Robot, Robot in the Night

Asimov got it wrong, boy did he ever. Robots are not the nice polite, never hurt a human creatures he imagined. They are filthy, crude criminals of the worst kind. If there is a bloody heinous crime in the city you can bet your bottom dollar a robot committed it.

Last week for instance, I was sitting in my well-worn wooden swivel chair at the precinct when the Captain called me into his office.

"Davis," he said, "get your ass in here."

The Captain was never one to mince words.

"Yes, sir," I said as I opened the door to his lavishly appointed (well lavish enough for a police chief) office.

"Franklin Davis," he looked at me over his wire rimmed glasses, "this is your new partner, George Watson."

I eyed George Watson, his silver skin and dark glassy eyes betrayed the fact that he was a robot. A high end model, sure, but a robot just the same. I opened my mouth.

"Before you say anything, Mr. Watson has been assigned as a liaison by the Robot task force. His job is to make sure no one violates the rights of robots when they are arrested."

"Robot Task Force? Rights? Robots should have no rights. They're just machines."

"I beg to differ," said Watson, "that may have been true a hundred years ago, but now we are full citizens, just like you."

"Right," I said not even trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice. "There was a law passed last year you citizens; giving you the right to vote and all of the protections humans have." I got up in his face. "I've got news for you Buddy, you are nothing like me. You are not human and you are not my partner. I work alone." I turned to leave.

"Stop right there Davis," said the Captain.

I stopped but didn't turn around.

The Captain rose from his desk and was standing before me in the blink of an eye. It's amazing how fast an old cop like him can move. "You," he said from so close to my face that I could smell the morning coffee on his breath, "will work with Watson as your partner."

I let out a slight groan.

The Captain stepped closer. "You will treat him as an equal and you will include him in your investigations." His eyes burned with anger. "If don't, you will not only lose your job, but also your pension."

I opened my mouth.

"Oh don't look so devastated," he said taking a slight step back. "Just take care of the guy."

"Fine," I snorted.

The Captain nodded and returned to his desk.

"Come on," I said, not turning around, "we have work to do."

Watson rose from his seat and followed me.

I pointed to a desk across from mine.

He lowered himself into the chair and sat there very upright and proper.

I shook my head. "Whatever," I muttered as I sat back in my own chair and put my feet up on the desk.

"Where do we begin," asked Watson, not relaxing or changing his blank expression.

I sighed and sat up to the desk. "This is my most recent case," I said as I passed him a thin manila folder.

He opened it and looked at the array of pictures and reports. "Do you think a robot did this?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, no."

"Really?"

"I believe it is someone who wants you to believe a robot is behind all of this."

"What makes you say that?"

"This was a violent murder. Perhaps a crime of passion?"

I nodded.

"My people don't commit violent murders." He held his hand out in an open gesture. "No passion." His face was totally expressionless.

"Oh, really?" I handed him four more folders. "Each one of these had a robot perp."

He studied the contents of each folder carefully and meticulously. No expression crossed his face. Then he looked up into my eyes. I could see a spark of something, but wasn't sure what it was until he spoke. "I see," he said, "these murders were in fact committed by a robot. I am truly sorry. "He looked back at the folders. "I had no idea my people were capable of this amount of carnage. But this one," he picked up the original folder, "was not committed by a robot."

"You're the expert," I said.

His eyes went unfocused for a moment, and then he said, "Davis and I will be right there."

"Who are you talking to?"

He tilted his head to one side. "Dispatch." He blinked. "We have a call over on Canal Street."

I grabbed my coat. "Do you pick up baseball on that thing too?"

He glared at me.

I shrugged. "It was worth a try."

He gave me that blank look.

"The car's this way," I said heading toward the door.

***

The lights and sirens broke through the night streets like a bullet through glass; shattering the silence and smashing the calm. The smell of wet mud permeated the air.

I had to nearly run to keep up with my new partner. Damned robot legs.

As we neared the scene, we could tell in an instant, this was no ordinary murder. The victim was a female robot. A hooker model from the looks of it. Her torso was slit open and peeled back, like someone would do when gutting a fish. Her innards were a tangle of wires and circuit boards and glowing green fluid was beginning to pool beneath her. Foot prints in the same glowing green fluid led away from the body and "into the canal?" I said out loud.

"Yes," said Watson, as if he had been listening to my thoughts, "it appears the murderer escaped into the canal."

I studied the green fluid floating atop the water as it sloshed onto the bank. "Let me guess, your people don't swim?"

"No, on the contrary my people perform perfectly underwater. In fact, there are several underwater salvage companies run solely by robots."

I tilted my head toward him. "So, what do you find wrong with this picture?"

He looked out over the water and nodded. "Two quarts give or take."

"Two quarts of what?"

"That green fluid you see is robot 'blood'. That is the hydraulic fluid that allows us to move. It keeps our joints lubricated. It's a closed system."

"You mean there is no way to replace it once it is lost?"

"That's a drawback to robot kind, and the main reason you don't see more robot police officers."

I nodded.

"You still haven't told me what you found a miss."

"The amount of fluid on the water is over two quarts, and there is at least that much under the body."

I shrugged.

"No single robot can lose that much fluid. We only have a total of 3 liters."

"Or a little over 3 quarts?"

"3.170065 to be exact."

I scratched my chin. "Could the rest be from our perp?"

"It's possible," Watson looked out across the water.

"Then I'll talk to those guys about dredging for a dead or injured robot."

Watson shook his head. "No, I would look over there in the woods."

"Can you see his blood trail from this far away?"

"No," he shook his head and did not make eye contact, "it's what I would do."

I decided not to press the matter. Instead I took out my small battered notebook and began to jot down notes.

"Quaint," Watson said, "what are you writing?"

"Notes on the case."

"You have no voice recorder?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, I'm old fashion that way."

"Paper became obsolete nearly 150 years ago."

