Robot Revenge

by J.J. Chow

“Besides,” Bill said, “Adom’s fireproof.”

  “Adam? Like in the garden of paradise?”

  “Adom. Adam was the first man; Adom is the first robot.”

  Winston hemmed and hawed. “There have been robots made before.”

  “Not like mine,” Bill said. “He’s small, so he can fit in the oven. Great for baking.”

  So the robot was like a glorified kitchen gadget with mobility.

  “And watch this”—Bill winked at Winston and proceeded to demonstrate—“he responds to voice commands, not a remote.”

  Bill picked up the tiny robot and looked it in the eyes. “Adom,” he said, and it turned on. Nice mod.

  Bill set it down and issued a few orders: “Retrieve onion. Put on counter.”

  The robot proceeded to go to the refrigerator. Its body then extended up like a ladder to take it to the proper height to open the fridge door. It rummaged through the produce bin, plucked out a yellow onion, and placed it on the kitchen counter.

  Bill continued, “Chop onion.”

  The robot retracted its arm. A clink sounded, and a new metallic limb appeared, a knife blade attached to one end. Adom started dicing away at the vegetable on the dusty counter.

  Tears of irritation sprang to Winston’s eyes. “Impressive,” he said, rubbing his face.

  “Adom’s a whiz in the kitchen. What everyone—single or not—needs. Now, for the last task: making juice.”

  Bill focused on the robot again. “Retrieve orange. Get glass. Make juice.”

  The robot switched arms back to normal mode. Then it took an orange from the fridge and a glass from a cupboard. After placing the fruit on the counter, it peeled the orange and started squeezing, harder and harder, over the glass. Juice started spraying out—but then Adom froze. The robot started sparking and making fizzing noises. Its extended body crumpled, and it shrank.

  “Oh no.” Bill grimaced. “Can’t believe this is happening again.”

  Adom’s arms started jerking, and it began spinning in circles. Then it zoomed out of the kitchen. Winston heard a loud crash from the hallway. He and Bill rushed out to find boxes tumbled all over the floor, and the robot lying on its back, its power shut down.

  Winston helped Bill clean up the mess, sorting through materials and putting them in the appropriate containers. “So the robot’s not quite ready, huh?”

  “Almost there,” Bill said. “A mere hiccup.” He stacked a few boxes into a high tower.

  He wanted to encourage the old man. “Right, the robot’s a surefire winner.”

  “The next Adom, number fifty, will be perfect,” Bill said. “I’ll work all night long to finish it. Then tomorrow will really be a special day for me.”

  Wow. Winston couldn’t imagine trying the same thing over and over again, fifty times. Both Bill, and Cam—Diana’s kid—must have a lot of patience.

  They returned to the kitchen to tidy up there as well. Bill put away the glass cup and wiped down the counter. Winston didn’t see anything else to clean except for the bashed orange, which he threw in the trash.

  He held his nose. “I think you need to take out the garbage.”

  “That’s not from the trash,” Bill said. He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen window.

  Winston saw a streak of black-and-white fur through the glass pane. “Is that a skunk?” But the rotten smell had already confirmed his sighting.

  “Mr. Nature Lover, my neighbor, doesn’t want to get rid of them. Says there’s a family of skunks. First, soapy water leaks through that flimsy bamboo wall of his, and now this.”

  Winston wasn’t the only one to give the neighbor a nickname then. Mr. Eco was a bit over-the-top with his nature-hugging ways.

  Bill shook his head. “I’ve had enough. I’m going to call Animal Control to round the pests up.”

  “Good luck,” Winston said as he bid Bill goodbye. He really hoped the inventor would win this fight. For sure, he didn’t want the skunks heading his way. It wasn’t until Winston had left that he realized Bill had never said why he’d gone away for Halloween.

  CHAPTER 12

  WINSTON WONDERED IF he should go back inside and question Bill some more. Before he could figure out what to do, he noticed a black sedan pulling up to the curb near him. With an Uber logo.

