2040, March

This woman I had met in the forum, Lana, she owned a bar not too far from where I used to live. She had seemed decent enough from our brief 'Red-Ice-killed-our-brothers' chat. I had done so well the past couple years not drinking, but if I was heading back to Detroit, with full knowledge of possibly seeing Hank again, I would need a little more courage than what I had built naturally over the past year.

Fuck it.

A rum and coke once a week every other week helped. I didn't stay long each time. I had my suspicions that she knew Hank obviously, but I didn't want to get into the topic of my love life with someone who was still nearly a complete stranger. I wasn't interested. I tucked myself away and purposefully avoided eye contact with anyone, fiddling on my phone just long enough to pass a stage in a stupid game, down my glass in a few sips, and waltz out. I didn't want the interference and as kind as she was, I didn't really want a friend at the moment, either. I could tell she was disappointed, probably aching to get in on the gossip, maybe feeling a little left out since she had, after all, dropped the knowledge of her ties to the DPD which piqued my interest.

And I'd thank her or one of her employees every time from my corner seat and dash out before anyone noticed.

I only continued to return out of politeness after a few visits. Politeness and boredom and reasonable prices.

I returned out of the sheer risk of possibly seeing Hank walk through that door in the evenings, my heart pounding in my chest every time the little bell chimed and it was some other depressed older man with a chip on his shoulder.

I returned because I was an emotional masochist, torturing myself like a cat with its play wand.

Here's a Hank, nooooo, here's a Hank, nooooo, bad Alex, bad! Stop being a lazy bitch and find the asshole already!

I wouldn't be left alone for long, however. At some point in June, Lana called my name the second I entered.

Dammit.

She beckoned me to sit next to the android propped in front of her. The man might have had normal streetwear, but he needed to work on that posture.

She softened me up with my usual before getting right to the point:

"Alex," Lana said. "Do you uh - do you know a man named Hank? Hank Anderson?"

I straightened up in a preemptive anger-relief stretch before I answered. The stretch didn't do much to quell my attitude and I came across as a bit more blunt than intended.

All I wanted was to get in and get out.

"Yeah," I said. "Why do you want to know? Why? How do you know him?"

Mr. Perfect-Hair swiveled in his stool to look at me. "We work together at the Department. My name is Connor. I was assigned to Hank a couple of years ago; we've been working together ever since."

So this was the android boyfriend she mentioned. Pretty sure I heard the name somewhere before, too.

I tried to stifle my swelling snarkiness and obvious shock. Incoming 'whoops'.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. Hank, with an android case partner? God, things have changed. You're fucking kidding me. Look, I'm sorry, I love… androids now. I do. You know, shit's changed. I just uh, never thought that would happen with him. So, okay, you know Hank from work, but what about you?" I asked Lana.

"I - kind of assumed you knew. He comes here. That's how I met the two of them. And you always leave before he shows up, so I figured that was on purpose."

"Yeah, I mean, it's all one big fucking coincidence, isn't it," I said.

I slid off the stool and downed the remaining liquid in a single gulp. I tossed a ten on the counter with a sharp inhale before I asked, "Look, uh, why did you think I knew him anyway? How'd that happen?"

Lana sighed before she spoke, in the way that indicated she knew too much already and was opening a rotten can of beans if she kept this up.

Time to spill it.

"Hank uh, he mentioned you the other day. We've been wanting to find him a girlfriend but he's so damn resistant. I'm guessing now you're why."

"How do you know Hank?" Connor asked.

I wasn't about to spill my guts to the android. He seemed like the type who always had to be honest. I'm sure they were genuinely nice enough people, concerned for Hank, absolutely, but this was between me and him. I pushed away and made for the door. "I'm sorry, but that's not really any of your damn business. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything to him. But I have no reason to trust you'd do that, now do I?"

I didn't want a reply; I was angry. I had struggled enough determining when and how I was going to talk to him again. I had contemplated over the weeks to just go to his house, but in hindsight, I'm glad I hadn't chosen that option as it might have led me to these two, if they were all as close as I now presumed them to be.

Two weeks later I said fuck it. I couldn't let any more time pass. I had run out of excuses.

I would try the police department first. If he wasn't in, then I could wait in the parking lot behind a dumpster.

Boo! Long time no see, how's it going, yep, it's me.

That would guarantee a shot between the eyes.

It was a pleasant late evening. With shaking hands, I counted my breaths and steps as I walked to the station. The long walk would help calm my nerves. Count my surroundings. Ground myself.

Five things I can see.

Five. A parked taxi cab waiting for its next passenger outside the Eden Club.

I took the long way to the DPD so I wouldn't have to pass Hank's place. I had never experienced anxiety before recently, but before I had come back to Detroit, during my time away from this city, it caught hold of me.

Four. Squirrels chasing each other in a thin strip of a park.

Three. A car accident a few blocks to the right of me.

Two. Androids talking outside a restaurant. Or were they humans?

One. A new townhouse development.

Four things I can touch.

