by Brian Parker
“Lubrication, like for sex?”
“It is similar,” Andi affirmed.
An even deeper feeling of dread settled into my stomach. “Andi, what did my urine have in it over the past few days?”
“It would appear that you’ve ingested compounds comparable to what is used in sleeping medications—at different rates and concentrations than anything available on the market—as well as trace amounts of synthaine.”
“I’ve been drugged.”
“It would appear so.”
“Andi, what do your passive sensors say about Paxton Himura?”
“Hmm…”
At that moment, I hated that I’d ever programmed Andi to make any type of sound as she analyzed data.
“I didn’t monitor the passive sensors while Miss Himura was present, but the data indicates that she is not human.”
“Fuck.”
ELEVEN: TUESDAY
It had taken a triple shot of espresso added to my regular coffee to get my engines running this morning. I was both mentally and physically exhausted, coming down off of some type of strange walking dream. I remembered everything that I did, but none of it made any sense and wasn’t like me.
To add insult to injury, not only had I allowed myself to have sex with a witness, but I’d also violated the department’s Immorality Clause by having sex with a robot. It was strictly forbidden for officers to have any type of sexual relations with prostitutes, robotic or human. My career was as good as over once news of what I’d done broke.
I couldn’t undo the past, so I did the only thing that I knew how to do. I went to work. I had Andi secure an appointment with Ladeaux that afternoon and I reexamined the evidence while I waited.
Paxton Himura, the robot, was involved in this somehow, but besides the illicit dealings with me, I couldn’t connect her to any of the murders. I sketched things out on paper and watched all of the videos once again. Nothing pointed to an explanation for the complete lack of evidence. It was as if the killer simply appeared in the room and then disappeared.
That fact continued to prompt me to think that the robots were involved. After I spoke to Voodoo, I needed to visit our tech guys again and have them confirm that there’s not any trace of tampering with the droids’ memories.
I backed up my data and shrugged into my raincoat before I left to meet with the so-called King of Easytown. “We’ve got a problem, Zach,” Andi’s voice emitted from the speaker near the door.
I froze. My fedora suspended halfway to my head. “What is it?”
“I was able to reconnect to the network safely while you were working. Jacqueline Wolfe’s bank account received a fifty thousand dollar deposit Sunday evening.”
“Insurance payment?” I asked hopefully.
“No. I traced it to an account in the Cayman Islands, but the way money passes through there, it is impossible to determine the source.”
“Shit. Thanks for finding that out,” I answered, cramming the hat down on my head. “I guess I’ll head back out to talk to her tonight after my meeting with Tommy Ladeaux.”
“Be careful at the docks, Zach. Accidents happen all the time down there.”
I grunted my acknowledgement and paused for Andi’s sensors to detect any movement.
“The hallway is clear.”
“Thanks,” I repeated, leaving my apartment in the capable hands of my assistant.
The BMW cruised through the entrance to the docks and began the long, slow and winding trip between shipping containers and trucks where stevedores loaded and unloaded billions of dollars in cargo. Some drove forklifts and flatbed trucks, while others manned the controls of the massive cranes spaced evenly apart from one another. They all danced an intricate pattern of familiarity with their equipment and routine shipping schedules, but to the casual observer like me, it appeared to be barely controlled chaos.
The Port of New Orleans had grown to the third largest in the United States, so the Easytown Dockyard was built as a relief valve for the much older port on the Mississippi River. The Dockyard could handle up to two of the large oceangoing container ships at one time and then transport the goods over land.
It was a win for smaller companies looking to load and unload quickly, away from the massively unionized Port of New Orleans. The workers at the Dockyard were paid less per hour than their counterparts and incentivized to make problems go away for companies shipping goods into the country. The Dockyard quickly became a vital part of the city’s transportation industry and Thomas Ladeaux owned the Marie Leveau Shipping Company, the largest business entity headquartered there.
I pulled up to Ladeaux’s corporate offices and stepped out of the car. I remembered the first time I’d come out here more than ten years ago. I’d expected a dirty, dingy tin metal office with poor lighting and metal stairs that rattled as I walked up to the tiny, cramped space. That’s what movies always portrayed office spaces at docks to be. Ladeaux’s office was the exact opposite. I’d been surprised at the clean, modern headquarters with roomy offices and well-lit meeting spaces. Besides the location, I could have imagined the shipping company’s headquarters being any office building in the city.
I stepped inside and took off my hat, shaking it lightly on the entryway carpet. The place looked the same as it had the last few times I’d been out here. Cleanliness was the only “style” present in Ladeaux’s corporate offices and the utilitarian plastic chairs in the lobby reminded me more of a doctor’s office than a shipping company’s headquarters. Two female receptionists, different from the women who’d been in their place about a year ago, sat in twin desks facing the entryway. I had the distinct feeling that both of them were armed and pointing their weapons at me under the table.
“You must be Detective Forrest,” the one on the right stated.
I angled my way toward her and stood a few paces from the desk. “That’s me. I have a 4:30 appointment with Mr. Ladeaux.”