"I know, but law enforcement is in my blood and my granddaddy bought several pallets of these little notebooks, back in the day. There are still plenty for my sons and grandsons."

"You have offspring?"

I sighed. "Can we just get on with the investigation?"

He nodded and we walked back to the car in silence.

***

Back at the police station, I sat at my desk and examined the pictures from the crime scene. Then Watson got that glazed look in his eyes. I hate it when he does that. "What now," I asked.

"They found a damaged robot in the woods on the other side of the canal."

"Great, we have our perp."

Watson shook his head and the dim lighting glittered off what can only be termed his "chrome dome". "No, this one was cut much the same as our victim. He…"

"It's a male?"

"Yes, and he survived. He is lucid, but fading fast. Thank you dispatch." He looked at me. They have taken him to Saint Lucius."

I jumped to my feet and headed for the door. "What are you waiting for, let's go talk to him."

***

Saint Lucius' Hospital was the first one in the city to treat robots. It was probably the first in the world to even accept them as patients, before they were made citizens.

The walls were stark white, and there was the strong smell of antiseptic. We made our way to the room number dispatch had given Watson, and entered without knocking.

"Excuse us," I said pushing my way past several human and robot orderlies and doctors. "We need to talk to your patient, pronto."

One large bronze robot tock a giant hand on my shoulder and stopped me in my tracks. "Not now," he said in a deep rumbling voice, "Doctor Boteas is working on him." He bent close to Watson. "They are trying to transfuse him."

Watson nodded and placed his hand on my other shoulder. "We have to go," he said, his voice quavering.

"We might not get another chance to…" I said.

He tightened his grip on me. "We have to go."

I had no choice but to be escorted out of the room forcibly by my partner and the bronze orderly. In the hallway, they both released me. "What the hell," I said. "What's with the strong arm tactics? We may not have another chance to interrogate this guy."

Watson looked at the floor. "They are trying to save him." He looked up; I could see a hint of emotion in his eyes. "They are trying to replace the fluid he's lost." He shook his head. "No one has ever been the same after a transfusion, mentally." He sighed. "We're too late."

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He won't remember anything."

"Related to his attack?"

Watson shook his head. "Nothing, at all. He will need to be retrained."

"You mean reprogrammed, right?"

"That's part of it, but it goes deeper than that." He dropped into a cold hard waiting room chair and put his head in his hands. He slumped slightly and somehow he looked more human.

I pulled up a chair next to him. "Is it something you want to talk about?"

He shook his head and visibly snapped out of whatever he was thinking or where ever he had gone. "We have to find this guy before he kills again."

"So, Sherlock," I said, "are we looking for a human or a robot?"

He turned and locked his big glassy eyes with mine. "I believe it's the same killer from your other case; a human who wants us to believe he's a robot."

I turned away, that kind of stare down always gives me the heeby jeebies. I'm not keen on eye contact as it is. "I might know someone who can help us," I said gazing toward the room we had just left.

"You have an informant?"

"No, a bartender, on Canal Street about two blocks from where we found our first victim."

Watson stood and headed toward the exit.

I stayed seated.

He turned to me. "Are we going?"

I said nothing.

He came back and sat next to me.

I sat there.

He sighed. "It was my mother," he said.

"Robots don't have families," I said to the floor.

"We are taught the ways of the world by older parental types. We stay with them until we are ready to leave. My mother was a caring being with a big heart. She worked as a nanny and loved her human children. One day she was mugged by a human with a chain saw."

I cringed slightly. "Did the chain saw leave, um, wounds like we are seeing?"

He nodded. "That was 15 years ago. The doctors here, tried to transfuse her, they tried to save her life. But, she was never the same. "He looked away. "I say my mother died that day."

"Bud," I said as I placed my hand on his shoulder, "you need a drink."

He opened his mouth.

I shook my head. "I'm buying."

***

The inside of Dave's Gold Coast was dark, only a few faint flickers from the ancient candles danced across the walls. The place smelled of stale beer and molded peanut shells. My kind of place. Watson and I walked right up to the bar and sat down on the well-worn barstools.

"Frank," said the bartender with a slight wink, her bleached blonde hair fell from the ponytail in places and one strand flopped over her right eye. "You know we don't serve robots in here." She tossed her head so the errant hair flew briefly from her eye, then it fell back.

"Now Gladys, baby, you know I know that. But, Watson here is my new partner. I'd get my ass in a sling if I didn't let him tag along."

Gladys sighed. She knew Dave, the owner, had no love for robots. "Well," she said, "Dave's not here, so," she inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, "what'll it be boys?"

Watson opened his mouth, but closed it when I waved my hand. "I'll have a diet cola, and Watson here will have a Club Soda."

The bartender turned to prepare the drinks.

"How did you know I drink Club Soda?"

I didn't look at him when I answered; I stared into the mirror behind the bar. "You just struck me as the Club Soda type," I lied.

"Frank," he said, "if I may call you Frank."

"We're partners, why not."

"You are hurting, I can tell. Let me help you, the way you helped me."

I sighed. "The Club Soda thing, it was kind of automatic." I took a drink from my newly arrived glass. "Ted Runyon, my old partner always drank Club Soda; usually with Crown Royal, after shift of course."

"Of course."

"Hey, Gladys," I said loud enough for the entire bar to hear, "could you settle a bet, between me and Watson?"

She wandered over to our end of the bar. "Anything for you, sweetie."

"I happened to mention to George here, that you know everything that goes down on Canal Street."

She squinted down her nose at me.

"Well, George bet me that you couldn't tell us squat about the murders a while ago."

She sighed. "I can't."

I smacked Watson on the chest and the loud clang reverberated through the bar. "See," I said, "Gladys knows everything. Didn't I tell you?"

"She did not tell us anything," he said.

I frowned. "That's right, she didn't." I looked her in the eye. "I'm sure you know something." I looked at the narrow door behind the bar, just to the left of the old fashion cash register. "I could tell my buddies in Vice about what goes on in the backroom."

