Night Call Page 5

  The office I’d chosen was close to the elevator and about twelve feet square, with a large, boxy terminal and a lamp sitting on an L-shaped desk. The rest of the desk’s real estate was covered in loose papers, which made the room feel smaller than it really was. I sat at the chair and booted up the green-screened terminal. A blinking white box appeared, prompting me for my identification. While the guy’s identification was easy to find on some of the forms on his desk, the password was trickier. Typing PASSWORD elicited exactly the response I’d expected: Access Denied. Looking for some clue, I glanced again at the letters from his wife and reminder notes strewn about the desk. Tinkermen were notorious for wasting their lives at their jobs, and yet this one was away from his office at the moment. I found out why when I discovered the lawyer’s bills; the amount due made my paycheck look like small potatoes.

  I spied a small button labelled ASSISTANCE on the side of the terminal’s keyboard. I jammed my thumb into it and waited a minute or two until a Green-eye let itself into the office. Most of its body was stripped down to basics, with a very simple base and limbs. The friendly, simple design made people feel safe. Quite the opposite of the Grifter statue downstairs.

  “May I be of assistance, Mr. McEwen?”

  “I need access to the — I mean, to my terminal, but I’ve forgotten my password.”

  I should have thanked my lucky stars that these assistance models were dumber than most. They were built without visual recognition to reduce costs. The Automatic plugged a small cord from its palm into the terminal and turned to me.

  “I need confirmation of your identity, sir. Access code?”

  “Password?”

  “Incorrect.”

  Why had I thought a second time that that would work? My eyes fell on the lawyer’s bill, which included the name of the guy’s wife. “Beatrice?”

  “Correct, sir. Thank you.” He retracted from the terminal and slid out the door to parts unknown. I guessed the fellow in this office wouldn’t have the same access code for much longer.

  I made sure the machine was gone before I started searching the directory for the serial number. Hundreds of lines of code ran in front of my eyes, and my body tensed up from the onslaught of information. I had far more respect for those Tinkermen now. I’d never done this alone. They performed such searches in mere seconds, which now seemed like a miracle. A few lucky clicks of the keys to select anything saying serial or number, and the white rectangle finally lit up, blinking to signal me to input orders. I pulled out the small strip and entered the Automatic’s serial number into the terminal. After several moments, the computer spit out a list of information: the Automatic was listed with the model code RU-D1, and had been bought two years ago by Johann Jaeger of Jaeger’s Electrics in SoHo.

  Jaeger. That was a name I hadn’t heard in a while. I wondered if it was the same man I’d used to know.

  No matter. I had what I came for. I shut down the terminal and left the office. Just as I was about to press my thumb on the down button, the elevator car arrived with a chime, and the silver doors parted to reveal two men in uniform. Not cops — GE hated having police on their premises — but security guards.

  All three of us froze — the guards were surprised that I had gone for the elevator, like an idiot, and I was surprised at how much faster their response time was. I looked behind me for a way out, but heard them draw their weapons from their holsters. The guns were only for show, though. I knew they wouldn’t fire while civilians were on the floor. I was another story altogether. It was too bad my own revolver wasn’t in my holster. Then again, I wouldn’t have made it past the front door if I’d been carrying heat. Right now, my only options were to put up my hands or to run. I settled on the latter, turning and booking it down the hallway.

  As I ran, the pattering of feet behind me was getting louder. These guards were in better shape than I was. Several pencil-pushers working at their terminals turned in surprise as the guards chased after me. I noticed that there weren’t any security cameras in the area and surmised that security had been tipped off by the Green-eye’s coming to the office I was in — they must have known that no one was supposed to be in there. I’d had no idea that GE was able to keep such close tabs on their Green-eyes, but I should have expected it. I kept forgetting that the old rules didn’t apply, here in GE. They probably knew everyone who even breathed on their building below the Plate.

  The offices to the left and right ended just before I reached the doors to the mainframe. Now the corridor diverged in two directions. The hallway running perpendicular to me terminated on either side in windows. Hopefully this meant that the floor was set up in the shape of a figure eight, and the hallways looped back to the elevators on the other side of the offices. I took a chance and went left. Maybe I could swing around these guards and catch the elevator, or perhaps there was another set of elevators. There had to be.

  I took a left. When I reached the windows, I nearly tumbled over a table and some chairs. I turned left again, hoping I could make it back to the elevators before the guards caught up to me. But I was unlucky. These guards had brains; while one had chased me, the other had gone around the other way to cut me off.

  “Shit,” I muttered just as the guard chasing me grabbed my arm and twisted it behind me. He stuck the barrel of his weapon into the small of my back as the other guard approached.

