The Immorality Clause

by Brian Parker

  “I think it’s a fair amount. I know that isn’t a usable answer. The droids also use the reservoir to store used or old internal synthetics that they dispose of during the sanitation process.”

  That’s new information. “What are the internal synthetics?”

  “Lubricants for the vagina and anus, synthetic saliva, artificial tears, self-administered perfume, manufactured sweat—”

  I held up my hands. “Wait a minute, you mean to tell me these sex bots can sweat?”

  “Pleasure droids, Detective. And yes, they would seem quite unnatural in the sauna if the client is pouring out sweat and they aren’t. They also excrete sweat during high intensity intercourse.”

  “Huh. These things really are state of the art tech.”

  “Yes, they are. Industry rumor has it that they’re also developing companion droids, not just pleasure droids. Future droids will think, act and respond as a human would.”

  “Seems like we’re playing God.” Shit. I let the statement that I’d repressed that night at the Diva loose. I didn’t want to offend Paxton; the robots seemed to be one of her passions.

  “I don’t know about that. Is it playing God when doctors have extended our average lifespan to ninety-three? Have you seen the elderly, Zach? Most of them sit around, do crosswords and soil themselves. Their bodies have given up on them, but science is keeping them alive—if you can call it that. There are the occasional exceptions, but for the most part, it’s a pretty bleak prospect.”

  “In Easytown, the average life expectancy is only forty-two,” I deadpanned. She didn’t bite, so I continued, “Ah, I’m just kidding. I guess you could be right.”

  “This next generation of droid will be a companion for those who can’t find someone to fit into their lives and don’t want to end up alone, known as the crazy cat lady.”

  My perception of the companion droid fell flat. I was thinking of fat, ugly, lonely men buying a wife so they could get their rocks off at the house, but Paxton was talking from personal experience, from a place of loneliness and despair. She’d alluded to it a few times, her schedule and the type of job she worked scared men away. She was worried about becoming that ‘crazy cat lady.’ A companion droid could help satisfy her needs as well as help with all sorts of things. Hell, Andi could be considered a companion, I guess.

  “Paxton, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything derogatory about the droids.”

  She looked up; redness surrounded the whites of her eyes. “It’s okay. I understand. You don’t know the droids like I do. If you added in an emotional capability, or at least the ability to fake it, and any of our CS98s could be that companion model. They’re so lifelike, and I know that everything they say comes from a massive database in their chests, but they do learn. I consider them my friends since my human friends abandoned me.”

  “I’m sorry, again. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin before placing it back on the table to fiddle with it some more. “It’s okay. You said you had two more questions, was that it?”

  “No, I got sidetracked,” I replied. “What about smell? Does the self-cleaning feature eliminate smells?”

  “That’s a strange question.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t really have a reason to know it, but like the cost of the droid, I was curious.

  She waited for me to elaborate, when I didn’t she answered, “I don’t believe the smell is eliminated during the self-cleaning cycle. I’ll ask the techs and see.”

  “It’s not important. I was just wondering since Kelly did some things with her left hand and then administered the Amplify with her right.”

  “That’s because the aerosol dispenser is in the right wrist. It wouldn’t matter if the smell were removed from the left.”

  I lifted my index finger and pointed in her general direction. “Ah, see, that’s good to know.”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  There were checkmarks and annotations next to each question I’d written down. “That’s it, then. I don’t have any more questions for you right now.”

  She frowned. “Does that mean it’s time for you to take me to the hotel?”

  “I believe so.”

  Paxton smiled unexpectedly. “Hey, what are you doing in about twenty minutes?”

  “Uh…” She’d caught me off guard with the sudden change of topic. “I was going to relax, watch the second half of the Saints game against the Falcons, and then I’m going to dinner at a friend’s house a couple of hours after that.”

  “Football?” she frowned.

  “Yes, football. What’s wrong with that?”

  “You don’t seem like the type of man who’d play football.”

  “I didn’t play football, but I like to watch it. I played baseball in college.”

  She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “Baseball. I’ve heard that’s a thinking man’s sport.”

  I laughed. “You’ve always got to be thinking about two or three steps ahead, planning different courses of action based upon multiple variables imposed by the opposing team… So, yeah, you’ve got to keep your head in the game.”

  “That’s sexy—not a bunch of cavemen running into each other and flexing their muscles for the camera.”

  “Hey.” I pretended to sound offended. “A good friend of mine, Sergeant Drake, played football at Tulane.”

  “I met him.” She leaned farther across the table, reminding me of a predator stalking its prey. “I wasn’t impressed.”

  There was something in her eyes. Maybe it was the blue contact lenses blocking out the natural color, but I’d swear I saw a flash of purple in her irises. She stayed across the table, staring intently at me for a few seconds and then backed down.

  “You really are clueless, aren’t you?” she huffed, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What we were talking about earlier. Okay, I get it; you need me to take charge. There’s a play starting in twenty minutes at the Ellis Marsalis Center for Music. I want to go with you.”

  “Oh! I, uh…”

  “Say yes.”

  Hmm, maybe someone else taking charge isn’t as bad as I’d thought.

