The Immorality Clause

by Brian Parker

“Andi, do some research about the security of droids used in New Orleans. Why is the killer only hacking into sex bots? Is their security system easier to manipulate than others?”

  “Okay, boss. Give me a few minutes.”

  While she did that, I ate the tacos. “Sex clubs, father, Sunday… Andi, do a search on those three terms together.”

  “Working… First query is ready.”

  “Tell me the sex bots are the easiest to hack.”

  “It’s the opposite, Zach. Besides the police drones, the most secure public droids are the courier robots, for all the reasons you’d expect. Then pleasure droids are next in the security hierarchy. The primary reason cited is so jealous spouses can’t access proof of extramarital affairs, the manufacturers want clients to feel safe giving their credit card information to a droid, and intimate details may be passed between client and robot. The technology employed in pleasure droids is extremely expensive, so the manufacturers have invested significantly in security in order to defend against viruses—digital, not physical, they are immune to those.”

  I remained silent while she ran down the list. Standard delivery droids were next on the list, followed by non-monitored automobiles and then construction robots. Household robots, such as maids and chefs, were the least secure.

  “Well, shit. That means he could have used almost anything in the city, but he specifically focused on pleasure droids… Why?”

  “Second query returned,” Andi stated.

  “Send it,” I muttered as I wrote out the list of droid security hierarchy.

  “Results in order of relevance, including police visibility as a parameter. Number one, the Head of the Catholic Church, Pope John Paul the Fourth, will be in New Orleans Friday through Sunday. His visit was announced this week.”

  “That’s it,” I stated. “He’s the target.”

  “There are six other highly probable targets that align with your requested search, including the Secretary of Energy. He’ll be at the groundbreaking of a new solar research facility near the Port of New Orleans.”

  “No. It’s the Pope,” I asserted. “Since he was elected, his platform has been to eliminate human trafficking, rape and prostitution through the worldwide legalization of pleasure droids. If he were to be murdered by a sex bot, then it would create a worldwide outcry against them…” I trailed off as I thought. “He’s being targeted by activists who want to ban the droids.”

  “That would seem to be a plausible scenario,” Andi agreed. “However, if you are wrong and the hacker carries out his attack elsewhere in a similar high-profile manner, the police department will appear to be fools.”

  “It doesn’t get bigger than the Holy Father.” I wrote the word, “POPE,” on my paper over the question mark. “Where is he staying and what’s his itinerary?”

  “He will be staying at the Hotel Mazarin in the French Quarter. There will be a parade on Saturday, encompassing most of the major New Orleans streets. It’s expected to last for four hours. He will lead Mass, to include communion on Saturday evening, at the Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church. Sunday morning, he will lead a 10 a.m. service at St. Patrick’s Church. The last item on his itinerary is to deliver a speech and offer blessings to the crowd at the St. Louis Cathedral.”

  “So the parade and the first service are out since they’re on Saturday,” I said. “That leaves the two services on Sunday.” I tapped the word on my paper.

  “There is expected to be a much larger crowd at the cathedral,” Andi stated, obviously still data mining in the background. “It is expected to draw as many as twenty thousand spectators.”

  “Holy shit!” I exclaimed. “I was just down there last week; Jackson Square can’t hold twenty thousand people.”

  “You are correct. The square is two-point-five acres, at one meter per individual—assuming no structures or trees—approximately twelve thousand five hundred could technically fit into the square. They are expecting people to overflow and fill in the streets along a line of sight to the cathedral.”

  “Televised, right?”

  “As the first stop on the Pope’s North American tour to campaign against human trafficking, the event will be televised on every major network across the world.”

  “It’s the speech,” I decided. “This is going to go down at the speech. The killer will have a worldwide audience for his event.” I crammed a bite into my mouth and chewed. “Andi, call Chief Brubaker.”

  He didn’t answer and I chose not to leave a message. My father taught me that it was always easier to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission. Since I was on administrative leave, I’d have to stay away from the Pope in an official capacity, but there was nothing stopping me from exercising my rights as a private citizen who wanted to see the religious leader.

  As the evening wore on and the bourbon kicked in, I felt a voice calling to me. That same small voice that people say they hear when they commune with God told me that I needed a blessing from the Pope.

  I spent a restless night worrying about the implications of the Pope’s assassination live on global television. If that happened, everyone in the NOPD who had anything to do with the security of the Holy Father would be out of a job—or worse. The state would look for a scapegoat to appease the one and a half billion Catholics.

  The IA investigation put me on admin leave. I wasn’t allowed to work the case, but I couldn’t disassociate myself from it; the details of it would be implanted in my brain forever. Was there a critical piece of information that I’d forgotten to pass on to Cruz, something that I’d taken for granted that he needed to carry on and bust the killer?

  I tossed and turned for hours until I finally came up with a plan to keep myself busy and fell asleep around four or five in the morning.

  Andi woke me gently at eleven and asked if I’d like coffee. “Yeah, I’ll take enough to fill my travel mug,” I grunted.

  “Are you going someplace,” she asked.

