“Huh.” I nodded in affirmation. “How long will Stern be?”
“Several hours at least. He returns here two or three times per week, she says, depending on circumstances. She mentioned that he has business outside the city and often comes back on Wednesdays, so we are quite fortunate things have lined up so well. We have ample time to prepare for our encounter.”
“Perfect. Let’s head to the joint.”
Allen nodded and followed me out of the apartment into the hall, now devoid of life except for me. And maybe Allen, depending on what one considered to be life.
A stakeout waiting for the Tinkerman who had jerry-rigged the Red-eye to do the job. But who was he? Some high-ranking undercover FBI agent? Or some crazy scientist with delusions of grandeur? Throw in the racketeering charges we’d be hitting Stern with, and my partner being an Automatic who’d eaten alongside me an hour ago, and so far this had been one hell of a week. My head was spinning from everything that had happened, and yet it was still a nice change of pace from being chased by armed gunmen. Which reminded me: after this little stakeout, I had a stop to make.
“Since we’re going to a speakeasy, Allen, do you play darts?”
CHAPTER 8
THE SPEAKEASY ALLEN AND I set up in was clear for most of the day. The sun shone high above the Plate while the fluorescent bulbs below tried desperately to imitate it. The sun appeared once more at the horizon just before the bulbs went out. I spent most of the day staring out the window, drifting in and out of sleep more than once due to the softness of the leather seats. I should have been revelling in this relaxation; I suspected that there wouldn’t be many more chances to do so during this case.
Allen was pacing back and forth, thousands of thoughts running through that metal brain. I decided to hold off on alcohol — for now, at least — as the Irish coffee had done enough to turn me off the stuff for a while. Now all we had to do was wait — the one part of my job I hated. At least some of the grub here was tolerable. We had the place to ourselves until around six in the evening, when the day-shift crowd would begin to shuffle in.
Evening turned to night, the bulbs of the Plate shut off, and nightlife took over once more, the hustle of the day — men and women and machines working to a monotonous drumbeat — replaced by the business of the night. The city’s malicious denizens began creeping up from gutters. The streets were once again alive with people whose business was to end lives or trade in them.
The speakeasy began to get packed. Thank goodness Allen had already laid claim to the dartboard. The barkeep hated taking it out during evening, as he said dartboards had been stolen more times than he could remember.
Most patrons kept quiet. Others joked and yelled, laughing at other people or maybe themselves. It all became white noise after a while. That was what most people become.
Stern was out of the city by the looks of it. No car matching the description of his yellow Duesy had shown up anywhere near the apartment building. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen a single Duesy since just after the War. Surprising that just driving that ritzy thing around hadn’t tipped anyone off about his business ventures.
I let Allen take the first crack at the board, since I was sure it would show me up. Turned out the metal man was less perfect than I thought it’d be. It missed the bull’s eye twice, hitting the black eighteen and white eleven. The third dart missed the board and stuck to the wooden wall it was hanging on.
“Little rusty, Allen?” I grinned and picked up three of my own darts, taking position in front of the board.
“Perhaps my parts are beginning to degrade. This may be cause for concern.”
“No, no, it’s an expression, Allen. You aren’t really one for jokes, are you?”
“Humour is an interesting capability you have and share with other humans, and possibly some other Automatics, though I do not see much use for it.”
I just shook my head. Allen would get it eventually. Maybe.
It took its darts down and threw them on the table next to the two leather chairs we had occupied for the past half day. I placed my left hand on my back and aimed with my right, bringing the dart level to my eye. I tossed it at the inner red seven, and the second landed in the green just millimeters from the bull’s eye.
“Your chances of hitting the bull’s eye with your skill and accuracy level are quite improbable,” Allen chirped behind me as it lowered itself onto one of the leather chairs.
“With this hand, maybe.” I switched and brought my right hand to my back, flexing my left as I tossed the small dart at the board, clipping my other dart as it pinned in the direct centre of the board. I turned to sit down beside Allen, smiling. It felt good to be winning. It felt good just to be playing.
“You’re ambidextrous.”
“Yes, thought that was obvious from just now.”
“I knew several days prior, actually.”
I chuckled — couldn’t help it — and turned to look at it. “By all means, tell me how. We have the time. Did you maybe see me pick myself up off a chair with my left hand one time and my right the other? Or maybe I grabbed Jaeger with my right hand and then held him with my left.”
“Nothing so benign as to be a matter of convenience for you. Rather, I read it in your file.”
“Oh.” I felt stupid after that little oversight. Allen had said it knew several days ago, and it had been around me for less than
