by Greg Juhn
Josh said, “It’s a play on ‘le rapace’, which is French for rapacious.” He smiled at her. “Always wanting more.” Then he added, “Or if you prefer the noun, it refers to a bird of prey.”
We looked out the window, down to the streets below.
“Where did you learn all this stuff?’ Rachel asked.
“I spent most of my life traveling around the world. I’ve picked up more trivia than Watson 2025.”
The waiter brought our meals. Indira admired the delicate burnt edging on her patty, formed by the sweet mix of honey and chitin shot through a roaster. Rachel looked rapturous as she sank into her rice bread.
After some time, our waiter swung by to see if the food was to our liking. He recommended a fabulous balcony view on the second floor. Once we had finished our main courses, Josh and Rachel left to check it out.
Indira asked, “How are things at work?”
“Busy. As always.”
“You guys coming out with any new robot models?”
“We’re always working on something.”
“You should make one that looks like a model. A really good-looking one.” After a pause, she added, “like Josh.”
“Oh?”
“Just kidding,” she laughed.
I wasn’t amused.
Our conversation grew awkward while I sulked. Indira seemed relieved when Josh and Rachel returned. Her face lit up as Josh took his seat next to her. Josh’s eyes glanced from me to her.
He leaned toward my date. “Ms. Mahajan, if you want, I will show you that view. You need to see it.”
Indira laughed and squeezed his arm. “Thank you. TJ and I will check it out.” She looked at his arm with a bit of surprise. “Solid,” she admired.
Josh pretended to consult his phone. “Guys, bad news. Gary Oh isn’t going to be able to perform at the club tonight. They sent an alert. He’s sick.” He glanced at us then back at his phone again. “They have a last-minute replacement. A duo called Dirty Dick and Frank. Have you guys ever heard of them?”
“I’ve heard of them,” Rachel said.
“They don’t get good reviews,” Josh said. “They do a lot of crude adult stuff.”
“I can handle it,” Indira said. “It’s your call, Rachel.”
We looked at Rachel.
“Sure, why not?”
“It’s okay if we don’t go,” Josh said.
The women agreed to go anyway. They apparently liked dirty jokes.
We had ordered a crème brûlée for dessert, and the Chef himself brought it out and set it on our table. He whisked a blowtorch from his sweeping white jacket and used it to crispify the sugary outside layer of the treat.
Indira offered Josh some brûlée.
“No, I can’t.”
“Oh, just try.” She scooped a bites-worth on a fork and moved it toward his mouth.
He opened his mouth, then shut it as the fork approached.
“I’ll make you eat it.”
“I would spit it out.”
She held the fork in front of his lips, engaged in a stare-off. He crossed his arms and shook his head.
Finally she sighed and set the fork down. She looked at him as though he were a disobedient child. “Can you have wine during your fast?”
“Nope.”
“Surely you are allowed to drink water?”
“Of course.”
“You haven’t touched it.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“Very odd.”
“I’m particular about how I do my detox. I don’t deviate.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Such a shame.”
I wasn’t enjoying this conversation at all. From the looks of it, neither was Rachel. Both women seemed to have forgotten me and were in a mounting competition for Josh’s attention. He naturally provoked their curiosity. He was different enough to be interesting without being weird. And, of course, he was incredibly good looking.
I hated being in competition with a robot, and even worse that he was winning so effortlessly. This shouldn’t be a competition. But who was I kidding? That’s exactly what it was. He was beating me on purpose. Somehow he was controlling and manipulating all three of us with ease. Somewhere deep in the ooloo playbook were the rules for being a player. He was an instant master; he had no nerves, no fear, nothing but unwavering confidence.
He was going to be hard to beat.