"Dave would have my skin."

"So? I might be able to tell the Vice Squad that you were cooperative, and they may be able to cut you some slack."

She sighed. "Fine, fine, I'll tell you. But don't tell anyone you heard it from me."

I nodded and leaned closer to her.

"Those two 'bots," she looked around to make sure no one was listening, "they were special. They had something special. Something inside of them; I hear only one in a thousand has it."

"What do they have?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, but it's worth killing for."

I looked at Watson.

He shook his head.

"Okay, thanks," I said as I laid an old 20 dollar bill on the bar.

She picked it up and curled one lip. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Watson handed her a small plastic card and waved her away when she tried to give it back.

"Thank you, Officer Watson," she said, "you can come back anytime you like."

He nodded politely and we exited the bar.

"What was that all about?" I said.

"I gave her a tip."

I snorted. "That must have been some tip."

***

We drove back to the office in silence, which didn't bother Watson in the least, so I went with it.

He looked out the car window; I swear I saw sadness come over his face, just slightly. "Do not go back to the office just now," he said, still looking out the window.

"Why?"

"Because I think I know someone who can tell us what the killer took."

"Tell me where to go."

"Saint Lucius."

"Weren't we just there?"

"We have new information, and they will know what is missing."

I shrugged and drove to the hospital. As we pulled into the parking spot, I turned to Watson. "Look, if this is too hard for you…"

"No," he said, "I have to know."

I shrugged and opened the door. I was barely out of the car when I saw the flash. The next thing I know Watson was on the concrete and a man with a chain saw was standing over him. It was like something out of an old horror film. I steeled myself and fired my old .38 snub nose.

The bullet smashed into the man's shoulder, causing him to flinch. He brought the chain saw down on Watson's chest, ripping a large hole in it.

I fired again, and again, putting four more bullets into the man. Direct hits to the chest. He dropped the chain saw and ran from the parking lot.

I knelt beside Watson. "George," I said, "speak to me."

He lay on the cold concrete, leaking green fluid from the wound.

"George, please don't die on me."

I heard the elevator door open, and held my .38 in that direction, I knew I was out of ammo. I only hoped the guy on the other end didn't know that. Then I looked up and saw the bronze orderly and lowered my weapon.

The orderly raced past me and snatched Watson off the ground. "Hold the elevator," he barked.

I was already there, so I stuck my arm out to keep the doors open.

The orderly hopped on the elevator, with Watson slung over his shoulder. He stabbed at the button for the fourth floor several times.

"It doesn't make it work any faster," I said.

"No," said the orderly, "but it keeps my hands busy so I don't choke the life out of you, meat sack."

"Look if it's about earlier, I'm sorry."

He glared at me. "No, that happens all the time. " He sighed. "I don't see how you could let this happen to him. You were right there."

"I shot the guy who did it."

"That is not enough, his nucleus is exposed." He pulled Watson closer to his own body. "He could die right here, right now."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize." Then what he said sunk in, I'm kinda thick when I'm embarrassed. "Wait a minute, nucleus?"

"Yes, it is the core of his being; it is what makes him unique."

"Do all Robots have one?"

"Yes, but the higher end models, like Mr. Watson, and me, have an upgraded nucleus."

I nodded.

The orderly took Watson and hurried down the hall and through the double doors of the Emergency Room.

I stayed outside.

***

After what seemed like hours the bronze orderly appeared in front of me. "He'll pull through," he said. "We were able to save 98.62% of his nucleus and 83.47% of his fluid."

"That's good, right?"

"He could use more fluid, but we're going to wait and see. He's resting now."

I nodded. "Hey, what about that guy from earlier."

The orderly shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I know you tried. But, can you tell me something?"

He nodded.

"Did he die from fluid loss?"

"That and his nucleus was removed." He sighed. "We can't live without our nucleus, it's like your heart or brain."

"I know some people who do fine without either one," I muttered. "Are you telling me, the guy's nucleus was stolen?"

The orderly nodded. "Your partner is in Room 423."

"Thank you." I made my way to Watson's room and opened the door.

There in the bed, covered in a thin white sheet was my erstwhile partner. He was plugged into what looked like a portable battery of some kind. I could make out the imprint of a line of jagged welding down the center of his torso, through the sheet.

He opened his eyes. "I've got a good scar, right?"

"I guess you can't go shirtless anymore."

He tried to smile, I mean a serious smile. I had never seen a robot do that.

I sat in the chair next to the bed. "Can you tell me anything?"

He shook his head.

"Did you get a look at the guy?"

"No, all I remember is getting out of the car." He sighed. "Then I woke up here."

I touched his hand, it felt like the side of an old style clothes dryer, warm and alive, but metallic.

"I saw the son of a bitch. I shot him, five times with my revolver."

"That would have put down an automobile."

"This guy didn't even bleed. He dropped the chain saw and bolted."

"Were there prints? DNA? Fluid Composition?"

I smiled. "There was, and you won't believe what they found."

"After today, I would believe anything."

"Okay, here goes. The fingerprints and DNA came back to a guy who has been dead for two years."

"I was attacked by a corpse?"

"No, he was very much alive. But not human."

"Robot's don't have fingerprints or DNA."

"I know, but this guy wasn't a Robot either. He was some sort of cybernetic cross."

Watson nodded. "That explains a lot. But, why steal nuclei?"

I shrugged.

"Well, it sounds like he is the one that killed those other two."

"Exactly, now we have to find him."

"I am in no shape to help you, Frank. I cannot move my legs."

I sighed. "Fluid loss?"

He nodded.

"I promise, I will find this guy and make him pay for his crimes."

"Thank you."

"Oh," I said, "what is your nucleus made out of?"

"Well, a Robot's nucleus is…"

"No, yours, what is yours made out of?"

"The same thing as everyone else, I assume."

"The orderly said that yours is different."

He shrugged. "Then I'm not sure."

I touched his shoulder. "I'll ask the orderly."