  The driver, a twentysomething with pimples all over his face, got out and walked up Heather’s driveway.

  Winston hurried over and blocked the path to the front door. “Wait a minute, son.”

  “Who are you?” the young man asked in a small voice, taking a few steps back.

  Intimidated already. The guy was just past his teens and probably in fear of authority. “I have a few questions for you.” Winston flashed his official-looking business card. “It’s about Bill.”

  “Are you with the police?” The young man started biting his lip. “I swear I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Winston walked over to the mosaic patio table and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

  The youth sat down, and Winston pointed at Bill’s house. “You picked him up, right?”

  “My aunt asked me to.” While seated, the young man started rocking back and forth.

  “You mean Heather?” Winston asked, glancing at her closed front door.

  The young man nodded. “I didn’t hurt the old man.” The youth rocked harder, almost falling off his chair.

  “Where did you drive him?”

  “To a nearby convention. An inventors’ meet-up in San Francisco.”

  Winston frowned, confused. “But why?” The gesture seemed generous.

  “She wanted to give him a gift. An early birthday present.”

  “She paid for the convention?”

  “The motel. Maxed out her card for it, too.” The nephew picked at one of his zits. “The admission was covered by her company.”

  Winston scratched his head and remembered the name on the business cards. “Ace Parties?”

  “No, her previous one. Aunt Heather’s flying solo now.”

  “She decided to move up?” The title of CEO had been printed on the new cards.

  The nephew lowered his voice. “Um, she actually got canned a few months back. Not enough business. But she cashed in her sick days and vacation time. Plus, she got free tix to that inventors’ thing.”

  “You’ve been real helpful—” And that’s when Heather opened her door.

  “Who’s out there?” she asked. She wore a flour-covered apron, and a few white specks dotted her cheek. “Evan? Winston?” She looked back and forth between the two of them. “You know each other?”

  “Just met,” Winston said. “I was visiting Bill when I ran into your nephew.”

  “Oh, Bill.” Heather patted her hair and managed to get flour on it, too. “I’m going to make him something special on account of his birthday tomorrow. Evan here”—she looked at her nephew—“said he’d taste some of my creations.”

  “Auntie bakes the best stuff,” Evan said, his stomach emitting rumbles. He headed for the open doorway, giving Winston a wave.

  “You can try some tomorrow,” Heather said. “At the meeting. Neighborhood watch at six in the evening, remember?”

  No, he didn’t, but Heather kept staring at him.

  “You are coming, right?”

  Winston thought about it. He really wanted to know what was going on, why Bill and Heather seemed so tight-lipped. He felt compelled to uncover the truth. “Of course,” he said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  CHAPTER 13

  WINSTON TRIED TO CONVINCE Marcy to go to the meeting, but she refused. “I can’t show my face there,” she said, blushing. “Not after my crazy dancing and screeching out ‘I Will Survive’ at the top of my lungs.”

  Marcy wouldn’t budge. After the failed coaxing, Winston made his way over ten minutes late. But that was okay. Why, it was practically early according to Asian time.

  However, everyone else had already sung “Happy Birthday” to Bill, and
Heather was passing out pieces of marble cake. The scent of fudge frosting made Winston’s mouth water. He took a slice and settled into a folding chair.

  Everybody nibbled on the cake (except Winston, who was gobbling his), and the birthday boy led the meeting.

  “Seventy-three today and still in shipshape,” Bill said. He proceeded to go through a few announcements while Winston savored the comforting sweetness of vanilla coupled with the richness of chocolate.

  Bill concluded the updates and said, “Now let’s review our last major event, the Halloween party—that I didn’t authorize.” He stared down Heather, who offered him another piece of cake. Bill shook his head, but Winston thought the old man’s gaze softened.

  Ryan spoke up. “Expensive event.” He patted his hair although it was gelled down—the strands seemed to almost sparkle in the setting sun. “I mean, so elegant. Loved the Hollywood glam.”

  Heather offered the bank teller a tentative smile. “I tried my best.”

