by: Laura Browne-Lambert
The dang robots were at it again. Danny Rodriguez hung the phone on the jack next to the computer monitor with a click. He pulled his jacket on with a roll of his eyes and patted his pockets to check for his key, phone, wallet, and badge. Key in hand, he slipped out of his cubicle and down the hall. Near the exit, he slipped.
“Please watch your step,” a too-loud staticky voice said beside him. Danny looked down from where he had caught himself against the wall. A sudsy puddle spread across the floor and led to a short, boxy machine with flashing lights that approximated eyes and a single arm with pointed articulations that bent and lengthened as it wiped the floor with a mop affixed to the end of the arm. The bucket at its base had tipped on its side, soap and water still sloshing out as the machine moved.
“The blasted thing has been doing that all day,” a tired voice said from the front desk. Miles caught Danny’s eye, nodding at the robomop. “I swear, this is the sixth time today. I could have mopped the entire precinct in the amount of time I’ve taken cleaning up after it, but Maintenance says we have to use it.”
“Sorry,” Danny said with an apologetic shrug.
“Eh,” Miles shrugged back as he came around the desk, old-school mop and bucket in hand. He clearly had not bothered to put them away after the last incident. “I’m guessing Robo-Stead Solutions is giving the city money. Why else would they make me spend all my time cleaning up after faulty machinery instead of doing my job?”
Danny shook out his wet shoes and cracked the door open. Cold air gusted through the gap. “Could be.”
“Hey!” Miles exclaimed as the robot knocked into his leg. He gave it a kick, and it tilted onto its side.
“Please watch your step,” the staticky voice repeated.
Danny chuckled and leaned out the door. “Good luck with that,” he called.
“Maybe, you can look into it for me.”
Danny turned around and caught the door with his foot. “Look into what?”
Miles squelched through the puddle on his way to huddle in the doorframe. He lowered his voice. “You know.” He crossed his arms. “Follow the money. See if the city really is accepting money from Robo-Stead.”
Danny stared at Miles. “Why would I do that?” He asked. A sharpness crept into his voice.
Miles shifted uneasily. “I just thought – because you’re in the Robo Div. You could – you know – look into why we keep getting janky merch.”
“No, man,” Danny said. “I’m in the Robotic Crimes Division. I track down people using robots to commit crimes and investigate fatal malfunctions. What you’re talking about – Robo Div doesn’t do that. Go take your conspiracy theories somewhere else.” Danny slammed the door in Miles’ face and stalked to the car. What was Miles thinking? Talking about investigating political quid pro quos in the middle of the precinct. No wonder he hadn’t been moved out of the front lobby yet. The kid would probably retire there if he was lucky enough to keep his job. Danny pealed out of the lot and joined traffic.
CW: mentions of violence, injury, hospitalization
Image Description: Glowing red wires and knobs create the appearance of the inside of a motherboard.
Credit: Michael Dziedzic / Unsplash via Webador
“Connie, navigate to seven twenty-six Addams Street,” Danny said to an otherwise empty car.
A tinny feminine voice responded. “Good afternoon to you too, Danny.” The voice had an almost sarcastic tone to it. Danny rolled his eyes again. If only the engineers designing A.I. would focus more on practical applications and less on trying to make their products imitate human personality traits. “Are you sure you would like to go to Johnny’s Tavern? It is not considered customary to visit an establishment that specializes in alcoholic beverages during work hours.” Danny groaned. His A.I. had been doing this sort of thing since her last update.
“Just take me to Johnny’s Tavern, Connie.”
“Navigating to seven hundred twenty-six Addams Street.” The steering wheel rumbled briefly to signify that Connie had taken control of the vehicle. Danny sat back and squirmed in his seat as he readjusted his binder, then flattened the wrinkles in his shirt and straightened his tie. Connie parked the car along the street in front of the bar, and Danny set a pair of sunglasses on his face even though he knew he would have to remove them as soon as he entered the dimly lit establishment.
The inside of the bar was exactly as Danny remembered. A pair of pool tables lined the entrance. High top tables and shiny bar stools led the way to a long, wraparound bar. The bar’s namesake, Johanna, an ancient lesbian who everyone just called Johnny, stood behind the bar. Busy tidying, the woman lifted boxes and rearranged bottles with the strength of an elder who had spent her life laboring. A lone woman, faded blue hair piled messily atop her head, sat at one of the few low top tables, phone in hand. A single forearm crutch leaned against her chair’s backrest. Danny ignored her as he made his way to the bar.
“Did you bring your badge with you, today, D?” Johnny asked without looking up. She wrung out a rag and ran it across the bar top.
“It’s eleven in the morning, Johnny,” Danny answered. “You know I’m not here for a drink.”
Johnny shrugged. “Just thought you might have come to offer your condolences – you know – like the other regulars.” Johnny finally looked up, a hardness to the creases around her eyes.
Danny scratched his ear nervously. “I’m sorry, Johnny. I only just heard when it came to my desk, today.”
“And you came here, right away, did you?” Johnny grumbled as she lifted a case of beer onto the counter and started stocking the fridge.