He smiled again.

"That's just eerie," I said to myself as I shut the door behind me. As I stepped out into the hallway, I saw the orderly. "Excuse me," I said, "thank you for saving my partner."

The big bronze Robot nodded.

"Can you tell me what makes Watson's nucleus so special?"

"It's the gold."

I shrugged.

"His nucleus, and mine for that matter, is made up of copper, selenium, gold and iron."

I shrugged again.

"There is no gold in most Robot nuclei. Some of us, though, we have it. It makes us capable of emotions. I am surprised he chose to be a police officer."

"He's a liaison."

"Whatever; the most of us choose a profession where we can help others."

"Like medicine?"

He nodded.

"You know we found a Hooker Bot?"

He nodded. "Yes, that is another profession that attracts Robots like us. But not nearly as many."

I smirked. "A heart of gold, huh?"

He inclined his head toward me. "You could say that, though it is not completely accurate."

"Thank you for your time," I extended my hand, "what is your name?"

His eyes brightened. "My name is Eric Dawson."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

"Take care of my partner, Mr. Dawson."

"I will officer."

***

Back at the office I sat in my usually comfortable chair and felt restless, uncomfortable. Something didn't add up.

First, dead people are reappearing as cyborgs, or maybe just robots wearing human skin. Then, these guys are killing robots and stealing their nuclei - their hearts - that's it.

I jumped to my feet. "That's it," I shouted at the empty room. The echo bounced bat at me in an eerie manner.

"Stop shouting, Davis," said the Captain from his office, "I'm on a conference call."

I nodded and grabbed my keys. "I'm out," I said as I hurried from the building.

***

The Brass Monkey Bar was dark and smelled bad, like the rear end of a monkey. It was my kind of place. I chose a booth in the far back corner, where the shadows concealed nearly everything and the other patrons concealed everything else. I sat there and sipped my diet cola and Bacardi.

"Isn't it a little early for that," said the beautiful brunette waitress.

I shook my head, but didn't say anything.

"Look, Frank," she said leaning over the table and exposing her cleavage, "you know what happened last time you started drinking. I can't let you throw your life away like that again. Not with retirement so close."

"Katy," I said, "I'm on a case."

She stood up. "Frank, sweetie, how can I help you?"

"Just keep doing what you do, only, um, at the other side of the place."

She straightened her very tight red silk shirt. "Fine," she snorted as she flounced away from my table.

She no sooner had she reached the mid-point if the floor than all hell broke loose, and she went skittering to a neutral corner.

A large man with an expressionless face picked up a small wisp of a boy and flung him bodily over the bar. The man that had been drinking with the boy, no slouch himself, landed a great right cross on the big man's jaw. This did nothing by piss off the big man and get man number two tossed over the bar for his trouble.

Katy peeked out from her hiding hole and had to duck back in, as another man went flying over the bar, breaking glasses and the mirror in the process.

I sat calmly watching the brawl, well you really can't call it a brawl, it was more of a one man rampage. Anyway, when the big man had either cared the rest of the patrons out of the bar or thrown them into the furniture, he came toward me. By this time I was standing next to the bar. I reached across and pulled the soda dispenser toward me as far as it would go. I aimed the nozzle at the big man. "Come one step closer and I'll blow that nice new skin right off your stinking metal body."

He lurched forward.

I pulled the trigger on the soda dispenser and a tight stream of cola issued forth, hitting the man right in the eyes.

The man screamed and clawed at his face. The cola burned into it like jet propelled acid, blowing away bits of flesh, exposing a shiny silver skeleton. "Stop," he cried, "oh God, stop."

I released the trigger and the bombardment ceased.

The big man crumpled to the floor, covering his shattered face with his burly arms.

I stood over him. "Who the hell are you?"

"None of your business Copper," he said with a 1920's Chicago brogue.

"Listen, Mac, it strikes me as unfair, that you know who I am, but I don't know you."

"Life ain't fair."

"True, but the way I see it, a few more shots with this," I twirled the soda dispenser, "and you won't have to worry about life or living." I could see him cringe slightly as he struggled to his feet. One side of his face was gone, exposing a robotic skeleton. One eye hung detached from its socket and one of his hands was badly mangled. Here and there pieces of flesh were missing allowing the bright silver to shine through. Human bone shone through in other places. "Are you a cyborg?" I asked, trying not to stare.

The man growled and lunged at me.

I stepped out of the way and he crashed head first into the brick wall. More flesh fell from his head as did several dislodged bricks. He shook himself and stood up.

"Now," I said holding my .38 to his head, "I doubt this will hurt much if I shoot you here, but I intend to start at the top and work my way down. I'm bound to find a vital organ somewhere. I can be patient, I've got all night."

He never took his eye, the one that was still attached, off my gun. "Al Capone," he said.

"What about him?"

"I'm Al Capone, you imbecile."

I laughed. "Are you now? He died over a hundred years ago. You're a cheap copy."

He tried to move, but I pushed the gun tighter against his head and pushing him closer to the brick wall. "I said I'm Al Capone," he said through gritted, gold plated, teeth.

"Okay," I said, "let's say I believe you. What are you doing here, now? This is surely not Chicago in the 1920's."

He blinked.

"Okay, wrong question. How about this one? Are you the guy that' slashing robots?"

A grin came over what was left of his face. "That's my associate, Jack. He's an expert at his job."

"Jack?"

"As in Jack the Ripper."

I felt the blood run from my face and suddenly I was weak in the knees. "He died over 200 years ago," I said.

The big man jumped to his feet and brought his giant hand down across my arm. I felt bones break and watched my .38 drop to the floor and slide out of sight.

"Evil never dies," Capone said as he clasped his hands above his head.

I could tell he was preparing to strike me on the head, perhaps busting my skull. I sucked in a deep breath and then there was a loud bang, as a shot rang out.

The big man wobbled slightly and fell backward onto the floor, with a gaping hole in his chest.

