“Now listen, this’ll be a delicate situation. I need you to do exactly what I do, and don’t make any moves without my say. I don’t need the guy freaking out when we tell him his Automatic may have killed two cops. Regardless, there’s a body going in this trunk tonight.”
“Understood … except for that last part.”
“And if I get shit on, your job is to back my ass up. Especially if he is who I think he is.” There was a damn good chance that there was a cop killer in there. All I needed was confirmation of that and my handgun would do the rest.
“Of course, Detective, but … who exactly would he be?” it asked.
I ignored the Automatic, feeling something cold and rough grace my palm. I wrapped my fingers around it to feel the soft leather of my revolver’s grip. Of course it was in here — the trunk was my go-to place for hiding things. I pulled out the large revolver, cracking open the breech as I spun the cylinder. Seven bullets, perfect. I must have remembered to load it after last time. The robot took one look at the weapon and piped up again. “That is a .46-calibre Diamondback revolver, banned in New York and several other states on the grounds of —”
“That doesn’t matter, tin top. This thing has saved my ass more times than any partner has. And it’s a .38 calibre, same as standard-issue police pistols.”
“Sir, I will have to confiscate the weapon if you plan on carrying it.”
I closed the breech with a loud click, fitting it into the holster under my left arm as I turned. “Take it from me, then.”
The machine was smarter than most. It dropped the subject. We stepped up to look through the murky window of the store. Most of it was falling apart, but the shelving units were new and lined with shiny chrome parts and electronics. From the looks of things, whoever ran this joint was used to staying open through the night. I turned to the tin man again.
“Just follow suit, and don’t mention any of this being off the record. And for Christ’s sake, try to look convincing.”
I wondered if it had picked up on the irony of my last statement. I turned the handle and entered the small shop. The machine followed me in, approached the counter, and waited. I scanned the room and found one security camera in the upper corner, some locks and bars on the windows, and a few folding chairs under the shelves. Judging by the size of the place, the owner might live above or behind the shop. The countertop was vinyl, a rare sight in the older part of town. It smelled like mint in here.
The door behind the counter creaked open, and a casually dressed man walked through, surprised to see people in his shop at this hour. He must have seen us on the camera. His beard was thick, with grey streaks. Most of the hair on his head was grey and thin enough to see his scalp. His face, though, looked no older than forty.
“Gentlemen, how may I be of service at this hour?” Weird German accent. His voice sounded posh, yet unrefined, a bit gravelly.
“Detective Roche of the NYPD, 5th Precinct. This is my partner …” Shit, I hadn’t given the damn thing a name. Luckily, it heard me trailing off and spoke up.
“Designation Forty-One-Echo-November.”
Thanks, tin man.
“Would I be right in assuming you are the Jaeger of Jaeger Electrics?”
“Ja, Johann Jaeger.” Funny name, funny man. He forced an uncomfortable smile, probably nervous about having coppers in his establishment. The last Jaeger to be thrown in the slammer had been taken down by the 5th.
“Last night at around twenty-three hundred hours, two Red-eyes tore up the speakeasy at Prince and Greene. One of them was destroyed by the police. We looked up its serial number and found it to be registered to here. Do you have any idea why that would be?”
I passed Jaeger the strip with the serial number. He paused before what I was saying seemed to click in his head.
“My Automatic was destroyed? No, not Rudi.” He sat down in a chair behind the counter, stunned. “He went to see a supplier, to pick up a shipment for the shop. I thought he was just running late … Gott im Himmel.”
“Do you have any idea why your Automatic would have been Red-eyed? ”
“I have no idea. I don’t know what makes the machines run, and I don’t understand why they might have taken my Automatic.”
“You have any experience programming Automatics? Police Green-eyes, even any who come in for maintenance?”
“No, no, I’m just the proprietor. I’ve never programmed in my life.”
“No ties to the police?”
“No. Would you please excuse me? I must go to the back.”
“I’m not done asking questions, sir.”
“I’m an old man, and my only companion has been destroyed. I need a moment alone.”
He wasn’t that old. I guessed there was something other than sadness and shock motivating him right now. He tried to get up, but I approached and forced him back in his seat. “Let’s start over, and this time —”
“Excuse me, sir, may I ask you something?” the tin man piped up. Jaeger turned his head to meet the robot’s gaze. “What kind of electronics do you sell?”
“This ain’t the time for that, robot, we need —”
“I know what I’m doing, Detective Roche. Please allow me to do my job,” the Automatic said. It had interrupted me. This was new. This I had to see play out. I stood back and let it continue, but I put my hand on the handle of my Diamondback in its holster.
“I do not understand what you’re asking,” Jaeger said, looking confused. No, concerned.
No, terrified.
“I’m inquiring what electronics you sell in this shop. The prices of various items,