She wrinkled her nose at the rain dripping from my coat. “You may hang your coat and hat in the entryway over the mat. They’ll be perfectly safe; no one will bother them.”
I wanted to say something snarky, but decided I didn’t feel like having my appointment mysteriously disappear from Ladeaux’s calendar, so I bit my tongue and returned to the entry where a neat row of hooks lined the wall, all but one of them vacant. When I’d done as asked, I returned to the receptionist.
“You may have a seat, Detective. Mr. Ladeaux knows you’re here.”
“I’m sure he does,” I replied and sauntered over to the waiting area.
I stared at the blank wall for a few moments before I realized it was a giant window, frosted over to resemble a wall. Were there people on the other side watching me or was it a vacant meeting room? My money was on the first one. You don’t spend the kind of money that a wall like that would cost without a purpose.
Ladeaux wasn’t breaking any laws since this was private property, so I pulled out my phone and scrolled through messages and then the news when I was finished with that. It was all depressing. Reporters only covered the shitty side of humanity, not the few, rare instances of decency. I was sick of it. I slipped the phone into my pocket and observed the women typing on their keyboards. The one who hadn’t spoken looked vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t sure where I’d seen her before.
After a few minutes, it hit me. I’d seen her—or a model like her—at one of the sex clubs. She was a robot and I’d bet the other one was too. Not the CS98 model like the Diva had, but they were similar. I walked over to the desk and leaned down to the quiet one. “What club did you get recycled from?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re droids. Which club did Ladeaux steal you two from?”
“I am not stolen; Mr. Ladeaux has owned me since I was manufactured in May 2089. I’m an excess CS90 model from The Stud Farm,” she replied. “The club is currently undergoing a phased upgrade to the CS98 models. Older models, such as myself, were placed throughout the other
clubs to enhance their inventory.” The robot gestured toward her companion whose fingers hovered over the keyboard, but stared at me. “Anastasia is not a droid.”
“Human?” I asked the other one.
“Yes, I’m human. But I was born in a lab.”
“No shit? I’ve never seen a live clone before,” I stated. “Seen a couple of dead ones. Nasty stuff happens to them when people view them the same as a droid, but the clone thinks it’s human and gets upset about it.”
“I’m sure,” Anastasia answered. “I would take offense to being treated like a clone, used and put away at the end of the night. I may have been genetically modified and birthed in a laboratory, but I am a human… No offense, Betty.”
“None taken. My base programming is that of a pleasure droid, so I don’t get offended.”
“So, you’re the older model sex bot, huh? Why are you in here instead of sucking dick in a dark room over on The Lane?” Shit, I’m really pissed off at droids right now.
Betty shrugged. “Inventory was full at Mr. Ladeaux’s pleasure establishments, so I was given a new processor and assigned to work in the corporate offices of the Marie Leveau Shipping Company.”
“You miss it? Screwing men out of their money, I mean?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never mind. How long have you known Paxton Himura?”
She paused momentarily and then stated, “Paxton Himura is the manager of The Digital Diva. She’s a valuable part of the team with years of experience under her belt. There’s no task that she can’t tackle.”
“Your script needs updating,” I derided. “The bitch is a droid… So, you got a processor upgrade, huh? Did Ladeaux spring for the new CS98 artificial intelligence?”
“No, I was given the CS01 AI upgrade.”
“CS01? I thought CS98 was top of the line.”
“It is the top of the line in the field. The CS01 model has not been released,” she replied.
“Hmpf. So, you got an AI upgrade, but kept your old body?”
“I do not require the physical upgrades of the CS98 or CS01 as my duties in the corporate offices don’t require the performance of sexual acts, unless specifically requested.”
“Betty, that’s enough,” a thin, watery voice called from behind me.
I turned to see Tommy Ladeaux, aka Tommy Voodoo, standing a few feet away. At six one, he was a few inches taller than me and he was clean shaven as well, but that’s where the similarities ended. He had a thin, weasel-like appearance with a slicked back mop of black hair, atop his head. Only his expensive suit would have given him away as something else besides the standard Easytown street thug.
“Mr. Ladeaux, I see you’re keeping interesting company,” I said as a way of greeting, pointing to the clone and the droid.
“It’s nice to see you again, Detective Forrest.”
“How much did the clone set you back?” I asked, mildly interested.
“Anastasia is the latest in a new generation of clones. They’re not available on the market yet, so in truth, I don’t know what she’ll end up costing.”
“Oh?”
“Among my many business ventures, I’m investing in the development of clones. So I’ve got a prototype. We’re working out the kinks, but they should be about half the price of a standard pleasure droid.” He patted my upper arm with the back of his hand. “But believe me, she’s worth double!”
“Don’t touch me again, Ladeaux.”
He paused and looked at his hand before clearing his throat. “Ah… I assume, given your interest in my girls here, that you’d like to discuss the incidences at The Stud Farm and The Digital Diva.”
“How’d you guess?” I baited him.
“Call it a hunch.” He stuck out his hand for me to take. I considered declining for a moment and then thought better of it, grasping his hand and pumping hard. I involuntarily wiped my palm along my trouser leg after he’d released it. Filth can be disguised in a nice package, but it always had a way of sticking to everyone nearby.