Pockets of my shorts.

Lighter in the pockets.

My sweaty armpits….

The breeze.

"The fucking handrail of this fucking building," I sighed. "That's five. Whoopsies."

I entered the DPD, my heart about to break out of my chest. I had only been here once during the time I was with Hank.

I had convinced him to show me the Interrogation Room a week or so prior to leaving him. He had pretended to have to catch up on some late case reports (though even I knew they were actually late case reports) and snuck me in through a fire exit.

See, touch, hear….smell, and taste.

Taste of that steel table as I sprawled face-down.

Smell of his breath after a fresh cigarette.

Hear his faltered exhales upon release.

Touch his chest through that stupid plaid button-down.

See his eyes pierce daggers in furious regret that he had conveniently forgotten to shut off the camera.

"Hi," I said to the receptionist. There was only one woman at the front desk tonight. An android, but she looked tired.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I um...fuck, Hank isn't around is he?"

"Are you referring to the Captain? Captain Hank Anderson?"

"'Captain'? Jesus, he got a promotion?"

"Yes, miss. Captain Anderson hasn't been in for two weeks. But he is due back soon. Do you need something?"

"No, uh. No, it's okay. Thanks."

I scurried out and down the steps.

Two weeks? That wasn't normal even for the old Hank I knew. Did something happen? Should I have asked the woman at the desk? Or even poked around his desk…. I reconsidered that option but my time was better spent running around the city like a crazy lady.

And 'Captain' Anderson? As in, 'Oh, Captain, My Captain' -

" 'Rise up and hear the bells'? As soon as I find this fucker, oh, I'm gonna make him hear the bells, all right. Captain…." I couldn't get over it. The man got the promotion of a lifetime, which I never could have imagined in a million years.

I had avoided looking up any news about Detroit when I was away. Maybe I would have seen the announcement, I thought. Maybe I wouldn't be so surprised trying to picture what Captain Anderson looked like.

"Better not have cut that hair," I hissed.

But it had been a long time. He had an android case-partner, he was Captain of the fucking DPD, what was I going to learn about him next? He was doing his own laundry?

Was he sober?

I was more nervous than when I had started my trek. What was I going to encounter?

"Okay, almost there," I sighed out loud to myself. "Let's finish this."

Three things I can hear.

Car horns. For the few people left here who hadn't evacuated after the revolution, some of them were still driving old cars. It was nice to hear that again. I missed cars and the smell of gasoline.

Crackle of the street lamps.

Footsteps of two approaching strangers -

"Goddammit."

I paused for a half-second and then continued. We collectively stopped within reasonable speaking distance, but there was still a tension of apprehension between myself and the other two.

"Alex, what are you doing here? Are you all right?" Connor asked.

"What? Oh, yeah, just uh - I was looking for Hank. Figured it was about time I find him. He's not in at the PD. Is he at home?" Their features turned grave. "What? Is he okay?"

Connor replied, closing the space between us a few paces. "We just left him, yes. He is grieving. His dog died last week."

"Shit."

I paused for a half-second to reorient myself, only half-absorbing the rest of their words before I ran.

"I don't know if - is that a good idea? Alex?"

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

This time I headed straight up 3rd for Michigan Ave.

Fuck damn am I out of shape. "Fuck." I had to keep cursing to myself out-loud to suppress the tears.

Dammit, Sumo. "I'm so sorry, I'm so - fuck - goddammit. God fucking dammit."

Ten minutes of this and I nearly slammed myself into Hank's post box. I held tight for a moment as I caught my breath, looking all around the property. The house looked the same, the lawn was the same, the trash cans...huh, those are actually put away.

The car...missing.

"You have to be fucking shitting me right now."

I wasn't about to run around to all the bars at this hour, he had had too many usuals from back in the day, would take me the rest of the night.

The park. He knew I was in town. He just suffered another loss. He had to be there. Riverside Park was too far to walk from here. It would only be a ten-minute taxi ride, max.

I requested one via the app and only had 60 seconds before it would turn the corner down his street. I was still out of breath from the run but strode over to the fence line where I knew Sumo's house used to be. In the dark shadows, faintly illuminated by a soft light left on in the kitchen, I could barely make out the shape of a staked tree branch and Sumo's circular collar.

I had the autonomous cab drop me off right on West Grand near the parking lots. I paused for all of a second before journeying forward. It was a beautiful warm night; the lights still shone on the Ambassador Bridge a ways off. A few other lonely people were wandering around, but I couldn't tell if they were android or human in the darkness.

There was little evidence that riots may ever have occurred here. I'm glad the park was still operational.

I was honing in. I paused again as I neared the playground and surveyed the benches.

Where's that hair, surly closed-off posture, maybe drinking on the ground.

"I know you're here, Hank Anderson," I whispered. "I know you are."

As I rounded the swing set, I spotted him.

Well, I spotted his legs.

I bent down at the entrance to the castle and spoke to the denim ending in brown shoes.

"Hi, Hank."