The Whip Hits Comedy Club was a short walk down Brookline Ave to the stretch of Newbury Street that lies in the shadow of the solar array, adjacent to the turnpike. It was too close to bother getting a car, but the walk led through a seedier area that I would ordinarily avoid. We passed 5 or 6 dingy bars and clubs, and the full range of human experimentation seemed on display – one dude watched me with black eyes he’d had surgically widened; another had a pod of spider lenses grafted on his face. I found myself casually glancing over my shoulder as if I might be interested in a bar we had passed, when in fact I was keeping an eye on our backside. We were dressed nice and wore expensive electronics. I didn’t want trouble.
On one of these glance-backs, I did a double take. Two men were following in the crowd, watching us. And I recognized them.
I looked away. They knew I had seen them. The club was only a dozen yards ahead, but I raced through my options. Should we request a car and get out of there? Retreat inside and hope they went away? I was grateful Josh was there. Maybe he knew how to defend himself. And if not, we could escape when they grabbed him.
Inside the club, I pulled Josh aside.
“Two guys from Herod’s are following us. Dro and Chi.”
“Yeah, I saw. Don’t worry about it. Things are at play now. There is nothing we can do.”
“What are they doing?”
“I don’t know. I guess they are observing me.”
“Observing you? Like a biologist studying a chimpanzee?”
“More like the other way around.”
“I don’t like it. They’re dangerous. How is this going to end?”
“Oh, that’s obvious. They have figured out what I am. They want to bring me in but they don’t know how. They are wary. Maybe a little afraid. Eventually they’ll go for it, and I’ll have to dole out some lessons in machine-generated chaos.” Josh patted my shoulder. “When that happens, get out of the way.”
I wasn’t reassured.
“In the meantime, do your best to ignore them. They aren’t interested in you. Trust me. They know you are a peon in NeoMechi’s corporate machine. They know if they kidnapped you, Barry wouldn’t give a shit. It’s all about me.”
After we had checked in and moved through security, I excused myself and ducked into a corner. I sent Zach a message: get a car and go to the lake house. Turn on all the security. Go to school from there. Stay until he heard otherwise from me.
He confirmed and asked what was going on, but I said I was out with friends and couldn’t talk at the moment.
Entering the Headliner Room, I scanned the crowd and found my party at a table toward the front. Indira and Rachel already had drinks and were chatting with Josh as if they had known him their entire lives.
The MC appeared on the stage, threw out a few disposable jokes, and wasted no time introducing Dirty Dick and Frank. He seemed apologetic and nervous. He knew most of these people had wanted to see Gary Oh, who had a completely different kind of humor. He smiled when the crowd clapped for the replacement act, and shuffled off to give them the stage.
The two comedians strutted onto the stage full of confidence and scorn. Dirty Dick was an overweight, unshaven middle-aged guy wearing a bright green shirt and flashy yellow pants. He squeezed a guitar by the neck. Frank trailed behind him, about the same age, looking as if he was in an entirely bad mood and wearing a big floppy hat. If the hat was supposed to be comical, it failed. Frank gave the impression of someone who had had other plans tonight and had been dragged out here because his buddy Dick needed the money.
&n
bsp; My worst fears were realized when they immediately began insulting the audience. They commented on a skinny guy’s haircut, an older women’s wrinkles, and the unlikelihood of a mismatched couple having another date together.
The crowd laughed, which further encouraged them, but I suspected that the crowd was desperate to have a good time and had not fully accepted the fact that this was as good as it was going to get.
Frank rattled off a string of insults at the people sitting in the front rows, hurling random abuse toward Asians, Mexicans, dog-lovers, lesbians, liberals, and, inexplicably, people with red cars.
“That’s not funny,” Josh said. He looked at us. “That’s not funny, right? Isn’t this mean? I don’t like them.”
Dirty Dick sat down on a tall stool, adjusted his guitar on his lap, and said, “Can we have a volunteer from the audience?”
Josh raised his hand.
“The man with the yellow tie, you there, the big tall guy in the suit.”
“Oh sweet Jesus,” I whispered.
Josh left our table and ambled up the stairs to the stage. He took a spot between them. They asked his name.
“Josh.”
