I walked away from the ugly scene, wiping blood off my face, then looked up to see the metal man standing there. The adrenalin was wearing off, and part of me felt … off. The fight had scared the shit out of me, but my hands were steady and my heart wasn’t in my throat. I’d have been lying if I said the War didn’t hit me hard, but all the same, some days, it was the adrenalin that kept me going. The 5th had just gotten a new set of bodies to clean up.
Speaking of which, Allen had chosen that moment to come walking out of the crime scene. It looked quite shocked seeing me coated in red. “Detective Roche, are you quite all right?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“I heard sounds of a struggle, and I thought —”
“I’m fine, robot.” Fucking bastards. Now I had to wash my shirt … and I’d just had the thing pressed. “I cut myself on a dirty bottle, got worked up. Go run your errands. We’ll meet up later.”
“Of course, Detective …” The machine clearly didn’t believe me, but with orders from Robins, it didn’t have much leeway to argue. “Where?”
“Meet me in two hours at the Lower East Side Diner. You’ll see my car.”
I waited for Allen to put some distance between itself and the alleyway before I went to my car and started it up. First, to get home to change and look more presentable.
Then, I’d have a little meeting with the only person who saw and heard everything in this city and who might know a thing or two about our cop killer.
CHAPTER 7
I’D ALWAYS LOVED THIS DINER. It was familiar, clean, classic. Everyone called out to me when I came in, from Martha serving tables to Dean in the back washing dishes. The clock finally hit six in the morning, and the bulbs on the underside of the Plate started warming up and switching on. It was the signal for the night shifters to go home and the regular crowd to wake up, get some grub, and get to work.
The diner was rectangular, with a counter running along one of the longer walls, stools dotting the floor on one side of the counter, and booths along the opposite wall. The establishment was almost empty; most of the city was still waking up. I headed to my usual booth: the second one in, facing the door. As I sat down, I checked out the rest of the occupants. A young guy sat in the booth closest to the door reading a newspaper. Another guy, who looked like he had finished a night shift at GE, was sitting at the counter sipping coffee. The cooks were busy at their grills, preparing their own breakfasts or cleaning whatever dishes they’d missed during the night. Martha came out from behind the counter and strolled up to me. I barely caught a breath before she rolled by with that musk that followed her. Sure, I smoked, but not as much as she did.
“What can I get you, El?” Though she smelled like a smoker, she didn’t sound like one. She had a nice face to match the nice voice, too, and blond hair still pure and undamaged.
“Coffee. Throw me a few eggs as well. I haven’t been eating right the past few days.”
“Your little cases got you on the ropes? Or are you always this high-strung in the mornings?”
“You’d know better than me. Technically, this is my lunch. I’ve been up far too long.” I flashed a grin, took a folded ten in my fingers, and put it in her apron pocket. “And give me a kick. I need something to help me relax.”
She nodded, smiled, and went to the kitchen, her shoes slapping against the linoleum floor. As she yelled my order over to the cooks, my eyes wandered over to the window. The streets were illuminated by incandescent bulbs high above. Light reflected off of a metal dome moving along the street — I recognized Allen approaching the diner.
Allen came through the door, and everyone inside the diner — except me — stared for a moment, then looked away. Not many people on the Lower East Side were fond of Automatics.
“You get anything of use?” I called out to Allen, so it wouldn’t get cold feet from seeing their reaction. It hesitated, but moved toward me.
“I was able to dig through the records of several precincts, though I believe they would have been far less reluctant to give me information had you been there, Detective.” It slid into the booth seat opposite to me. “They were not too keen on allowing me to enter their buildings, let alone access their records.”
“We all need to make sacrifices some days. You show them your badge?”
“I did.”
“And I’m guessing they were just as surprised as I was …”
Martha practically threw the coffee at me as she ran past the table. Considering the number of patrons in the place, I doubted she was actually that busy. This place didn’t have a No Automatics Allowed sign out front, but every other shop did; the owners probably expected to be covered by association. Umbrella effect and all that. I could see Allen eyeing Martha with curiosity. It was a subtle reaction, but its servos twitched into a concerned expression.
“Any significant findings?”
“None thus far. I was able to find the addresses of the three officers in question. After informing Robins of their connection to the case, he has sent his own officers to the addresses to find them. He said he would contact you if he found anything of note. He seemed tense when I visited the precinct, perhaps due to the FBI’s presence.”
“Yeah, or maybe he just wasn’t all there.” I grabbed the coffee and sipped. Damn, that feels better. Martha was damn good at hiding the smell of the Irish coffees she brewed.
“All there? Is that a euphemism I am unaware of? Does he have frequent absences?”
“No, not
