+J.M.J.+
The Shadows between the Neon
By "Matrix Refugee"
Author's Note:
BRR!! Combine reading the last chapters of 'Salem's Lot with eating a bowl of mixed mocha chip/vanilla almond/cherry chocolate chip ice cream and add a frigid New England October night, and you have a recipe for the shivers. Hopefully some of the shivers have rubbed off on this chapter. Two special notes on Rouge City as I envision it: Some people have speculated that it might really be Philadelphia or Camden after Las Vegas bought it out (Spielberg said something to this effect), but I see it as a whole new urban area on the East Pennsylvania side of the Delaware, slightly northwest of Camden, which neither state really wants to claim, making it a separate urban enclave, sort of like what Washington, D.C. is to Maryland. And also, I imagine this makes it hard for the city to have a regular police force, which means the city has, in effect, a whole system of rent-a-cops in its employ.
Disclaimer:
See Chapter I.
II: October 22nd, 2159
Albany Times-Herald, 23 September, 2159 pg. 3
FIFTEEN INJURED BY MECHA IN STABBING SPREE
Nova Francisco (AP): Police are searching for a male Mecha, possibly a lover model, responsible for stabbing fifteen people in Conforti's restaurant on Fulton Ave. in Nova Francisco last night. Restaurant manager Rob Conforti says the Mecha came into the restaurant about 20.00 p.m., seeking shelter from a torrential rainstorm. "It seemed edgy-like, suspicious, like it was looking for some one or something," Conforti told the police. "I kept an eye on it, just to see no trouble started, for it or for anyone else."
A half hour later, a college student, 22-year old Nichelle Terkel, approached the Mecha and started teasing it. "She [Terkel] wasn't really hitting on it," Conforti reported. "But she was acting like she was interested in it, though you could tell she was doing it just to annoy it." The Mecha became enraged and attacked the girl with a small knife it had hidden in a compartment in its right forearm. Several patrons and members of the waitstaff tried to appease the two, but the were also stabbed in the confrontation.
The Mecha fled the premises by breaking out a window and jumping through it. Police were unable to capture it: it is described as a possible Companionates model JO-4679, about five foot ten, medium build, dark hair. Distinguishing marks include a long scar across the right cheek. However, police stress caution and urge the public not to approach this Mecha: it is armed and extremely dangerous.
Rouge City Broadsheet, pg 36, column 4, bottom
MECHA FOUND DAMAGED IN ALLEYWAY BEHIND CASINO
Rouge City—Security guards Bob Stanger, Leslie Tiessen, Tyler Mackey, and Kinnon Regers responded to a call from the Bleu Fairy Escort Service that one of their Mechas had been severely damaged, possibly intentionally. A copy writer found the Mecha, a Sidekicks C-09328, commonly known as "Carlos", in an alleyway behind WildCards, a casino on 12th Street when she was walking home from running some errands…
From: HeroicReporter23 @ juno.com
To: RougeCityCecie @ juno.com, KPLangier @ rougecitymail.com
Subject: Frank is back in town
Brace yourselves, denizens of Sin City, USA: Frankie and Bernie are coming into town on the 19.30 Albany monorail. Tell you more tonight.
Frank S.
At twenty-five past nineteen, Kip, Cecie, and Joe sat on the platform of the Rouge City monorail, waiting for the 19.30 Albany-Camden-Rouge City train to show up.
"Did Frank tell you they just filed for their pregnancy license?" Kip told them.
"Indeed!" Joe said, his nostrils curled slightly as if he didn't wholly approve of the idea.
"He didn't tell me when I was typing to him last night," Cecie said. "How are they going to get it now that Frank lost the job in Albany?"
"Good question: the Board is still hemming and hawing over our application, and I own my own business."
"What about the job offer Flyte got for you?"
"Phila wouldn't hear of it when I said it was welding Mecha infrastructures for a company that does lover models, even after I told her they do a lot of other types."
