, going to the General Electrics building was my best option — though in the end, it proved easier to find you than I’d initially expected.”
“Why’d you guess GE? I might have gone to another precinct.”
“Commissioner Robins informed me that you are … less co-operative, let’s say, with other commissioners than you are with him.”
“Also, why couldn’t you stop my car from being impounded?”
“On the contrary — I’ve arranged for one of our associates — or, constables, rather — to bring it here.”
I felt a chill when it said associates. Too formal, too inorganic. “Why did you help me? You feel some kind of responsibility to keep me from risking my ass too much?”
“I believe that if we are to work together as partners, I should —”
“No.” I stopped it from speaking and found myself walking away into the kitchen. The small cooking area was separated from the living room by a small waist-high countertop. I rested my weight on it. “We’re not partners, we’re not working together. I work better alone, and the only reason you are here is because Robins needs a babysitter for you. Or maybe me; I don’t know. You can tag along, but you are not my partner in any sense of the word.”
“I would refer to your file regarding this behaviour. However, it seems this information has been expunged.”
“You’ve been going through my file?” That explained why it had been on Robins’s desk.
“Of course. I wanted insight as to your history, methods, and general personality.”
“Well, shit.” This was too much for me. Fucking Blue-eyes.
I slotted a cup into my coffee machine, spooling up the wall-mounted Tesla Battery as black liquid spewed into the cup. I turned to see where the Automatic had gone and found it standing mere inches from me. Goddamn! I nearly threw my cup up into the ceiling in surprise.
“You need something, metal man?”
“I’d like to inquire as whether you have any leads in … your investigation.”
It had avoided saying “our investigation.” Good, it was a quick learner. I supposed that I’d better say something constructive, make sure it didn’t think it was chasing a lost cause. “I made some headway and got the serial number registration. The Auto belongs to some guy at Jaeger Electrics in SoHo.”
“I am familiar with the establishment. I could direct us there, if you would have me join you in the investigation.”
I looked at it, still astonished and unable to think of a retort just now. I thought for a few seconds before responding. “You ain’t a regular Automatic.”
“I believe you’re correct.”
“New model?”
It stuttered as it tried to think of a response. “In a sense, yes.”
I pulled the cup from the coffee machine and drank, letting the scalding liquid hit my tongue and slither down my throat. It hurt, but I needed a wake-up call; I couldn’t be investigating only half-awake. I waited a few more seconds before walking around the Automatic and grabbing my car keys from my jacket pocket and my vest from the coat hanger. “One chance, coppertop. You make yourself useful, we’ll work together after this. You’re already more useful than any regular Blue-eye.”
“Thank you, Detective Roche.” It followed me into the hallway and matched my stride. “While at the 5th Precinct, I put together a small file of information on our case, so as to organize our thoughts better. It might prove useful.”
“We shall see, tin head.”
“Will you be finishing your coffee?”
“Nah … only needed a sip.”
It hesitated, trying to process what I meant, then forgot about it a moment later. “Shall I drive to this location?”
“No. My car — let’s roll. Hopefully it’s here already.” We entered the elevator and shot downward to our objective. A temporary partner wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe.
They’d better not have scratched up my car, though.
The shop was in the lower quarter of SoHo, a stone’s throw from my place. Getting there, however, was a slog, as we had to pass through the west side of the Anchor, which was rife with traffic even at this time of morning. Once we reached SoHo, the congestion dropped off considerably. We parked outside the shop at half past four. It was dark under the Plate at this time; the sun hadn’t even reached the horizon yet. My car was one of the few on the street. For the most part, the area was clear of man or machine, as everyone was either sleeping or working the graveyard shift. The subway tracks above me were rusted and long since abandoned. Most avoided the subway, whether above ground or underground. Stepping out, I smelled the unforgettable stench — rotting wood and rusted metal with a hint of cannabis — of one of the largest decrepit neighbourhoods in the city. Or in the country, for that matter — this was as bad as it got anywhere outside the Grotto.
With its glowing neon sign and faint bulbs over the door, Jaeger Electrics looked far more respectable than the rest of the neighbourhood it resided in. The only other manned establishment was the Brass and Pass, a local speakeasy for any wandering Blue-eyes. I opened the trunk of my Talbot and rummaged through the junk I tossed in here