  “What the hell are you doing? No fuckin’ cops are allowed here, especially not without an escort.”

  “Well, this was important, and I didn’t have time to wait.”

  “And look where that got you.” They searched me, finding my car keys, my deteriorating wallet, and the temp card that definitely wasn’t mine. They held on to me, taking the card and tearing it up before leading me to the elevator. One of them put a hand on the radio attached to his shoulder and spoke into it as the other made sure I couldn’t pull another fast one on them. They both wore polymer protection vests, two-way cordless radios, and what looked like crowd-control batons with electric pads for frying Automatics. Most precincts likely wouldn’t see that kind of tech for another decade. These security guards were carrying more advanced stuff than me or anyone on the Force.

  The guard on his radio turned back to me. “No warrant?”

  “No, of course not. Why the fuck would a cop need a warrant to get into GE?”

  “Because unlike you cops, we’re doing actual work here. What were you looking for in that office?”

  “None of your goddamn business.”

  A firm punch to my jaw knocked my orientation out of whack. When my eyes refocused a few moments later, I realized that I was on the floor. I felt blood start running down my face after the guard yanked me back up.

  “Try again, copper.”

  “Fine, I needed an Automatic’s information. I didn’t get into the damn computer, though. Happy?”

  He turned away from me and began to speak on his radio again.

  The one who was holding me seemed far quieter, and I decided to press my luck.

  “You reach in my back pocket and we can forget this ever happened. Just look behind you for a few minutes when we get to the ground floor.” I moved my fingers enough to pull the tip of a twenty out of my pants pocket, but the guard looked away. They must have loved their jobs if they weren’t willing to take a bribe.

  “Got a name, copper?”

  “Nope. I didn’t get one from my parents. Still trying to decide what to call myself.”

  The second punch hurt much more, but I had to smile. The fact that they were using violence meant either that I was getting under their skin, or that this kind of thing had happened recently. And I knew for a fact that no contract cop was brave enough to even step on GE’s lawn.

  The security boy took my badge and looked it over, turned his back to me, and radioed in the information. The radio handler on the other side soon responded, stating that the number on my badge wasn’t in circulation. I should have waited to get that fresh badg
e from Robins.

  We finally reached the main foyer, where the receptionist refrained from looking at us as the guards dragged me toward the front door roughly enough to make me an example to any ne’er-do-wells in the foyer. I looked down to see spots of blood falling from my mouth and dotting the floor behind me — that would piss off some bigwigs. The situation sucked, but even little silver linings made things more bearable.

  Outside, the sidewalk and lawn were devoid of human life. They threw me onto the grass — which was colder than I was expecting. I opened my eyes and saw that snow was beginning to fall. That was why the Plate was moving tonight. Most of the snow would be converted to water for the Upper City, but some would be filtered through the Plate with fans to alleviate pressure. The falling snowflakes and chill helped comfort my wounds.

  I looked over to see a tow truck hooking up my car. Before I could get up to make my way over, the truck had driven off with it. Security must have found out it was mine and called for it to be impounded. Just my luck. And fuck me if that tow truck wasn’t the fastest one in the city.

  I flopped back on the grass, looking up at the Plate and the tiny snowflakes falling onto my face. I wanted to scream in frustration. The cold made my jaw feel somewhat better, though the humiliation had done little for my self-esteem. I was surprised that I had even gotten so far as to pull the Red-eye’s numbers. This would be a story to share with the boys next poker night, right after I got my car back.

  I was pulled out of my self-loathing by a shadow appearing over me, its blue eyes staring down at me. “Hello, Detective Roche.”

  I pushed myself up from the thick grass to see the Blue-eye from Robins’s office standing there. It gestured to the police cruiser that was parked at the side of the street. Well, damn, it could drive. More than I could say for Toby.

  “I am here to take you home.”

  CHAPTER 5

  CEILING FANS HAD A WAY OF CALMING ME. The swift, fluid movement was like a ticking clock, mesmerizing. I realized I’d been staring at this one for quite some time since waking up. I felt around with my hands for a few seconds and came to the conclusion that I was on a couch. My couch. I looked down to see the same button-down shirt and wrinkled, stained black slacks I’d been wearing during my meeting with the grass. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten home. The bleeding in my mouth had subsided, and dried blood clogged my nose and covered my face. My shoes were still on my feet, and I’d tracked dirt along the carpet and onto the couch. “Shit!”

  Something stirred to my left. I looked over to see the suited figure of the Blue-eye peering through my window at the city below.

  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 co
untry, 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 time and time again. The metal man opened its door and came to my side to see what I was doing.

  “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 —”