"She has yet remained narrow of heart?" Joe asked.
"'Fraid so, fella; not even moving here to Rouge City has got the New England puritan out of her," Kip said.
"Might not be so bad: this place could use a little contrast," Cecie said.
The headlamps of the monorail pierced the darkness at the end of the track; the train inched along the rail to the station with a decelerating whirr.
The sliding doors opened and a scattering of people emerged onto the track, including a young couple, a tall, dark man with green eyes, and a small woman with golden brown hair.
Bernie had still had some of the little girl look about her face and figure when she had married Frank last year, but she had shot up a couple inches and filled out slightly. She still didn't quite meet your gaze squarely, but she didn't keep her head screwed down between her shoulder blades the way she had two years before, when she first came to Rouge City..
Frank helped her down from the train; he had changed as well: his hair looked neater and his face more carefully shaven, but he looked thinner than before, almost thinner than Joe. But he accompanied Bernie almost as if she were a queen.
Joe peered over Cecie's shoulder toward Bernie; he glanced away, then glanced at Bernie again, almost as if he were doing a double-take.
"Could that exquisite creature be she? Is that radiant young woman the shy Bernadette?" he asked, awe-struck.
Kip stepped forward, meeting his brother-in-law and his wife's sister halfway.
"Hello, Frank!"
"Hiya, Kip."
"How you doing?"
"Oh, I'll be doing better once I get another job, but we're holding up. How about you?"
"I have my good days and my not-so-good days, but I just roll with the punches."
"Hey there, Cecie!"
"Hello, Frank."
"You been staying out of trouble?"
"I've been trying to, but it finds me anyway."
"Where's Phila?" Bernie asked.
"She's home cooking supper," Kip said. "Wow, Bernie! You look great; what did you do?"
"It's nothing I've done," she said modestly.
"You have the look all women do when they have found and been claimed by their true lover," Joe said. Cecie heard an edge of resignation to his voice.
"That's true," Bernie admitted, slipping an arm around Frank's waist.
The five of them walked to the apartment where Kip and Phila had lived with Irene till she passed away just a few months before.
Kip had set an artificial jack o' lantern in the window with an electric candle inside it and fake cobwebs festooned around it. A string of orange icicle lights hung from the overhang of the upper story. Kip opened the front door and let them all enter first.
The front room was already decked out with strings of silk leaves in autumn colors—orange, golden yellow, scarlet, russet, tan, maroon—high up near the ceiling and hanging from the corners of the room to the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling. A small vase of silk maple leaves stood before the painting of the Sacred Heart over a shelf at the head of the room.
Kip led them into the kitchen-dining room, where Phila was setting the table: six chairs, but only five settings. On a shelf of the dresser stood an eerily realistic-looking plastic skull; next to it stood its metallic counterpart, the titanium cranium of a Mecha.
"Ooh, what's that?" Frank asked, mock squeamishly.
"One of my Halloween decorations," Kip said.
Joe eyed the Mecha skull warily. His gaze turned to Kip's face.
"And may I ask how you came to obtain…this object?" he asked, delicately.
"Don't worry your processors, Joe; no Mechas were harmed in the obtaining of this skull," Kip said. "I picked it up from a parts store in Camden."
"Hello, Phila," Bernie said.
"Bernie, Hello!" the two sisters hugged each other. "You look different."
"Good or bad?"
"At the risk of making you proud, you look good."
Bernie blushed. "Thanks."
"So how did it happen that you lost the job?" Kip asked Frank, once they had gathered in the kitchen; Joe sat on Cecie's right on a chair turned back to front.
"The Albany Times combined with another Albany paper, the Herald, so now it's the Albany Times-Herald. They had to let a lot of reporters go, and unfortunately I was one of 'em," Frank said.
"So, I guess the paper folded," Cecie said.
Frank grinned. "You got it, Cecie. For now, we've been scrimping on my unemployment."
"I sold a few sweaters I knitted," Bernie added hopefully.