“Come on, let’s go to my office and leave my receptionists to their work.”
I followed behind him past the two-way wall window, more aware now of its presence than before. There was certainly someone monitoring me. “Nice wall,” I commented as we walked by.
He chuckled. “Yes, well, it never hurts to get a feel for a guest before you meet with them. It gives me an advantage and in the shipping industry, every little bit helps. When it comes down to it, I’m just a small fish in a big pond.”
“Even piranha can be deadly,” I remarked, referring to the small, South American fish.
“Touché, Forrest. Here we are, have a seat.” He motioned into an open doorway and I entered his plush office filled with sports memorabilia and all sorts of crap. It was in stark contrast to the Spartan lobby.
“Nice little space,” I lied. In fact, I hated all of it.
“I spend so much time here that I like to try and keep it comfortable.”
He didn’t sit; instead he continued past his desk to a bar along the wall and set out two glasses. “Would you like a drink, Detective?” Two ice cubes fell into the glasses with an audible clink. “Bourbon is your drink of choice, correct?”
“No thanks, I’m driving.”
He chuckled at my pun. “Ah, I heard about the incident at the Causeway. What on earth were you doing way out there?”
“Fishing trip.”
Ladeaux returned and set a glass of amber liquid on the table in front of me. “Hope you caught something.”
“I’m really not in the mood for a drink, Ladeaux. The last time I accepted a drink from a stranger, I ended up getting drugged.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, do tell, Detective.”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Let’s just assume for the minute that I have literally no idea what you’re talking about. I thought you wanted to talk to me about robots, not drugs.”
“Does the name Paxton Himura mean anything to you?” I asked.
His lips pursed and he took a sip of whatever he’d poured himself. “That’s good,” he mumbled. “Paxton is the manager at The Digital Diva. I’ve known her for ten years and—”
“Cut the bullshit, Ladeaux. She’s a fucking droid.”
“How did you find out?” He seemed genuinely surprised by my statement.
“Urine sample.”
“Ah, that’s good detective work. I’ll have to talk to the company about that flaw.” He took another sip. “But why—how—did you get a sample of her urine? She isn’t a suspect in the happenings at the Diva, is she?”
“You tell me.”
“I wouldn’t believe that one of my robots was a suspect,” he answered. “But I do have some information that may be of interest to you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I became frustrated with your investigation, so I sent the droid’s video from The Stud Farm to my contacts at Cybertronic.”
“You’re sharing evidence with private companies?”
He stared me dead in the eyes while he took a large swallow from his drink. “It’s my video; I can do with it as I please.”
He wasn’t entirely accurate, but he wasn’t wrong either. Technically, I could bust him for interfering with an investigation, but if he could provide me with any usable information I’d let it slide. “What did your company find?”
“In good time, Detective.” He smiled, reminding me of a snake right before it sprang on a rat. “You didn’t answer my question about how you got Paxton Himura’s urine—not to mention why you would even want to.”
I clenched the muscles in my jaw. If I told him the truth, he would forever have something on me.
It didn’t matter that over the course of the car ride to the Dockyards, I’d decided on going to Internal Affairs as soon as possible, he would still have that piece of information. I’d decided that if I informed IA of my transgressions, then there might be a chance that I woul
dn’t get fired for violating department regulations. Yeah right, and Voodoo is an innocent man.
“That’s a police matter, Mr. Ladeaux.”
“I can have her memory accessed.”
“Go ahead,” I challenged.
He tapped a few keys on his desk and a projected rendering of Paxton’s memories appeared in the space between us. Several men’s faces came and went; I could tell that she was sitting at her desk in the Diva. “Let’s see, here’s our victim,” Ladeaux said.
Charles Wolfe’s fat face appeared and I listened to the business transaction between the two of them. Even in the projected image, his beady eyes gleamed in anticipation of his purchase. He paid for the Amplify and Paxton swiped his credit card to preauthorize his encounter with the robot, Kelly.
Ladeaux tapped a few more keys and the images ran at three time’s normal speed until Paxton stood up from the desk. He slowed the video to normal speed.
“Since you didn’t know she was a droid, you haven’t seen these pieces yet. Don’t worry, we’ve examined them, there’s nothing here, but it should help to fill in any gaps that your questioning didn’t answer.”
She stood in front of room one fifty-two and placed her hand over a panel outside the door. The locks disengaged and the she turned the handle, pushing the door inward. The view filled with gore. Paxton recoiled into the hallway and pressed a button on her watch. Flashing red lights filled the image. Shouts of men from the other rooms were clearly audible. She turned and strode back down the hallway to the front.
“You’ve seen everything else in the Diva… Let’s see.” He fast-forwarded the video to the next day until my face appeared at Paxton’s apartment door. “Oh, you naughty boy.”
“Is it standard practice for your droids to invite men back to their apartments?” I asked, ignoring the beep of my phone in my pocket.
“Paxton Himura is the first CS01 model, another prototype. So, in truth, I don’t know what she’s capable of.”
“She’s just the latest in a long line of sex bots. How different could she be?”