  Diana jumped in. “Too many people. My husband and son took one look at the scene and left to go find a quieter street.”

  “There was a big hubbub,” Zack said. “I saw someone dancing on the refreshments table—”

  “Teenagers”—Diana shook her head—“I bet one of them took my wristlet.”

  “You lost your purse?” Heather’s forehead crinkled with worry.

  “It must have fallen somewhere,” Diana said. “With all that hustle and bustle.”

  “I didn’t notice a handbag. And I cleaned it all up,” Heather said.

  “Maybe not everything. Saw a few raccoons walking around that night,” Zack said with a big grin on his face.

  Bill groaned. “Great, skunks and raccoons.”

  “They have every right to this land,” Zack said.

  Diana waved her hand around. “But back to more pressing issues.”

  “How are you managing without your stuff?” Winston asked Diana. He wondered why she hadn’t mentioned the loss to him before; she had only seemed fixated on her son’s science project.

  “I’m doing okay,” Diana said. “Been getting groceries online, since I don’t have my license on me. Also had to notify the credit card companies. In fact, someone’s already used my Visa at Tiffany’s. The nerve!”

  Heather placed a hand on Diana’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  Diana gave a little frown. “I didn’t want to add to your stress. You already had the ruined business cards to deal with—”

  Heather’s face crumpled, and she looked about to cry. “I know—my event of the year was an absolute failure.”

  Winston wanted to reach out to her, but he was not very good with crying women. He’d never known what to do when his mother or sister had shed tears. So instead of giving any comfort, he pushed the cake crumbs around his plate with a fork.

  Bill cleared his throat, and everyone’s attention focused on the old man. “Don’t worry, Diana. I’ll figure out who took your purse.”

  Wait a minute. That was Winston’s job. Why was nobody asking the detective here to help?

  Everyone’s eyes seemed focused on Bill, and Diana’s eyes widened as she asked him, “But how?”

  Bill tapped his noggin. “I have my ways. After all, as captain of the block, I have to keep an eye on the neighborhood.” With that statement, he adjourned the meeting.

  Winston wondered what the old man had up his sleeve. Maybe he and Bill could have a standoff and see who solved the crime faster. Despite the friendly competition, Winston was glad that the old man had turned up safe and sound.

  CHAPTER 14

  WINSTON CALLED UP KRISTY to tell her he had some good news, but he didn’t want to spill the beans over the phone. She’d been busy at work, and he’d been sleuthing, so they hadn’t been able to connect in person as much as he’d wanted. Plus, there was the issue of his sister, an unwanted third wheel. Thankfully, Marcy had planned a breakfast with an old friend of hers for the next day, so Winston’s morning would be clear.

  “How about we meet at the Jukebox Café?” he asked. The diner was a fave of theirs, even with its sticky vinyl booths.

  “Or I could come over,” she said.

  How cozy. “Even better.”

  She hesitated. “I’ll be bringing a surprise.”

  They weren’t the kind of lovey-dovey couple who’d celebrate one month, two months, three months of dating, and so on. He wondered why she’d get him a present. It wasn’t his birthday. But maybe for Pi Day, the 314th day of the year? “That’s fine by me.”

  “You took a while to respond,” she said. “How about I make you a personalized breakfast burrito?”

  His stomach roared in agreement. He’d never say no to a good meal. And Kristy managed to make the most scrumptious things; even a fried egg in her hands tasted like a culinary masterpiece.

  ALTHOUGH SHE SHOWED up bright and early at an unusual wake time for him, Winston was ready. He’d managed to change out of his pj’s, wash his face, and even spritz on some Macho aftershave.

  Kristy carried in a bag of groceries. Winston had started pulling ingredients out (eggs, tortillas, potatoes) when she held up a hand. “Wait a minute. I need to get something else.”

  Winston was busy admiring the four-cheese shreds when she came back with a bag of cat food, a litter box with accoutrements, and a howling Blueberry.

  “You brought your cat?”

  “Surprise,” she said.