"So Cecie found you a job with the Broadsheet?" Kip asked.
"She 'may' have found me a job: I'm going in for an interview tomorrow."
Phila served up the meal, simple but wholesome: chicken stew and fresh baked rolls she'd made herself.
"So have any of you been following the news about the trouble with the Mecha over in North California?" Frank asked.
"We'd heard about the people who got stabbed," Kip said. "Why, is there more?"
"Unfortunately, yeah. Five people got strangled in Omaha, Nebraska a day later. The police think it may have been the same Mecha, he just moved east."
"Did you hear about the Mecha that got destroyed last night?" Cecie asked.
"That's a new one to me," Frank said.
"Should you really be talking about this?" Phila asked. "It only happened last night; you said you saw it."
Joe put a comforting hand on Cecie's arm; she patted his hand in gratitude.
"I gotta talk about it," Cecie said. "Last night, I was walking home from the cybercafé after I was IM'ing Frank; I took a shortcut down an alleyway to get out of the wind."
"You shouldn't have been walking there anyway," Bernie said.
"That's what I told her this morning when we met up after Mass," Phila said. "I knew something was wrong: her face was as white as a sheet."
"C'mon, let Cecie tell her story," Kip said.
"I was almost to the end, onto 12th Street, when I tripped on something on the ground. At first I thought it was a drunk or an addict or some homeless person. But I looked down and saw he was a Mecha."
"Maybe we don't want to know."
"It was pretty bad, but it wasn't the worst. He was dead, damaged, destroyed, whatever you want to call it. Someone or something had torn open his chest. So I called his owner and they sent over a tech, plus they called in the security guards."
"Did you see anyone suspicious-looking?" Frank asked.
"No, nothing. He felt really cold to the touch, so I guessed he'd been lying there for quite a while."
"Probably someone's husband destroyed it," Phila said.
"Or a disgruntled customer did it," Kip added.
"Or someone's husband," Frank suggested.
"Frank!" Phila cried.
Frank shrugged. "I did an interview once for a tabloid section about a woman who found some unfamiliar men's underwear in her bedroom. At first she suspected her daughter was sneaking the boyfriend into the house, but it turned out to be someone else's boyfriend."
"Whose?" Phila asked.
"Her husband's."
"That's awful! I hope she got power of attorney over him and put him in a psychiatric ward," Phila said.
"They started going to a family counselor, but that was the last I heard about them; this was one of my more recent interviews. Someone else got the follow-up."
"It was probably just as well," Bernie said.
Yes, so the husband won't be hitting on Frank," Phila said.
"No, worse, the wife was hitting on me," Frank groaned.
"Ouch, I could see why that would be worse," Kip said.
"Now why would it be worse for a woman to be hitting on Frank?" Phila asked.
"Duuuhh, I'm straight. If a guy hits on me, I'm just gonna say, 'Sorry, pal, I don't do my own kind'," Frank said. "But if a woman hits on me, it's harder to tell her no, since I might be getting too interested."
"So what's Frank's chance of getting the job?" Phila asked Cecie, changing the subject.
"Highly likely," Cecie replied. "I told Finkelsteen, the chief editor, so he's aware of Frank already."
"Greasing the skids for me, eh?" Frank grinned. "Good work."
"How well does Finkelsteen know you?" Kip asked Cecie.
"I've written a few odds and end for the paper, so I'm a familiar face to him. He actually offered me the job, so I told him I knew a guy who was better suited for it."
"Wonder if my old buddy Hal McGeever will try to get the job," Frank said.
"I hope he doesn't," Bernie said. "If we're ever in Albany again, let's stay in a tent in the park instead of Hal's apartment."
"Why, what happened?" Cecie asked.
"I'd better tell the whole story," Frank said. "As you know, we stayed in Hal's apartment in Albany when we were apartment hunting; Hal worked for the Herald and they'd sent him up to Montreal to cover the hackers' convention up there. So Bernie goes to hang up her things in the closet, though I told her not to." Frank started laughing so hard he had to stop talking. "You tell it, Bern."
