Chapter Four

The case wasn't easy, but at least it was over with. A quick two-day operation. Not something I always get. I wish I got more of them though. They're just more fun.

I went to a local bar that I'd gone to for a long time. It was down a lonely street, and only lost tourists or people who knew about it were ever there. There was the occasional cop or politican who was getting stoned or wasted, but otherwise only regulars.

As I walked in, a strange red reploid was causin some trouble.

"HEY! Don't hold the barkeep by the collar. Not very neighborly of ya, if you know what I mean."
"SHUT U--..." He looked me over. "Who are you?"
"Tracer Bullet. Reploid Detective."
"Reploid... Detective?"
"Yeah."
He dropped his grip on the barkeep. He had long, blonde hair to his knees or lower, but it really didn't interest me.
"Look. The barkeep here opened this joint when I turned 21. That was 7 years ago. I've been going here everyday since it opened. I don't want any trouble."
"Really now. C'mere and have a seat."
"I was planning on that anyway, not making a scene. Good thing that you're the only other one in here."
"What'll ya have Tracer, the usual?" the barkeep asked. He was old, around 60. He had a fine build, about 5'11, not someone you mess with. He had a large bald spot: his whole head. He was a nice guy, but he had a temper that was nasty to see.
"Burbon on the rocks, as always."
"Comin up."
"So what made you nearly kill our barkeep here?"
"He called me a crazy jackass."
"Well, he calls me that too, but you don't see ME killing him."
"Look. I don't need you on my bad side..."
"OR Vice versa."
"Well no matter. The thing is, I'm not from this time."
I took a sip of my drink. Crazy sonuvabitch. I looked him over. I realized he may not be as crazy as he sounds.
"I wouldn't think so. You look like you've seen a lot of carnage."
"You have no idea."
"I sympathize with ya though, I see a lot of violence and I do it willingly. I don't like to kill, but then again, I do when I have to."
"...What year is this?"
"God... I have no clue... They call this era the "Peaceful Times", so no one really knows."
"I'm from a time where the reploids have revolted... about 21XX..."
"Wow..."I took another swig of my drink. God, maybe if I could just get plastered, this guy would make sense. Course, he wasn't TOTALLY crazy...
"So you're a detective?"
"Yeah. I do the jobs put to me."

He shoved a wad of cash in front of me. Prolly bout $20,000.

"I had something stolen from me. A saber."
"How could anyone steal it from you? YOU, such an… imposing reploid! I swear dude, you are really creepy lookin in the dark. Someone's gotta have a lotta balls to take you on."
"Go find it for me. It was stolen from me on First and Cass."
"...By Cobo's Bar?"
"Yeah. Right to the right of there, as a matter of fact."
"...Alright. But I don't trust you too much, so you gonna come with me."
"I can't do that. Orders are to stay here until I get the saber back. I have to wait here. My comrade may come back to this time to get me, but who knows. You up to it?"
"...Buy me a beer, play me in a game of pool, and I'll do it. And I'll take half of the money you just stuck in front of me."
"Deal."
"Joe, gimme a Molson Ice."
"Sure thing."

A tough game of pool. We were cussin like sailors, missin all sorts of easy shots. I won in the end, by one ball, but hell... It was the MOST fun game I'd played in years.

I left the bar, feeling good, and headed to First and Cass.