  How romantic could this date be if that feisty feline was around?

  As if on cue, Blueberry hissed at Winston. Then the cat started exploring the house. Winston swore the cat’s nose went up in the air while it surveyed the bachelor pad. “I don’t think he likes it here.”

  “Give Blueberry some time,” Kristy said. “He’ll get used to your place.”

  She started cracking some eggs into a skillet on the stove. Before he knew it, she’d cooked up a mouthwatering display of ingredients for a make-your-own breakfast burrito.

  He put sausage, bell peppers, onions, cheese, and potatoes into a tortilla, with a dollop of sour cream and a splash of salsa, and rolled it up. Chewing the burrito, he felt like his taste buds had taken flight. He couldn’t—didn’t want to, really—speak as he chowed down.

  “Glad you’re enjoying your food,” Kristy said with a smile. “Since your mouth is full, I’ll talk.” But first she put fixings (black beans, cheese, eggs) in her own tortilla. She rolled it up and sat staring at the burrito. “I got a letter from Abel.”

  Her brother. The one who lived in Oregon. Married, without kids. A childless couple who hiked in the lush surrounding greenness whenever they could. Winston swallowed a mouthful of his breakfast goodness. “He and his wife—are they all right?”

  “More than fine, they’re great.” She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “Actually, they’re expecting.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Winston had never thought of himself as father material, but he liked seeing it in others. Especially Abel and his wife, who’d tried so hard for years and then had given up hope. “When’s the baby due?”

  “Next week,” Kristy said.

  “All this time you didn’t tell me your sister-in-law was pregnant?”

  “Well, I thought you might not want to think about it.”

  Winston hated talking about kids.

  Kristy continued, “Abel wants me to be there since Mom and Dad aren’t around . . .”

  She couldn’t finish her sentence, and he knew why. Even after all these years, Kristy could still get choked up about her parents.

  He gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. She had been like a mother figure to her younger brothers when their parents had died in a tragic car accident. “Go, then,” he said.

  “I am,” Kristy replied. “Tomorrow. I’ve got an afternoon flight booked. Except”—she nodded her head at Blueberry—“my neighbor backed out of taking care of him at the last minute. And I can’t afford to lodge him s
omewhere . . .”

  “You want me to watch him?” Winston frowned at Blueberry. Although they’d established an awkward truce, he thought the cat hated him at times.

  “Please. For me,” Kristy said. “I wouldn’t trust him with just anybody.”

  Winston knew the truth of that statement. Blueberry was her baby. There was that word again. Sure, Winston and Kristy had talked about the whole nine yards (marriage plus kids) at the beginning of their relationship, but he’d balked. He was already on the wrong side of forty and had proven a failure on several counts in his life. At this point, he couldn’t even take care of his sis, a grown adult.

  Kristy continued to stare at him.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” he said. He sounded grumpy even to himself, so he added, “With pleasure. Oh, and congrats to your brother and sister-in-law.”

  She beamed at him. “This means a lot to me.” She took his hand in hers. “I know it’s hectic for you right now. With that new case open and—”

  “Actually, Bill turned up. Went to some inventors’ conference.”

  “Wow, great sleuthing.”

  He didn’t correct her that the old man had returned on his own. Before she left, Kristy gave him a long hug. He wanted to imprint the touch of her arms clasping his back, the softness of her cheek against his. But he couldn’t voice any of his feelings, so instead he said, “Have a safe flight.”

  Once the door closed, he looked around for Blueberry. Where had that cat gone? He heard a purr and saw Blueberry curled up on the best spot on the futon. The cat did a little stretch and deposited gray fur all over the black fabric.

  CHAPTER 15

  WHEN MARCY NOTICED the new feline housemate roaming around the living room the next day, she grumbled at Winston. “Don’t expect me to clean up after the cat.”

  Winston nodded. “Blueberry’s my responsibility. I promised Kristy.”

  His sister wrinkled her nose at the sight of the litter box and looked straight into Winston’s eyes. “You must really be in love.”