"I opened the door, and there's this female Mecha in there that looked just like the one Diocletian had," she continued.
"I told Bernie not to go in there, but it came a little late," Frank added, recovering.
"I trust she was not immobilized with a restraining bolt," Joe asked.
"No, he had her shut down."
"Does Peter know anything about your coming here to find work?" Phila asked.
"If he does, I'm afraid he has no say on where I get work," Frank said. "Man's gotta take the job he gets sometimes."
"But why work for that paper in this town?"
"It needs a little new life in it; Frank could handle that," Kip said.
"But that's just it," Bernie said. "I don't know as if I want to live here."
"We could always live downstream in Philadelphia," Frank said. "At least the crime rate is lower here."
"We only had one murder recently," Cecie said.
"Who's to say it couldn't happen again?" said Bernie. "Besides, wasn't it only a Mecha that got destroyed?"
Joe wrinkled his nostrils and looked away primly. "Only a Mecha? If you are of a faith that values life, it would appear that you would respect all life, even that which is only virtual life."
Later, Cecie walked home in Joe's company. The escalators were hardly crowded. She found her hand creeping over to take Joe's hand in hers. He covered it with his free one.
"You hand has grown cold," he observed, caressing it with his palm. She sensed her hand warming as his skin grew warmer. She shivered inside her coat; she should have put the lining in: the cold needled through the simuleather, pricking her skin. "Shall I come up to your chamber and shield you from the cold?" He leaned closer to her, shielding her. "I have as yer, no other clients this night, as I do most Sunday nights."
She held his clasped hands in hers. "I know you mean well, but I'll have to turn you down."
"Why refuse me when you know you shall feel the cold?"
"I can turn up the heat in my room, and I was going to make myself a cup of tea."
"So you would throw me over for a baseboard heater?" He retracted his hand from her arm. "It is your decision and I must respect it."
The wind grew stronger as they rose to the outlet of the shaft. Joe helped her up as they glided to solid ground, but she sensed that his skin temperature had dropped slightly.
He walked slightly behind her, as they walked back to the Graceley, his body taking the brunt of the cold wind. Loose papers and fallen leaves scudded across the pavement at their feet. The hollow wash of the wind in their ears seemed to drown out the raucous jazz and the backbeat from the clubs, which seemed less noisy, less frenetic than usual. Cecie swore she could hear the stillness that the noise generally muffled. Only a few people passed them by on the streets.
She unconsciously reached back and drew Joe closer, more for protection than anything else: to protect him and to seek his shelter.
She looked behind her: he was already looking back. He lengthened his stride slightly; she walked a little quicker.
"What did you hear?" she asked.
"I heard footsteps but I could see no one," he said.
"They might have been the echoes of our footsteps," she said.
"No, they were not: I know the sound of yours, and this sound did not resemble them."
They quick-walked into the Graceley. Cecie let him come into her room with her; she set to work making herself a cup of tea.
"Bernadette had blossomed from Franks care for her," he noted.
"And you're challenging me to imagine what she'd be like if you'd been allowed to do the same for her," Cecie countered, trying to sound twitting and biting at the same time.
"Have you read my brain?"
"No, I just know you still have those wicked little thoughts about her. Better drop 'em, Joe; if Frank catches you trying to play pat-hands with his wife, he'll rip your processors out."
"He could not harm me."
"You wanna find out the hard way? Just try making a play for Bernie."
"She only has eyes for Frank now. She did not avoid my face nor my eyes, but she did not gaze upon them." He moved in closer to her. "She has found her satisfaction in Frank's arms. But you…yes, you are jealous. That jealousy has not left you: you have only concealed it, hidden it in your bosom where it has been sucking the life from you." He inched closer still, leaning across the table, his face calm, but the fire in his eyes kindling. "Let me release you from this deathlock."