I looked around and found Katy standing behind the bar with a smoking double barrel shotgun leveled at where the big man had been.

"You trying to talk him to death," she said.

I shook my head. "I was trying to get information out of him."

"He would have made mincemeat out of you."

I sighed and picked up my .38.

"Wait a minute, Frank," said Katy, "if you're going after more of these guys, you're going to need a bigger gun."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, as she handed me a shoulder holster rig, with a Colt 1911. I slipped it on without a word.

"My granddaddy's gun looks good on you," she said.

"Thank you," I said as I handed her a crisp 20 dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"What do you expect me to do with this?"

I smiled as I walked out of the building.

***

I pulled the car into the hospital parking lot and pulled into a spot near the elevator. It was beginning to get dark outside; the lights had not yet come on, shrouding the parking lot in a cloak of darkness. I slumped into the seat and rested my aching head on the steering wheel. "I can't believe I just met Al Capone," I said to the floorboard, "and Jack the Ripper nearly killed my partner." I sighed. "It's been a hell of a day." I raised my head and saw in my rearview mirror, the faint outline of a man standing in the shadows. "Great," I sighed. I sucked in a deep breath and opened the car door.

The figure moved toward me, albeit slowly. I stepped out of the car and stood, trying to pretend I hadn't seen him. Of course, 20 years as a cop makes it impossible to not notice a person lurking in the shadows. I placed my hand on the .45 in the shoulder holster.

"Frank," said a familiar voice, "it's me, Ted. Don't you recognize me?"

I turned toward the figure moving toward me. He looked like Ted Runyon, he sounded like Ted, but I knew it wasn't Ted. I knew all too well that Theodore Randal Runyon was dead. That was a day I would never forget.

"Frank, buddy, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have, you're dead," I said.

"Do I look dead?"

"No, but I know you are."

"About that," he opened the jacket he was wearing and indicated a large dark red spot on his white shirt. "This is Italian silk; do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of silk?"

I blinked at him, and then noticed the jacket, a nice leather number with a .38 caliber hole in it, just about lined up with the blood stain.

"Don't even get me started on the Corinthian Leather jacket."

I sighed.

"I was cleared of that. I didn't kill you."

"Right, but you still blame yourself, don't you?"

I glared at the man. "That doesn't matter right now." I leveled the .45 at him.

"Nice piece, where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift." I cocked the hammer. "I want to know what you're doing here."

He frowned. "Well, bud, I'm sure I was sent here to do something. But it's illegal and I'm not going to do it."

"Did you come to kill me?"

He smiled. It was his old familiar smile, the kind that made women melt and put men at ease. For a moment, I believed this was my old partner.

"No, Frank," he said; "like all the others I have been created to steal life from robots."

"You've been taking their nuclei?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm supposed to, but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it."

Now it was my turn to frown. "You never were a criminal, Ted. So, what are you doing here?"

"I followed you here from the bar. I didn't know if you would believe me, but I had to try."

I clapped my hand on his back, still holding the .45 on him. "No worries Buddy," I said.

He nodded.

We looked at one another for a long time, without saying a word. I debated with myself as to whether or not to shoot the abomination where he stood or hear him out. "So," I said, "why were you tailing me?"

"I told you, I wanted to tell you everything, and I wanted to see you again."

"People don't rise from the dead just to have tea and crumpets with an old friend."

He shrugged.

I stuck the .45 into his back at the shoulder blade. "Give me one good reason not to pull the trigger."

"We're partners. That used to matter to you."

"We were partners, you died. We are not partners now. In fact my partner is laying in a hospital bed right now, clinging to life. Thanks to your 'Night of the Living Dead' friends."

"Your partner is a robot."

"Yes."

"Is his name George Watson?"

"What's it to you?"

He nodded. "That's why I was following you. George Watson was my target."

"Too late, some Joker with a chainsaw nearly 86'd my partner."

"Jack has more fun with slice and dice than doing his job." He snorted. "I'm here to finish what he started."

Bang.

I pulled the trigger and a massive hole opened in his left side. Bone, green fluid, and bits of shiny metal and circuit boards flew everywhere. When the body hit the concrete of the parking lot his left arm fell off and his left leg hung, barely attached to the pelvis.

"You think you can stop us," he said as his right hand clamped down hard, with mechanical strength, on my leg.

"Yes, I do," I said as I placed the .45 in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of his head shattered from the impact of the bullet and circuit boards that made up most of his brain went flying in every direction. His hand released its grip and went limp.

The elevator chimed and the door opened, revealing the bronze orderly, Eric Dawson, and another robot, a female in a wheelchair.

"Oh my God," she screamed.

"It's okay," said Dawson, "Mr. Davis did us all a favor."

"I did?" I said. "I mean, I did."

Dawson moved close to Ted's body and shrugged. "This was a high end model." He touched the skin. "The integration is nearly seamless. I am impressed."

I shook my head. "What are you talking about?"

He stood up. "Doctor Nash has been trying to make robots more human for years. He was the inventor of the golden nucleus. He said his next project was to give use skin, real skin."

"Um, Eric," I said; "that's not real skin. I mean its real skin, but it's, um, used."

Dawson tilted his head toward me.

"Eww," said the female robot in the wheelchair. "That man was dead, before he," she shuddered, "eww."

He stood up and cleared his throat. "So," he squeaked, "this is not a new model robot?"

I shook my head. "No, it seems that this was a cyborg of some sort."

"A human, robot hybrid," said the female, "eww."

Dawson shook his head. "I'm sure you are mistaken."

"No," I said, "it's the truth. This, thing, was my partner, before he died two years ago."

He nodded. "Let me take Ms. Ruben to her car and I may know something that will help you."

I nodded. "Fine, but, I'll go with you, just in case there are more of them around."

He looked around and nodded.

The three of us hurried to a small two door parked down the aisle.

"Thank you, Eric," said the female robot, before she got into her car.

"Claudia," he whispered, "not here."