  “I’m gonna go to the Pharaoh for lunch and then go check out that address I got from Tommy Voodoo. I meant to go yesterday, but got caught up with…well, with everything. I’m just gonna see what’s there.”

  “Zach, you are on administrative leave. You are not authorized to conduct active field work on any cases.”

  “Lighten up, Andi. I’m not investigating anything, I’m simply going to go over and knock on the door, see who answers.”

  “Zach…”

  “I’m going and that’s final,” I said loudly to be heard over the toilet computer’s analysis of the blood in my urine.

  “Then at least call Sergeant Drake for backup. You got your ass handed to you yesterday because you were too stubborn to wait for him.”

  “How do you know that? I didn’t tell you that,” I muttered around the toothbrush that I’d crammed into my mouth.

  “The Easytown Police Department mainframe computer and I talk,” she replied.

  “That’s just weird.”

  “It’s not any different than you discussing a case with a peer. Anything that concerns you is my number one priority, so I seek answers when you won’t provide them.”

  I regarded my bruised and battered face. Scabs covered multiple patches on my cheek and jaw. A half-moon shaped laceration on my forehead indicated where the doc had glued the skin together and both my eyes were swollen and bloodshot. It wasn’t worth the blood loss to attempt to shave, so I just got in the shower. After all, I was on vacation; I could afford to skip a day or two of shaving.

  I felt much more human after the shower. I still felt like crap physically, but there’s nothing like the feeling of being clean to boost your mood. “Andi, please make sure the cleaning service comes today. There’s a lot of blood on the sheets and they haven’t been changed since Paxton was here.”

  “I’m sure your bedding is sufficiently breeding bacteria on its own, Zach. Are you sure you want to terminate your science experiment?”

  “Okay, I got it. I need to take better car
e of myself,” I replied with my hand hovering over the suit row of suits. “I guess I don’t need to wear one of these today.”

  I shuffled over to the closet’s built in shelving and grabbed a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. “No one will recognize you now.”

  “God dammit, Andi. I love sarcasm, but only when I do it. Tone it down a little this morning.”

  “Sorry. I’m trying to put you in a good mood.”

  I paused in the middle of pushing my foot into the sneaker. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m being a dick. Joke away.”

  “I’m over it now,” she replied. “You know, you shouldn’t wear running shoes with blue jeans.”

  “I just want to wear something different.”

  “You’re never going to impress Teagan dressed like that.”

  Her statement caught me off guard. “What?”

  “Teagan Thibodaux does not seem like the type of woman who is impressed by rich men with nice cars,” she elaborated. “However, my research has shown that the majority of women appreciate a well-dressed man. Wearing tennis shoes with jeans does not qualify as ‘well-dressed.’”

  “Not this again. Andi, is your short-term memory on the fritz? I kind of dated someone last week and that ended with me in jail and at risk of losing my job.”

  “I recognize what happened last week,” Andi replied. “However, I will maintain my earlier statement that you need a stable, long-term relationship to be a complete individual.”

  “No, I don’t. Lots of people are well-adjusted, contributing members of society… You know what? I’m not having this conversation with you again. Stay out of my personal life!”

  I walked rapidly into the front room and yelled over my shoulder pointlessly, “Besides, my face is messed up enough that Teagan won’t care about what shoes I’m wearing at all.”

  The front door wouldn’t budge. “Let me out, Andi.”

  “There is an unidentified male in the hallway.”

  I ducked away from the door and crab walked to the safe where I kept the Aegis. My sides protested the awkward positioning. “Who is it?”

  “He’s holding a small box. Facial recognition is not returning any data. This person does not have a criminal record…or any record for that matter.”

  I pulled the laser pistol from the safe and slid into the dining room, putting another wall between myself and the potential threat in the hallway.

  “What’s he doing, Andi?”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Ringing the doorbell.”

  “Put his image up on the wall,” I sighed.

  The person in the hallway held a square box about sixteen inches wide, easily enough room to have a pistol or bomb of some sort. He had an unremarkable face, but seemed familiar and I couldn’t place him. He wore standard street clothes and a rain jacket in which he could have concealed several different types of weapons. A pulse blaster came to mind.

  I waited a few seconds for something to happen. When nothing did, I said, “Open the comm line.”

  “Yeah, what do you need?” I asked.

  “Are you Detective Forrest?” the blonde guy with the box asked.

  “Yeah. I’m busy. What do you need?”

  “Mr. Ladeaux sent me. He has a gift for you.”

  “Tommy Voodoo?” I probed.

  “He’s been called that before. I’ll leave this here and you can get it when it’s convenient for you, Detective.”

  I paused. “Zoom in on the face, Andi.”

  The image intensified to double the size it had been before. He shared the same nose and forehead with Anastasia. “Son of a bitch. You’re a clone, like the woman at the shipping company.”

  He sniffed. “Yeah, I’m a clone. So what?”

  “So, what are you doing at my doorway?” I asked, relaxing enough to come around from behind the wall.

  “I told you, Mr. Ladeaux told me to bring you this box. He didn’t tell me what’s inside it or anything.”

  “How do I know you are who you say you are?” I shook my head at my own statement. The murder attempts had made me paranoid—not a good way to be for a police investigator.