The kettle chattered on the stove. She started up, but he gripped her wrist. She tensed her wrist tendons as he did so. They stood locked thus for a moment. He relaxed his hold just a trifle. She slid her hand free and went to get the kettle.
As she turned back from preparing her tea, she nearly let out a yelp: Joe stood in the doorway, blocking her path with his arms against the doorposts.
"So you have decided to play at coldness," he said, with amused ardor.
She raised her mug to shoulder level. "If you don't get out of the way, I am going to pour this tea on you."
He stepped out of her way dutifully, but she saw his eyes follow her out of the corners of her own.
"You're wearing out your welcome," she said.
"Perhaps you have only let the welcoming fires go out in your heart."
"It's the wrong time of the month for me," she said.
"I have heard that excuse rendered before," he said. He leaned down close to her, and flaring his nostrils, drew in a long draft of air. "You have passed the point when your desires should start to return after the lull."
"You can read me like a book," she said, reaching for her datascriber as she sat down on the windowseat.
Joe sat on the floor, leaning his head against her shin, eyeing her around the edge of the scriber.
"What creative labors occupy you?"
"It's kind of a vampire story—and no, you can't help me with the research by biting me on the neck," she said.
"I did not think of that," he said.
He suddenly put his hand on her right wrist. "But perhaps it might prove doubly useful to you."
She pinned the scriber to her thighs with her right hand. She lowered her left hand as if to brace herself, but with her wrist, she knocked the mug off the windowseat, into his lap.
He leaped to his feet, letting out a painful yelp. He turned to her, his brows knit, his lower lip thrust out.
"You could not have made it any more obvious," he said coldly. "But even as this hot tea burns me, may your desire for me melt your icy heart."
His face had relaxed: he gave her a slow wink as he went out.
She turned to raise her eyes from the scriber when she heard the door close.
Next day, at 8.30 Mass, Cecie noticed Frank was there, with Bernie and the Langiers. After Mass, the Langiers left, but Frank lingered, lighting a candle each before the statues of St. Jude and of St. Joseph.
"No patron saints for writers?" he asked Cecie when they were outside.
"No, but we got St. Mary Magdalen," she said. Frank looked as if he'd shaved before he'd gone to bed, and then again when he got up. He'd made some effort to comb back his hair, and she could tell he'd gone over his gray suit with a clothes brush. "So, where are you off to?"
"I've got an interview with Everett Finkelsteen in about," he checked his wristwatch, "Fifteen minutes."
"You get going: better to be a little early," Bernie said, straightening the lapels of his tan overcoat. "I'll be praying for you."
"I'll need it," Frank said. He leaned down to kiss Bernie, then he scurried off, heading deeper into the City.
"Have you had breakfast yet?" Cecie asked Bernie.
"No, not yet."
"I'll treat you," Cecie said, and lead her along Main Boulevard to Broad Way, to Arabica's, a small coffee shop.
"Why do I have a feeling you don't want Frank to get this job here in the city?" Cecie asked over fruit and sweet rolls.
Bernie toyed with half a strawberry on her plate. "I don't want Frank to get led astray."
"He has you now; he's only trying to support you and his child, once you get your license."
"But does he have to get a job here of all places? I've seen the ads in the back of the Broadsheet."
"They can get pretty R-rated, but I've seen them just as bad in the back of the New Boston Herald. Just stay away from them."
"I don't want Frank to get tempted."
"He hasn't got the job yet, and besides, you don't have to live in the City: you could live in Camden and he could commute here, or you could live on the Lower Deck. If you're really that uncomfortable, maybe I should introduce you to the pastor over at Our Lady of the Immaculate Heart, Father Nick Crawford."
"You mean the priest who said the Mass today? He doesn't look like, you know, a very respectable sort of man."
"I know, the gelled-back hair makes him look kind of like a Hollywood procurer. But he's a thorough gentleman."
"He looks like he might be…you know, not exactly normal…I mean, you know…"
"He looks like he might be homosexual?"
