I was in my office. Well. It aint no office. Its a plain room.
Two metre squared. One plug socket. And me.
Androids can be decidedly minimal beings.
My office. Well.
Think of it this way.
People nowadays are so fucked, so numb from the stims, that they
can barely remember a time when robot policemen roamed the
streets, fighting crime and getting the girl (this never
So they keep me and my office working and clean. Like a museum.
Except to me it aint a museum.
Its my office.
My office. Thursday. 11am.
A broad walks in.
She doesnt have a badge. A visitors pass. She doesnt belong to no
Why is she here.
I will get to that.
But let me tell you. Let me log this down.
What a body.
Hourglasses were based on this girls shape.
Blonde hair. Straight. Shoulder length. Woven by fucking angels
out of silk.
Eyes. Blue. Like looking at two sapphires underwater.
Blood red lips. Like they used to have before all the money was
spunked on stims.
She was pale, yeah. But she had a hue. A tint. A shade of beauty.
She was thin. But she had the right handles in the right places.
She wore a black dress with a red rose in it.
This girl was a walkin fucking cliché.
I wondered how many men had screwed her in the stim bars each
If I felt emotion.
But I didnt.
So why was she there.
Christ. Her voice.
Come to bed and put everything you have inside me.
Like I said.
'Thats me' I said. It seemed an appropriate response.
'I need your help'
'No one needs my help doll. I'm a museum piece.'
'My husband. My husband has been murdered.' she purred. Christ,
if she had a husband I was almost jealous. Almost.
'There hasnt been a murder in Detroit for 9 years. There hasnt
been a crime for 3. Why are you here?' I asked.
'Please. I woke up this morning and he was gone. Then I got this
in my inbox just an hour ago.
She showed me a picture on her phone,
The guy was wearing a silk shirt. And nothing else. He was
hanging from a noose in some dark room. There was a light source.
I couldnt be sure, but it didnt look natural. It was bright. But
not the sun. Almost like a studio light from the old days.
The light will come in later.
His corpse. Thats the important bit.
The rope was tight around his neck.
He had definitely been hung alive. And died that way.
The shirt was open, and revealed a series of deep lacerations
across his torso. The guy had been fucking butchered.
Blood covered his body and legs. It had pooled on the floor,
having poured from his body and dripped off his feet.
Now. A detective is a detective. But Johnny Wheels is a
So why was this girl so calm.
This was horrendous.
I'd rarely seen anything like this even before stims.
And since stims.
Get out of here.
'Where was the image sent from?' I asked. I knew the answer
before she told me. Fucking privacy laws.
'Unknown number. Un-traceable I guess...' came the answer I
'And its definitely him? Your man?'
'Its him. My sweet Harry. Who did it Johnny? Who'd have done this
to a sweet man like Harry Jameson?' she asked. Who indeed.
'I dont know lady. I do not know...'
'Stella.' she sighed.
'Call me Stella. Its my name.'
'OK Stella. Stella Jameson. Pretty name.' I said. And it was
true. It was a pretty name.
'Thanks. So, will you help me find these guys? I'm scared Jimmy.
Real scared. Scared they are gonna come for me. Scared of what
they might do if they find me...' she said. She sounded scared.
She also sounded like she knew she needed to.
'A case. A case indeed. You got money?' I asked. Truth was, I
didnt care one bit. I was bored. Had been for years. This got my
motors whirring faster than a whore with a doctors appointment.
'Anything you want Johnny. Just find these scumbags and protect
me.' she replied.
'OK lady. Lets go get a drink and you can tell me all about your