  EIGHT: SUNDAY

  The play was entertaining and the actors were good, which surprised me. I’d thought they would be mediocre at best since it was a local production, but they were all really good, even the kids.

  Paxton and I got along great and even shared a kiss during one of the romance scenes. I’d never felt so attracted to such a beautiful woman. Sure, there was the physical desire, but we also seemed to connect on so many other levels. I wondered if there was a possibility for us to date successfully with our crazy schedules and different passions.

  It wasn’t technically against the department’s rules to date a witness once they’d been eliminated as a suspect. I knew of at least two officers who’d married people they met while working, so it wasn’t unheard of. A nagging voice in the back of my head told me that we should keep it professional until the case was resolved, but I repressed the voice. If you didn’t count Andi, then I hadn’t had a relationship of any substance with a woman since college. I was due for a change.

  We walked out of the theater holding hands and Paxton rested her head against my bicep. On a whim, I asked, “Hey, I’m going to my friend’s house for dinner tonight. Would you like to join me?”

  “Yes! I’d love to meet your friends. She pulled my head down to kiss her right in the middle of the walkway where people had to swerve to avoid us. I didn’t care.

  “How much time do we have?” she asked.

  I checked my watch. “About an hour and a half. Amir and Amanda live in Read Boulevard East and we’re down in Bywater, so it would take us about twenty or thirty minutes to get there. I can take you to your hotel room if you need to get ready.”

  Paxton turned put her arms around my waist and pressed her pelvis into me
as she leaned her upper body back. “I don’t have a hotel room reserved yet. I was going to see what was available after we went to lunch. Then we went to the play and now there doesn’t seem to be any time.”

  “There are a couple of decent ones in Venetian Isles, not too far from your apartment. They’re on the way, so we could stop and see.”

  She opened her mouth and then closed it quickly before looking off to the side. “I’m practically throwing myself at you—something I do not do by the way—and you still don’t get it.”

  I guess I was more than just a little bit rusty at the dating game; I was totally corroded. “Do…you want to come back to my place after dinner?”

  “And the batter finally takes a swing,” she laughed, referencing my baseball days. “Yes, I want to go with you to your place after we meet your friends. Am I fine going to dinner in what I’m wearing?”

  I glanced at her outfit. She wore black slacks and a white, form-fitting silk blouse, which somehow managed to highlight her hair and still look sophisticated. It was more than nice enough for dinner at Amir’s house and complimented the dark gray suit I wore nicely.

  “You look lovely, Paxton. I’d be honored to take you to dinner tonight.”

  She giggled and squeezed me tighter. “So, we have an hour or so until we should start driving that way. What do you want to do?”

  “I can think of something,” I replied.

  This time, I kissed her.

  The drive over to Amir’s house in Read Boulevard East took a full forty minutes because of the lazy Sunday afternoon traffic. To say that Amir was surprised when I called to inform him that I was bringing a guest would have been the understatement of the century. He’d shouted for his wife and I heard him saying something excitedly to her out of earshot of the phone. Amir was a family man, through and through, going so far as to suggest I get a mail order bride so I could start a family of my own. I really hoped he didn’t make a scene when I showed up with Paxton. I could just imagine him appraising her hips and saying something about her child-bearing capability.

  When the BMW pulled up to the house, Paxton smiled sweetly. “This looks like such a nice neighborhood to raise a family in.”

  “Yeah, they bought this house about… Geez, fourteen or fifteen years ago. Amanda was pregnant with Anna, so it’s been a while. The whole area was completely wiped out by a hurricane twenty years before they built the house, so almost everything here is newer construction, not like some of the other neighborhoods around the city.”

  “So, Amir, Amanda and Anna. They sure do like their ‘A’ names.”

  “It gets worse. They have three kids: Anna, the teenager, Amy is nine and little Amir Jr. is three. You should hear Amir screw up the names when he’s been drinking. It’s hilarious to hear a small Egyptian man slurring them all together and then start cursing at himself.”

  “I thought Muslims didn’t drink,” Paxton stated.

  “He’s not Muslim, he’s a Copt. They’re Christian and believe me when I say that he’s got no problem with drinking.” I reached in the back seat and got the umbrella that I’d dug out of my closet to replace the one I lost when the Jeep sank into the lake. It started raining again on the drive back from Bywater. I’d loaned Paxton my jacket when we’d gone into my apartment, as a result, I had more getting ready to do than she did.

  “Muslims drink alcohol, by the way. Not all of them do, but a good number of them. I’ve investigated several murders in the Easytown Islamic community where alcohol was a contributing factor.”

  I left that little bit of knowledge hanging in the air as I stepped out into the downpour and opened the umbrella. Hurrying around the car, I opened Paxton’s door. She huddled against me as we splashed up the walkway to the house. We stood under the overhang and I shook the umbrella out.

  Amir opened the door before I could ring the doorbell. “Zachary! I’m so glad you could make it,” he said with slight accent.

  He shook my hand and turned to Paxton. “Hello. I’m Amir.”