"Yes."
"He had a few difficulties with that a few years ago. He actually took an extended leave from active service as a priest to figure out what he wanted to do. But he decided that serving God's outcasts was what he was sent here to do. He works in a homeless shelter and a drug rehab clinic across the river in Philadelphia."
"He could just be using that as a mask…but he gave a good sermon today."
"Why do I have a funny feeling you're using your concern for Frank as a mask for your real feelings?"
"What do you mean?" Bernie asked, innocently."
"I mean, you're really afraid you're going to have another crush on Joe, or that he's going to make another play for you."
Bernie put down her fork and clasped her hands in her lap.
"I take that gesture to mean 'yes'," Cecie said in a fair imitation of Joe's husky tenor. Bernie shivered. In her own voice, Cecie added, "If there's anyone who has to worry about that, it's me."
Bernie looked up. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I fell in love with Joe."
"Have you…you know…?"
"I slept on the same bed with him, both of us fully clothed, but that's as far as it went and as far as it will go."
"I certainly hope so. What happened?"
"Joe got it into his processors that I want more of him, especially since he had a faulty chip removed, he's been incorrigible. I had to pour hot tea over him last night to get him to knock it off."
"Good. But, uh, I hope you didn't burn him."
"He's made of tough stuff." She kept to herself, 'You sound a little worried about the artificial inamorato.'
"I found out I've got competition already," Frank said when the six of them gathered for supper that night.
"Anyone we know?" Kip asked.
"Yeah, if you remember Hal McGeever from the wedding reception: short guy, skinny, dark hair, balding, bad teeth, hung around the bar most of the time. Tossed off an incredible amount of liquor and didn't get drunk."
Bernie shook her head. "He doesn't sound familiar, but maybe I don't want to remember."
"Yeah, I remember him: he tried to make a pass at me," Cecie said.
"And this obliged me to step in and remind him, by word and example, how a gentleman treats a lady," Joe said.
"Maybe we should placate him a little, invite him to dinner," Bernie suggested.
"Yeah, that's a good idea. Either you'd poison him and get rid of him, or it'll give him such a bellyache that he'll be out of commission for a while," Frank said. "But if you do, make sure you cook plenty."
"Why?"
"This guy barely eats most of the time, but when he can get a free feed, he puts away enough for two guys his size. I don't know where he puts it all, must have a hollow leg: he's about five foot even and weighs all of ninety pounds hungry. Rest of the time he practically starves himself so he can pay for his addiction."
Bernie's eyes got big. "And what's he addicted to?"
Frank looked at Joe out of the corner of his eye for a second. "He's a sex addict. I mean, worse than me at my lowest, way worse. This guy did everything: women, men, Orgas, Mechas, animals, trees, rocks, garbage cans. I remember when I was sharing an apartment with him when we both worked in Chicago, he used to gross me out with some of his stunts. And I never knew what I was going to walk in and find him with next."
"Oyyy," Cecie groaned.
"Don't let Phila hear that," Kip said.
Too late, Phila walked into the kitchen; from the withering look on her slightly green face, she'd clearly heard everything.
"And you lived in the same apartment with him?" Phila asked her brother-in-law. "Were you queer at the time."
"Careful, Philomena," Kip warned.
"Nah, people asked me that back then, I told them the truth: I was helping him with the rent."
"I guess you shouldn't have mentioned Hal last night," Cecie said.
"Yeah, if you don't want to catch the devil's attention, don't speak of him by name," Frank said.
"How did you find out Hal's trying to get the job?" Bernie asked.
"I saw his resume on Finkelsteen's desk," Frank said. "I sent mine in first, so I'm still ahead of Hal."
"Well, if he's as bad as you say, maybe it's better if you get the job," Bernie said.
"And this morning you told me you didn't want me to get the job," Frank said.
At that moment, the lights in the room blinked. Bernie and Frank looked at Kip.
"What's this?" Frank asked, looking up at the ceiling.