“Very nice, Josh. You here with your girlfriend?”
“You could say that,” Josh said.
“What’s her name?”
“Rachel.”
Dirty Dick began strumming his guitar. “There once was a girl named Rachel,” he began, then paused for dramatic effect, pretending to contemplate his next line.
An expectant rumble of laughter percolated through the crowd. My eyes widened. Josh had set up Rachel to be the punchline of a dirty limerick. I wanted to slide down in my seat.
But as the comedian began speaking again, his mic went dead. “Whose –"
The rest of his words were inaudible.
Before his partner, Frank, knew what had happened, Josh had plucked the microphone off his shirt.
“I guess your sound isn’t working, Dick. Fortunately, I know that one.” He cleared his throat. “There once was a woman named Rachel, whose beauty was the envy of angels. It may have been fate, that she agreed to a date, and for that I am eternally grateful.”
The crowd clapped.
“How’s everyone doing tonight? Josh asked. “Good?” He scanned the crowd. “I see some heads nodding. Good.” He pointed and laughed. “That guy is shaking his head.” Josh paced the stage in the man’s direction. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. We’d be happy to give your money back. Talk to the people at the ticket counter. Tell them Josh said you could have your money back. In fact, you can all have your money back, because this show sucks.”
The place roared.
Josh stopped. “I know some of you may have come out here to see Gary Oh.” He paused. “I see more head nodding. I have a Gary Oh impression. Wanna see it?”
The crowd yelled and clapped.
Josh stood still, stared at the stage. Scratched his chin. “Ahem... yes,” he said.
A trickle of laughter from the crowd.
Dirty Dick and Frank were stunned. They appeared next to him, making exaggerated can-you-believe-this gestures.
“People,” Josh said in a gravelly voice, “There’s something I need to run by you.” His impression of Gary Oh was spot-on.
“I was, ah, looking at the news last night. That always picks me up. You know, I’m obsessed with any news of how the human race is going to kill itself off. I always thought we would kill ourselves with thermonuclear bombs. Or maybe some 12-year-old kid in Beirut would launch a virus that would cripple the Internet and completely collapse the global economy.”
He paused and paced, glanced outward. The crowd snickered.
“I never would have guessed we were going to kill ourselves with a giant ball of detergent.”
The crowd roared.
“A fucking ball of detergent!" Josh looked at Dirty Dick. “What do you think of that?” Josh was pacing, appearing agitated. “President Cox looks out the window of his mansion on Nantucket and what does he see? Nothing but fucking bubbles!"
Some of the people were laughing so hard now, they were almost crying.
“What’s the point of having a goddamn 20 million dollar estate if the whole goddamn thing is full of bubbles?”
“All right,” Frank said. “Let’s have that back.” He tried to take the mic from Josh.
Josh pretended to hand it to him but then pulled it back. “I mean, didn’t anyone test this stuff? Seriously, no one asked what would happen if this stuff got into the water supply? What brainiac was in charge of this – was it Dirty Dick?”
Dirty Dick and Frank had regained their composure, their eyes humorless and hell bent. They lunged on him like sharks on a seal.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” Frank said, putting his arm around Josh.
“Have you heard that one before?” Josh asked. “Have you seen Gary Oh?”
“No, I haven’t. I suspect you just made that up. Hats off to you.” Dirty Dick put his hat on Josh and it slid down Josh’s forehead to his eyes. “It seems you have a small head. Doth thou have a small head, Josh?” He held out his fingers in a pinch, with a small space between them.
“My head is large, trust me,” Josh said. He took the hat off and examined it, showing the crowd how big it was. “Must have come from a baboon.”
Josh placed it back on the comedian’s head. “Don’t take this off. It makes you look more intelligent.”
Frank asked, “Josh, tell the audience what you do for a living.”
I squirmed.
Josh said, “I’m in robotics.”
“Robotics? That sounds fun,” Frank spat.
The audience laughed.