“Yeah, Johnny,” Danny said. “I did.” Johnny gave him a look of irritation. Danny walked behind the bar and brought her a case of canned ciders. She raised her eyes at him. Danny sighed. “Seriously, Johnny. I just want to help.”
Johnny’s bitterness seemed to drain out of her in an instant, leaving her looking worn and a little mournful. “Sit down,” Johnny said with a nod toward a nearby barstool. She followed Danny with a couple bottles of ale in her hands. She offered one to Danny and waited until he had taken a sip before she began talking.
“I suppose it all started – ”
“Danny,” an airy voice coming from Danny’s wristwatch cut her off. “I detect a very slight increase in your blood alcohol level. It is not customary to drink during hours of employment. I recommend—”
“Oh, be quiet, Connie.” Danny hit a button on the side of the device and the voice silenced. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Connie is regulation A.I.” he said in answer to Johnny’s look of suspicion. “Don’t worry. She won’t bother us, again.”
Johnny shrugged. “As I was saying, I bought a second-hand Robo-Stead Mop ‘N Scrub three weeks ago to help me keep this place in shape. I’m getting old, you know. I can’t keep this place open on my own forever. I never much cared for all these fancy gadgets, but I thought, maybe I could manage something basic.” Danny nodded and gestured for her to continue. “If I had bought it new, I would’ve taken it back right away, because something wasn’t right with it from the start, but I got it used, so there was no one to return it to.”
Danny furrowed his brow. “What wasn’t right about it?”
“Well, at first, it seemed like a few of the wires got crossed. It would mop when I told it to scrub or wipe down a table when I programmed it to sweep. Then it started turning on automatically and roving around without me touching the remote. It ran into customers, swept drinks off the tables, made a real mess of things. I was mad because it was supposed to give me less work, but I kept finding myself spending all my time cleaning up after it.”
“So, then what? Something more must have happened for your case to have reached my desk.”
“So, then I caught it tripping customers with the mop and broom handles, throwing wet rags at people’s faces, dumping suds in patrons’ shoes. At first, I thought it was just a dumb machine going haywire. I made plans to sell it for parts, but the night before my buyer showed up, the thing picked up a knife and stabbed two people. One of them is still in the hospital. The police took statements the night of the incident, but no one has followed up with me since then. I had my buyer shut the thing down so it wouldn’t cause anymore trouble, but I didn’t want her to take it until the police closed the case.”
“Why didn’t you shut it down earlier, when you first started having problems with it?”
“Come on, Danny,” Johnny waved a hand angrily. “How crazy would you call yourself if you started thinking you had some kind of murder-bot on your hands? I convinced myself it was all a trick of the eye. It was just a malfunctioning piece of old trash an old lady got swindled into buying. I was as shocked as anyone that the thing actually picked up a weapon and used it on a person. It’s only in hindsight that I’m seeing all the pieces come together.” Johnny grabbed Danny by the arm. “You’ve got to help me out, kid. I’m too close to retirement to lose all my money in court, and I’m too old to find another job. I’ve got to get to the bottom of this so that those people who got hurt can heal up and we can all move on with our lives.”
Danny knocked back a final swig of ale. “Well, I’m not ready to say you’ve got an actual murder-bot on our hands – probably just a bit of janky wiring.” At Johnny’s raised eyebrows, Danny amended, “Very janky wiring. But I’ll look into it.” He glanced around the room. “Where is the piece of junk?”
“I keep it in the broom closet.” Johnny got up and led the way to a door near the bathrooms. She opened the door. “I assume you want to take it with you?”
Danny eyed the machine. It looked innocuous enough, not dissimilar to the robomop he had passed on his way out of the precinct. A sleek plastic mast stretched from the base about chest high. The mop bucket locked into the front of the base and the back side had a small container for rags. Plastic claws clipped the mop and broom to the mast and a long, articulating arm stretched from the top. The battery sat at the bottom of the otherwise empty bucket. “Yeah,” he said. “I suppose I’d better.” He hefted the Mop ‘N Scrub over his shoulder and let Johnny open the door for him as he exited. “Anything else I should know?” he asked.
Johnny averted her eyes sheepishly. “Well, you all never followed up, so I hired someone to look into things.” She jabbed her finger over her shoulder toward the woman sitting at the low top table. Danny had forgotten about her.
Danny groaned loudly, without caring if the woman could hear him from outside the bar. “Seriously, Johnny? You hired a private investigator?” He dropped the robot into his trunk gracelessly. “You know how much I hate it when PIs follow me around.”
A small smile crept up the side of Johnny’s face. “Maybe next time, the police will come when I call.” She pulled the door shut behind her as she disappeared into the bar.
Danny slid into the driver’s seat with a growl.
“Danny, I detect a sudden spike in your blood pressure. For the sake of your health, you should—”
“Shut up, Connie!” Danny scrubbed his face with a hand. This investigation was already not going his way.
Image Description: Orange directional signs painted on the side of a stucco wall. The signs say "to be continued."
Credit: Reuben Juarez / Unsplash via Webador
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