"Does that happen often?" Bernie demanded.
"No, the city has the best wind and storm-proof power system," Kip said. "And that's a must down here in the Lower Deck."
"Yeah, and to keep all that neon lighting upstairs glowing, sendin' out the beacon: 'The silicon babes and boys are HERE!!!'"
Bernie slugged her husband none too playfully.
When Cecie and Joe reached the Upper Deck, a light rain added its dampness to the icy gusts of wind. Cecie had brought the umbrella and put it up, but Joe insisted on holding it for her. He drew her to his side to keep her under the shelter, but she held her body away from him under her coat.
The rain had thinned the crowd more than usual. But Cecie sensed something that did not belong in the shadows. She kept looking back, over her shoulder. Joe glanced behind them as well.
"Do you hear something?" she asked. They both stopped walking.
Another set of footsteps clacked wetly on the polymer pavement. The sound faded into the spatter of raindrops.
Joe gripped Cecie's arm and hurried her along, up Main Boulevard, from one pool of neon and street light to the next.
Joe suddenly drew her back, as if from the edge of a precipice.
Something lay across the wide sidewalk. He tried to lead her around it, but she stopped and knelt beside it.
A male figure lay in a puddle of what she thought was water, but which she realized by the oily smell was a mixture of water and oil and hydraulic fluid. His skin was as pale as alabaster or white marble; he would have stood taller than Joe and he had the shoulders of a linebacker. Someone had slashed his throat open, his voice synthesizer lay torn out on the ground next to him. A tube in his throat still leaked fluid onto the ground.
Joe fanned out his left hand over the dead Mecha's face. Blue white lights glowed along the insides of his fingers, reflected onto the waxy, rough-chiseled features.
"Do you know him?" Cecie asked.
"It is…it was Drew. We were made new at about the same season. We had our trials together."
"An old friend?"
"You might say that."
"I'm sorry." She dug in the damaged figure's trouser pocket and dug out the address card sewn into it. Then she reached into her pocket for her cellphone.
The security guards and the techs came, setting up a shelter over the crime scene.
"Did you see anyone walking or running away from the site?" one of the guards, Stanger from the other night, asked Cecie.
"No, but we heard footsteps," Cecie said.
"There were a few people nearby, you probably heard them.
"They weren't ordinary footsteps, they sounded too regular, and they were close to the walls, really quiet, like someone who doesn't want to be heard."
"Where were you earlier this evening, Miss Martin?"
One of the techs finished scanning the internal clock of the dead Mecha. "His last visuals were at 20.10, it's 20.40 now."
"I was downstairs in the Lower Deck, having dinner with Kip and Phila Langier, Number 12A, on AA Street," Cecie said. "Joe was with me."
"Are you holding her in suspicion?" Joe asked.
"It's a little odd, Miss Martin. This is the second destroyed Mecha in three days, and both times we find you on the crime scene," the guard said. "We'll check your story out: till then, and till we scan his cube, don't leave town."
He'd had to slip into the shadows. The dark girl and the JO-4679 had come upon the latest incident. The girl might have noticed him, but the JO-4679 might have seen him and noted the stains on his clothes, then blabbed it to the girl. He'd have to work quicker next time, but the DR-8726 had put up a fight he hadn't counted on…
To be continued…
Afterword:
The rating begins to climb in the next chapter; I hope this doesn't decide to go into NC-17 territory (for violence), because it will mean having to post the rest of this on the Yahoo Group "AI_Fanfiction". I have nothing against NC-17 rated stuff as long as it isn't a lot of pointless smut or gore; one of my favorite books, King of Kings, a novel based on the life of King David of Israel, was written by a very upright and holy Catholic priest, the late Father Malachi Martin, and some of the content puts it right in NC-17 territory (especially one scene with the prophet Samuel hacking one of the enemies of Israel to pieces—eeyyyuuuucckkkkk!!!!! And the scene with King David and Bathsheba left very little to the imagination.). You have been warned.