"Okay, will I see you again?"

"Count on it."

I cleared my throat and jerked a thumb over my shoulder.

Eric looked around, shrugged and closed the car door. I swear he looked sad as Ms. Ruben drove away.

"Eric," I said, "you like her don't you?"

He sighed. "It's a hazard of having emotions."

I nodded. "So, what do you know about these cyborgs?"

We walked toward the elevator and into the darkness.

"I know who is creating them."

"Okay?"

"His name is Vittorio, Doctor Raymond Vittorio."

"I think I've heard of him. Wasn't he the one who was tinkering with cloning humans?"

"Yes."

"I thought he was in jail."

Eric shrugged. "He has an office ... "

Bang, a shot rang out and the bronze orderly slumped to the concrete; fluid pooling beneath his bulk.

"Eric," I said, "are you with me?"

He nodded slightly.

"I'll go get help."

He grasped my arm and pulled me close. "Don't let him turn me into one of those."

"I won't"

"Promise me."

I nodded. "But where is his office?"

Then with all the strength the big orderly could muster he raised his right hand, extended his index finger and drove it an inch into the concrete. The ground shook.

"Eric," said a female voice, "oh there you are." The petite blonde nurse looked down on the bronze orderly and we both watched as he golden eyes went dead.

The nurse collapsed to the ground.

"Miss," I said, "are you…" I felt a sharp blow to my skull and I toppled over on top of her.

***

I came to, with a throbbing headache and a bright light in my eyes, which only served to make my head hurt worse. As my eyes began to focus I started to pick out the details of my surroundings - I was standing in a stark white room, with one door and a very small window. I tried to move toward the door but found I could not move my legs. I looked down and noticed that my feet were not touching the floor. I was suspended in the exact middle of the room. My arms, legs and torso were immobilized, so the only thing I could move was my head.

"Help!" I screamed. "Get me out of here!"

"It's no use," said the blonde nurse from somewhere behind me. "I've screamed myself hoarse."

"How did we get hung up like this?"

"It's the typical restraints we use all the time on violent patients."

"Why are we standing up?"

I heard her laugh. "We're in an anti-gravity chamber; you can change your position by moving your head."

"That didn't work a minute ago when I looked at my feet."

She laughed again. "Actually, you are now at an odd angle. It's kinda cute."

I ignored the fact that I was blushing. "A grown man, cute," I thought, "how silly." I threw my head violently back. This may have been a mistake. I went tumbling ass over tea kettle into a corner of the room. I slammed into the bars and the ceiling at the same time and just hung there in excruciating pain. "That was a mistake," I managed to squeak out.

"No kidding," she said between fits of laughter.

"So, how do I get out of this corner?"

She took in several deep calming breaths. "Okay," she said, "nod you head, carefully in the direction you want to move."

I nodded toward the floor and immediately rocketed to a crashing halt on the floor. "Ow," I said.

"Just stop or you will really hurt yourself," she said between fits of raucous laughter.

"Don't worry, I'm done." It was a good thing, since I was wedged face first between the floor and the wall at the far corner of the cell. My legs were sticking out in mid-air at a 45 degree angle to the wall. I felt like an aquarium fish looking for food. I was stuck like that, with nothing to do but wait.

The blonde in the cell next to me barely stifled a laugh. "You look ridiculous," she snickered.

"What of it?"

"Okay, okay, truce. I'm sorry. Let's be friends, I mean, after all we are in this together."

"Whatever."

"So, my name is Jennifer, what's yours?"

"Frank."

"Good, we're getting somewhere."

I scoffed. "Right."

"Where are you from, Frank?"

"Look Jennifer, I really don't want to get to know you right now. I just want to get out of here. Just leave me alone so I can figure a way to get us out of here."

She sobbed. "I'm scared. I get chatty when I'm scared. Please talk to me."

I sighed; it wasn't going to hurt to talk to the girl. "Okay, I've lived in the city all my life."

"Me too. Where did you go to school?"

"I was home schooled."

"I went to Arnoldson."

"Good school, my partner went there."

"Hey, isn't your partner that poor robot?"

"No, I mean, yes, but not him. Ted Runyon, my old partner, he, um, died."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that, he was shot by his partner, wasn't he?"

I cleared my throat.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you, oh my. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, um."

"Okay, do you have anyone waiting for you at home?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, okay," she sniffed. "Why do you carry paper, no one else does?"

"Paper? When did you see my notebook?"

"I don't know, I…"

"You're not human are you?"

She sobbed. "But, Frank, how can you say that?"

I carefully turned my head so I could see through the bars. Jennifer stood there immobilized like me, but there was a short dark man sitting behind her. "Oh Frank," said the man using Jennifer's voice, "talk to me."

I got a better look at Jennifer and determined that she was dead. Very dead, judging by the amount of flies buzzing around her body. "Okay, Mac, tell me what's going on?"

"Fine, Mr. Davis," said the man using his real voice, which was deep and raspy. "I'm Doctor Raymond Vittorio, perhaps you've heard of me?"

"In passing."

He touched Jennifer's leg. "She's beautiful, no?"

"Leave your hands off her," I growled.

"Be careful Frank, if you get too excited who knows what will happen." He ran his hand up her leg.

I jerked my head and went rocketing into the bars about eye level with the doctor.

He burst out laughing. "Be careful Frank, I don't want you to damage your body. It will make a wonderful cyborg." He let out a lecherous laugh. "So will this one." He licked his lips.

"I'll kill you," I said through gritted teeth. "I'll use you as a human shield as I blast my way out of here."

"I'm sure you'll try Frank, but 90% of my body is titanium."

"You'll make a better shield then."

"Oh Frank, Frank, you just don't understand do you?"

"I understand plenty."

"Sure you do," said Vittorio, "you understand as much as any cop killer does."

"I didn't kill Ted."

"That's not what he said."

"That abomination was not my partner!"

"You see, Frank, that's what you don't understand, I 'borrowed' his body from the cemetery."

