January, 4, 2036: Chicago, IL
Del Spooner kept his migraine ailment from Susan, for she would have prescribed him medication he had not desired. Even worse, her psychological analyses would never have ceased. Del was content with Tylenol, but that never alleviated abrupt migraines.
This morning he arrived to work early, strolled through the immaculate precinct towards his desk, and slumped down into his chair. Spooner clenched his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and Lieutenant John Bergin fully noticed this demeanor. The burly superior officer trudged toward Del, who seemed out of it. Bergin finally reached the desk.
"Hungover?" He casually joked.
"Just your average, everyday headache." Del alertly answered and faced his computer screen.
"Everything okay with Susan?" John knew that Del never stressed about his job.
"Opposites still attract; everything's great. " Del finally smiled.
"How about Sonny?" The curious Bergin mentioned the sentient NS-5 robot.
"We're pretty much raising a child. Even after all these months, I still hardly believe I'm somebody's parent." Del mused.
"If it's any consolation, I doubt you're the baby-daddy."
"Amusing."
"You're always good around my kids. Sonny may be a little naïve but he's not too much different." The Lieutenant noted.
"He's not human. If we don't nurture him properly, he could present a danger to humanity." Del interrupted.
"Hey, thought your attitude changed towards his kind," John asked.
"It did, and now I've got two worlds to protect." Del was about to peruse his inbox until a fellow detective got a call. A Latino male was murdered in his apartment last night. "Hey, Rog, can I take that one?"
"I'll forward the info to your car," Rog said.
"Thanks." Del rose from his chair, about to leave the precinct, but turned to face Bergin. "And thank you, John"
Bergin grinned and nodded.
After a travel to the murder scene, Detective Spooner arrived in the clean, furnished apartment. However, a foul stench of death lingered. Spooner motioned to the CSI on scene. "Hey Nick, what've you been up to."
"You're late, Spooner. Usually you'd be on top of things like this." Nick, middle aged, graying beard, was the team leader of the CSI, on the scene once the police were called.
"Yeah, well, I'm preoccupied. I've got a new family to contend with," he barked back.
"Welcome to the club." Nick began his overview while the corpse of a man in his late-thirties laid crumpled on the middle of the wooden floor. His face was swelled with bruises and covered in a sheet of blood.
"This guy looks familiar. You got an I.D?" Del mused.
Nick stood up and tapped through his tablet. "Santo Perez, thirty eight, well-paid janitor at a bread factory. You knew this guy?"
"He's a lot older and deader, but yeah, I kind of did. He's one of my earliest collars after I graduated from the academy.
"No arrests or felonies since he was first arrested for selling crack," Nick listed. "He's seems to have been clean ever since, but maybe old habits die hard. Maybe a deal didn't go down right."
"Leave the detective shit to me." Del shot him a sneer. "What about the body?"
"Severe neck trauma, as anyone with functional eyes can see. Whoever did this must have been hopped up on speed or some other substance."
"Could've been a robot," Del quietly said.
"All of the robots have been decommissioned, Spooner," Nick said.
"I'm fully aware of that fact, Nick. That's why this bothers me." He answered.
To be continued.