  The clone set the box down on the hallway floor in front of my apartment. “I’ll tell Mr. Ladeaux that you accepted his gift. Have a good day.”

  The shadows receded and Andi stated, “The clone has left the building.”

  “Can you scan that box?”

  “It’s inanimate; not alive or radioactive. Other than that, I can’t tell you anything about it from the hallway sensors.”

  I took the Aegis with me and opened the door. I nudged the box with my sneaker. It seemed fine, so I picked it up and brought it inside.

  “The contents appear to be organic,” Andi stated as I carried the box to the table in the dining room.

  Cautiously, I slipped a knife through the tape, expecting something to be amiss. Inside was a sealed box of cigars with a label that read “The Cigar Box, LLC.”

  A small handwritten note rested on top of the cigar box:

  Forrest,

  I heard about your brush up with some droids. Wishing you a speedy recovery and rapid reinstatement to the force.

  Ladeaux

  ps. Since the Paxton model self-terminated I’ll find some other way that you can pay me back for all the information I’ve given you recently.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered.

  NINETEEN: THURSDAY

  The Tortuga took me over to West Lake Forrest and deposited me at the Pharaoh’s Tomb for lunch. I wasn’t even hungry; the meds were suppressing my appetite, but I knew that I needed to eat something to keep my energy up.

  Karina gasped in shock when I walked in. “Oh my goodness, Zach! What happened?”

  “I accidentally walked into a set of stairs. No big deal”

  “Okay… I hope you get better soon.”

  “Thanks,” I answered, craning me neck to see if Teagan was in her section.

  “Do you want your normal table?”

  “That depends,” I answered. “Is Teagan working today?”

  “Yes, she is,” the hostess replied guardedly.

  “Then I’ll take my normal table.”

  Her smile made me hope that all was right with this part of my life. I liked my routine, coming to Amir’s restaurant, sitting in my… I stopped. “Oh shit,” I muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” Karina asked.

  “Hi, Zach!” Teagan said when she noticed me standing near the entrance to her section. “Jesus, you look like crap.”

  “I gotta go,” I stated. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

  I turned and tried to walk quickly toward the door, but Teagan was faster. “What’s gotten into you, man?” she said when she cut me off near the door. “You used to be really cool, now you’re acting all strange. Does this have something to do with you being in jail?”

  “Teagan, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I may have put everyone here in jeopardy.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Several of the restaurant’s patrons stared over at us, obviously enjoying the show. I grabbed Teagan’s upper arm and pulled her close to me so I could whisper in her ear. She stiffened, resisting me for a moment and then relaxed.

  I breathed in the scent of vanilla and coconut before beginning. “Someone might be following me, someone very dangerous. It’s the same person who tried to kill me and then got me thrown into jail. Same person who shot up Amir’s house. Do you understand why I’ve got to leave?”

  She nodded her head softly. “Good, I knew you were a smart girl,” I continued. “Say something loudly and get me kicked out of here. Make sure it seems like you don’t want to have anything to do with me.”

  “Zach, I can—”

  “Shut up. Your life depends on it,” I whispered harshly. “I will call you later.”

  Teagan shoved against my chest with both hands, threatening to topple me. “Get away from me, creep!” she sh
outed. “God dammit, why do I always get the weirdos?”

  She sidestepped around my half-hearted effort to reach for her and rushed toward the kitchen.

  Give that girl an Oscar, I thought as I made a rapid exit through the front door.

  I hadn’t even sat in the car before my phone began buzzing.

  I answered it and Teagan’s voice erupted in the car’s sound system. “Okay, Zach. I played along, now you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I made a mistake,” I admitted. The car shifted roughly into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. “The killer in that sex club case is still out there, watching my movements. I shouldn’t have come to the Pharaoh… I may have put all of the employees at risk by doing so.”

  “He can’t target an entire restaurant staff,” she reasoned.

  “To be honest, I don’t know what he’s capable of, but I do know that he wouldn’t think twice about killing a few college kids.

  “So what does that mean? Are you never allowed to come to the Pharaoh again?” she asked.

  “That’s how I’m going to treat it until I catch this guy. I could never forgive myself if something happened to any of you because of me.”

  “Wait. What do you mean you could never forgive yourself?” Her voice had the hard edge to it that I’d heard her get when customers tried to get lippy with her.

  “Yeah. I would feel terrible.”

  “You would feel terrible…for yourself, because something bad happened. That’s some self-centered bullshit right there, Zach.”

  “Huh? No, Teagan, I mean—”

  “Never mind, man. You go do your sneaky cop stuff and leave the rest of us little people alone.”

  She hung up the phone before I could try to explain myself. “Another fine mess you’ve gotten yourself in, Zach,” I muttered aloud.

  A companion droid body for Andi looked better with every conversation I had with a woman.

  After wolfing down a greasy kelp burger and large order of sweet potato fries, I went to the address where the Bobby droid was located during the satellite changeover a few days ago. It was in a suburban neighborhood outside of the city to the west. The car’s nav system estimated that we’d arrive in an hour and ten minutes.