I banged my head on the metal bars, each bang sent me backward to the door and then forward to the bars. I could feel the restraint weakening with each pass. The energy was being dissipated by the bars. I slammed into them and pressed as close as I could get, with as much of my body as I could. The restraint weakened slightly. It was enough for me to move the fingers of my right hand. I pressed the talk button on my cell phone. Boy was I glad the Department sprung for the walkie-talkie phones. "Now," I thought, "keep him talking."

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The motion pushed me slightly away from the bars. "Um, Doc," I said, "since you want to make me one of those 'things', at least tell me how you do it."

Vittorio's eyes seemed to brighten some as he spoke. "I start by cloning the skin, and replacing the parts that have decomposed. Then I renew the broken bones with titanium. This, by the way Frank, will be a big job if you keep smashing yourself against the walls."

I grimaced. "So, Doc, how do you reanimate the corpses, like Ted?"

"Oh yes, your former partner, you mad such a mess up there in the parking lot. It will take weeks to get Ted put back together."

"Humpty Dumpty, huh?"

He shook his head. "I guess you've killed him twice now."

I scoffed. "So, how do you get them working?"

"I simply turn on the robot part."

"What part is that again?"

"It's the brain, well part of the brain; I use the human brain and the robotic brain. It's all very complicated. You wouldn't understand."

I snorted. "Okay, so let's just say you can turn on the robot part, then that means you can turn your creations off too?"

"I can, but what's the point?"

"Where's the off switch?"

"I'm not going to tell you. Besides, my best creation, Jack the Ripper, perhaps you've met him?"

"I think so."

"He would be very angry if I told the cops where his off switch was."

"I can only imagine."

"I don't think you can."

Just then, the door behind me burst open, and at the same time the one behind Vittorio fell to the floor.

Watson came up from behind and grabbed the little man by his hands and feet and held him horizontally across his knee.

"George," I shouted, "don't kill him."

"Why not," said my partner.

I closed my eyes and clinched my fists as the Captain helped me off the bars. Things get real strange when the restraints are released. "It's wrong," I said through gritted teeth, "you'll regret it."

He held the man in that position until additional officers were able to apply electronic as well as physical restraints.

"George," I said when I met him in the hall, "you are a sight for sore eyes."

He nodded. "Thank you, Frank. But, how did you know the frequency of my communications link?"

"I didn't. I just hoped someone would be within walkie-talkie range."

"Walkie-talkie, how quaint. Someday you will have to tell me why you are such an anachronism."

"Maybe, someday," I sighed.

Watson looked around. "I could use a drink," he said.

I nodded.

"Let's go, I'm buying."

I clapped him on the back. "Let's go, partner."

"Not so fast, Davis, Watson," said that Captain pushing his way toward us, "that Ripper character has struck again, are you boys up to a case?"

I looked at my partner. "How about it, Buddy, you up to it?"

A low solid thump emitted when he rapped his chest. "A half inch steel vest, this robot is ready for anything."

"I am too, let's get this Joker."

***

The Pink Pagoda was one of those places people went to and immediately realized they shouldn't have. In years past it had been a high class strip joint. Now, well, it's just weird. You see, many robots choose to wear human clothing; Watson for instance is always smartly dressed in a gray flannel suit, white shirt and black tie. However, there are some that don't find the trappings of humanity necessary. These robots and the humans, who find that sort of thing interesting, tend to gravitate to places like the Pink Pagoda. Basically, if you like nakedness and lots of it, the Pagoda is for you.

We arrived outside the small unassuming building on the eastside, just as the Fire Department was coiling up their hoses.

"What happened?" I asked a passing Fire Fighter.

"Spectators, over there," he said motioning to a group of people in the parking lot.

I withdrew my badge from the inside pocket of my suit coat. "We're not spectators. We're cops."

He eyed my partner. "Since when are there robot cops?"

"My partner is special."

"Uh, huh."

"So, can you tell me what happened here?"

"Oh the usual, stripper falls off the stage and sets fire to the whole place."

I stared at the once beautiful oak door, which was now terribly scorched.

"May we see the body, please," said Watson.

The Fire Fighter pointed to several lumps on the concrete. "Over there."

As we neared the lumps we saw that they were bodies - human and robot. There were at least six of them.

Watson looked at the bodies, and then at me. "Are we at the correct crime scene? The Captain said there was a Ripper case at the Pink Pagoda, but nothing about a fire."

I shrugged. "That's what I heard too. At least I'm not going senile." I made my way to the first of the bodies. All of them were covered in a thick green plastic, from head to toe. I raised the corner of on and quickly dropped it. I turned to Watson. "This has nothing to do with the Ripper, these bodies are intact."

"You only looked at one body; there may be one that can give us something we can use. If the Captain said there was a Ripper victim here, we should investigate."

I sighed. "Okay, you check the victims, and I'll check for more evidence inside the building."

Watson nodded and knelt beside the second body.

I made my way to the door, which now hung on one hinge, and peered in. A giant mirror ball lay smashed on the floor in the center of the room. The charred remains of tables and chairs lay in piles around the room. The sickening stench of melted vinyl and burnt electronics permeated the already smoke thickened air.

I took a cautious step inside the building. The floor felt like stepping on a sponge, like grass after a hard rain. I felt an icy hand on my shoulder and froze.

"Frankie," said the smooth as silk female voice, "don't go that way; it's not safe."

"Gina," I said not turning around, but slowly edging toward an undamaged portion of the floor. "I didn't know you were still running this dump."

"Frankie, Frankie, Frankie, it's been way too long. You used to be my best customer."

I turned around slowly to look at the woman still holding on to my shoulder. She was the same old Gina that I remembered. Tall, dark skin, green eyes, and blond hair.

I could not take my eyes off her bright red lips, as she spoke. "Frankie, my boy, you haven't changed a bit. I still remember you and Ted when you used to come in here."

"We were on an assignment."