  “I’m… Paxton,” she replied, taken aback as Amir hugged her and kissed both cheeks. He was a first generation immigrant, born in Egypt, but raised in America. He liked to play up his Middle Eastern heritage around new people to keep them guessing about what customs they should follow.

  “Come in, come in,” he said, gesturing inside. “Amanda, come meet Paxton, Zach’s date for the evening.”

  Amanda appeared from the kitchen and hugs were exchanged all around this time. We took off our shoes to honor the Coptic custom of not wearing them in the home. Within seconds, Paxton excused herself to the restroom to check her makeup after the rain.

  “Wow, Zach,” Amanda whispered. “She’s beautiful. Where’d you meet?”

  “At work.”

  “Does she work for the department or did she come in for something?”

  “She was a witness to a murder,” I replied casually.

  The smile faded from Amanda’s face. “Oh! That poor girl. You’ve got to get out of that slum, Zach. Go work in another precinct.”

  “But then I’d get bored.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll never understand you. I gotta go check the roast and make sure the potatoes aren’t burning. You two go have a drink and send Paxton into the kitchen with me.”

  I watched as she walked away and Amir punched me lightly on the shoulder. “You two sure made a mess at the Pharaoh this morning.”

  “You mean with Teagan?”

  “Yeah,” he chuckled. “She went crazy in the back. Regina said she slammed the office door so hard that all of the Pharaoh’s licenses fell off the wall.”

  “Huh? What’s that about?” The toilet flushed and Paxton turned on the sink.

  Amir looked at me. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Teagan—” He stopped himself and glanced up at the bathroom door, which was opening. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay, all done,” Paxton said as she opened the door and tucked the constantly out of place strand of hair behind her ear. “The wind did a number on my hair.”

  “Come on, let’s go get a drink,” Amir said, leading the way from the foyer.

  Paxton leaned in and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “He was going to tell me what happened with the server, Teagan, today. It can wait.”

  “Oh. I hope she’s okay.”

  “I’m sure she is. She just had a bad day.”

  She nodded in understanding and slipped her hand into mine. We walked through the living room into what seemed like a cloud of wonderful aromas. The pot roast Amanda had prepared smelled amazing and my stomach, fully settled from the incident this morning, rumbled in anticipation. Our hostess smiled and waved us toward the study.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Paxton asked.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Amanda replied. “The boys know where they’re the most useful.”

  I couldn’t see her face, but I assumed Paxton looked confused since Amanda explained, “Out of the way.”

  “Ah, okay.” Paxton squeezed my fingers between hers and then pulled away to assist in the kitchen.

  “I’ll be back in the study with Amir,” I said.

  “Sure. You boys have fun,” Amanda replied. She knew I was less than worthless in the kitchen and the few times I’d tried to help over the years had ended in disasters. The further away from the stove I was, the better.

  Amir stood beside the study’s moderate-sized wet bar when I walked in. He’d adopted the old school smoking room motif that Amanda hated, but tolerated as long as everything remained in that room. The study’s dominating feature was a set of built-in bookshelves that completely took up one wall. Books of every shape and size covered the shelves, including several first editions of classic works of literature over two hundred years old.

  A chair rail divided the other three walls into two halves. Vertical strips of cedar paneling covered the upper half and dark green wallpaper fi
lled in the space below the rail. Paintings of past hunting expeditions and a few tasteful black and white photos of Amir and his family were spaced evenly along the walls, including one of the two of us when we reeled in a 484-pound swordfish off the Gulf of Mexico near the De Soto Canyon a few years back.

  In addition to the wet bar with all manner of decanted liquors, Amir sprung for a traditional brown leather couch and two leather recliners that faced a recessed and hidden holoprojection television. When he wanted to watch a game, the walls slid open and he had his entertainment.

  “What do you want, my friend?” Amir asked. “Is it a bourbon night or a vodka and tonic night?”

  I laughed at our inside joke. He knew that bourbon was my drink of choice, but I also enjoyed a good vodka tonic. Unfortunately, I’d learned early in life that after two vodka drinks I’d be worthless if the unthinkable happened and Paxton and I decided to go farther than kissing and holding hands.

  “Bourbon,” I replied.

  He winked at me. “Ah, is it going to be one of those nights?”

  I accepted the drink he’d poured and raised it in a toast. “Here’s to wishful thinking.”

  We each took a sip and then he said, “So, tell me about this girl you’ve brought into my home.”

  I put the glass up to my lips and let the liquid splash across my tongue as I thought about what to tell him. The whole thing with Paxton was crazy, totally out of the norm for me, but it felt entirely natural, like I’d been seeing her for a while. My normal pattern of taking relationships slowly and being an old-fashioned gentleman left me alone and lonely; maybe increasing the pace of our friendship was what two hard-working individuals needed.

  I shrugged. “Like I said, she was a witness to a murder down in Easytown. She manages a club down there. We started out kind of rocky because I used police department slang to describe something she’s passionate about, but we moved past it and over the course of a few witness interviews, we’ve become friendly.”

  Amir sipped his own drink. “What kind of slang did you use to upset her?”

  “I called the pleasure droids in her club ‘sex bots’ and had a few preconceived notions about the clientele, but I think we’ve worked through that.”