“And what do you do in ‘robotics’?”
“We design machines that are going to someday replace everyone.”
Dirty Dick furled his eyebrows. “Everyone? Even comedians?”
“You’ll be the first to go.”
“All the comedians will soon be out of work?”
“Not necessarily. I said you’ll be the first to go.”
“Ah.”
“And eventually the rest of you.”
“Because your world of the future isn’t funny?”
“No, because machines can think faster than humans.”
“Well, maybe you can bring one of your machines in here some night and we’ll have a battle of wits.”
“Sure, as long as Gary Oh is here.”
Dirty Dick clicked his fingers. “You, Josh, are a smart ass.”
“I know. I was born a smart ass. But it’s better than being a dumb ass. Right?”
“Tis true,” Dirty Dick said. He launched into Shakespearean oratory; he must have had some bad acting in his past. In a sarcastic tone he quoted, “Oh, if only the sexton were here to write down that I’m an ass! Gentlemen, remember that I am an ass; even though it’s not written down, don’t forget that I’m an ass!" He jabbed a finger at Josh and continued. “Oh, you’re a rotten bastard, you are. I’m a wise man and, what’s more, I’m an officer of the law and, what’s more, I’m a householder and, what’s more, I’m as handsome as any in Messina!"
“As handsome a hunk of meat as any in Messina,” Josh corrected. In a dramatic voice, he said, “The exact quote is: ‘I’m as handsome a hunk of meat as any in Messina.’ How could you forget that little detail about meat?”
“Thank you for volunteering, you can go now.”
Josh came back to the table. As he weaved through the crowd, everyone fist-bumped him. He sat and straightened his tie. “I don’t think they liked me.”
Indira smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”
Rachel leaned forward. “Thank you for the nice poem.”
He put his arm around her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Outside the club after the show, I looked left and right and behind me. No sign of the goon squad, much to my relief. We requested three c
ars. I kissed Indira goodnight. Rachel, looking awkwardly at Josh, thought he might be leaning in too, and extended her cheek ever so slightly. Josh pecked it casually. Rachel took the first car that arrived, Indira the second; Josh and I returned home in the third. The house lights sprang on when I entered.
“You were kind of hard on those comedians.”
“They deserved it.”
“True, I guess. How did you do such a great impression of Gary Oh?”
“Easy. I got a read on his mannerisms and style from 237 short video clips of him performing.”
“When did you have time to watch those?”
“At the beginning of the show. I didn’t watch them per se. I scanned them, in parallel, all at the same time. So you thought it was good?”
“You nailed it.”
“A trivial feat. I can impersonate anyone. I could do a convincing version of the President, if we ever needed me to do that for some reason.”
“For God’s sake...!"
“Don’t you want to wreak havoc sometimes? Just for fun?”
“No. Your kind of havoc can get out of control.”
“Okay, boss.” Josh smiled. I stared back at him. He smiled more. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” I felt like I was babysitting a robot with a lit sparkler dancing around a pile of explosives. “One more thing, while you’re feeling so smug. Your little imitation game only goes so far. Your lack of real emotion greatly restricts your acting range, wouldn’t you say?”
“I wouldn’t agree with that at all.”
I said, “People have emotions, personalities. Robots don’t.”
“Not so,” Josh parried. “We now have the whole range.”
“No way.” I dismissed the idea with a wave of my hand.
“Not only can every Perfectus be different, I myself can switch moods and personalities on and off at will.”
“I don’t believe it. Anything other than your normal smart-ass tone will seem fake. It will seem like acting.”
“I can make you believe it.”
“Go for it. Give me your best performance.”
His eyes filled with gratitude and warmth. “TJ, I want to thank you for letting me stay in your house. I know how hard it is to have someone living right under your nose, disrupting all your daily routines. Well, I don’t know from personal experience, but based on everything I’ve read, it’s hard.” He put his arm on my shoulder gently. “So I appreciate what you are doing. You’re an awesome guy.”