"For three years?"

"Yes."

"Right and I suppose Debbie was part of that assignment?"

"That is none of your business."

"It used to be, when Debbie belonged to me."

"It's not now," I said glaring into those green eyes of hers. I thought, just for a moment, I saw sadness cross her battle hardened face. Then it was gone. I looked down at the floor. "I still miss her."

She nodded.

"So what happened here?"

She sighed. "I don't really know."

"Well, tell me what you can."

"I heard screaming and then the south wall burst into flames."

I scowled. "You heard screaming first?"

"Yes."

"How about before that? What happened be for the screaming?"

She sighed. "Well, now that you mention it, I could have sworn I heard a chainsaw. I didn't think it was part of the song, but you never can tell with those new age bands."

I nodded. "Okay, thanks Gina."

"Gina DeLorme," said the Captain coming into the building, "I figured you would have something to do with this."

"Good evening to you too, Spanky," she said.

I opened my mouth, but closed it once I saw the dirty look the Captain shot me.

"What happened," he said, "you needed the insurance money? This place was such a dump, you won't get much."

"Captain," I said, stepping between them, "may I have a word with you, outside?"

"Actually, I'm taking you and Watson off this case."

"What?"

"You heard me. There's been another chainsaw murder on Canal Street, Watson is in the car."

"I'm not done here."

"You are now."

I sighed deeply and headed for the car.

***

"I don't believe it," I said as we pulled up to a stop light half a block from the crime scene, "that fire was related." I turned to Watson. "Wasn't it?"

Watson shrugged. "The bodies I examined seemed unrelated, but I was unable to see the damage inside the building. I was called off the case soon after you went into the building."

"Let me tell you what I saw and see what you think."

He nodded.

"We both saw the human and robot bodies."

"Yes, I could not tell the extent of their injuries, as I said I was called off too soon."

"Well," I said, "I walked through the door of the building and the floor was soaked. I mean real bad; I've never seen wood that wet. Anyway, I spoke to Gina, and she said…" I turned to Watson and he seemed to be frozen, like a computer trying to run too many programs at once. "Watson? George?"

He didn't move.

I tapped his shoulder. "George, buddy?"

He turned his head slowly toward me. "Frank," he said, "I can't move."

"It's okay, buddy, I'll get you to the hospital."

"No, take me to," he cringed in pain, "12 Riverside Drive."

"Okay." I turned the car around and headed toward the address.

***

We pulled into a small parking lot in front of a low brick building surrounded by a thick forest of ancient oak trees.

"Here we are," I said.

My partner said nothing.

I went to his side of the car and helped him out. Then we walked very slowly to the small wooden door and rang the bell. To my complete surprise the door popped open.

Watson stepped through the open door and I followed.

We were greeted by a small frail looking man in dark scrubs. "Doctor Nash is expecting you, George," he said.

My partner nodded and started down the narrow hallway, lined with doors on either side.

"I'm coming too," I said.

The little man looked at Watson, who nodded. "Fine," said the man, "but you can't go in."

Watson stopped in front of a door and turned to face the man. "Partner," he said.

"He still is not allowed to come in."

"Partner," Watson said with an obviously painfully outstretched finger pointing at me. "Partner."

The little man sighed. "It's your funeral."

I moved closer to Watson and we both entered the room together.

The room looked like any medical examination room, except that the 'doctor' sitting at the small desk in the corner was Jack the Ripper. His chain saw lay against one wall and blood covered the floor, as well as one whole wall. On the examination table lay the mutilated body of a tall strong woman.

Without thinking I drew the .45 and pumped eight rounds into the filthy criminal's head. Blood and circuit boards flew everywhere. I slammed another magazine into the gun and blew eight more holes in the guy.

As I reached for another magazine, Watson took ahold of my hand; he shook his head.

I looked into his dark robot eyes and could see he was conflicted. But, I could also see the carnage reflected there. "I get it Buddy," I said.

"Oh just look at this mess," said the little man. "George, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to move you down the hall. Are you up to it?"

"Yes, Doctor, thank you," he said as quiet as a sigh.

I raised my eyebrows and Watson gave me a slight wink. I followed them into another exam room.

***

An hour later, Watson lay comfortably on a low cot in the recovery room. He was covered in a green wool blanket and was apparently sleeping.

The little old man stood by his side.

"So," I said, "is he going to pull through?"

"He should."

"What was wrong?"

"Fluid loss."

"Did you replace it? He said that could damage him, damage his memories."

The man smiled. "Those quacks at the hospital don't know what they're doing." He shook his head. "Your partner will be just fine. You see, like humans, robots have specific fluid types."

"And you had his type?"

The man nodded. "Yes, we have many types."

"What about the fellow with the chainsaw?"

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"No."

"Good, he wasn't right you know."

I nodded.

"Christine was my best assistant." He sighed. "She should not have died like that; at the hands of such a creation."

"Frank," said Watson from the cot.

I nearly leapt to my feet and scrambled to take his hand in mine. "I'm right here, Buddy."

"You might be an anachronism, but what matters is that you are my partner."

I squeezed his hand. "George, I'm ready to tell you why I'm the way I am."

He closed his eyes slowly and then opened them. "I will listen, and your secret is safe with me."

"I have other patients to attend to," said the Doctor as he slipped out of the room.

I waited until the door was closed, then I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My parents raised me in the old ways. They were very old fashion; in fact, they have been called Modern Amish. They eschew most technology, and live as though it were 1999."

"I've heard of them," he said. "Most people raised that way, usually stay within the faith."

I shrugged. "I'm not most people."

"They are not friends with robots."

"As I said."

He smiled that robotic smile.

"You, my friend, have changed my mind about most robots." I winked. "At least about one robot; you're a good man, George Watson."

"Frank, did you hit your head. I am a robot."

"To me, you are as human as they come."

"Thank you, Partner."

***

As I said, Asimov got it wrong; robots are more human than most people I know.

The End.