The Automatic Detective by A. Lee Martinez Read Free Book Online Page B

budget allows me either a typing drone or a coffee machine." He paused, held up a paper cup full of the steaming brown liquid. "Anyway, I don't think it's good for a man to rely too much on automation. No offense."
    "None taken."
    Sanchez sipped his coffee and winced. "Damn secretarial auto doesn't know how to make a damn pot of coffee."
    "You could make it yourself."
    "Don't have the time. Too busy typing reports." To demonstrate, he hunched over his typewriter and started banging away. "What do you need, Mack?"
    Sanchez didn't believe in small talk. He liked to get to the point, and I could appreciate that.
    "The Bleakers," I said.
    His typewriter skipped a click before continuing its job. "Report's filed, Mack. Like I promised."
    "And?"

    "And the gears are in motion."
    "What's that mean exactly?"
    "Means everything that can be done is being done."
    Which meant Julie and her kids were in the hands of the system now. A system that cared more about keeping the zip trains running than filtering out the mutagens in the waterworks. And it wasn't all that good at keeping the zip trains running.
    "Did you run my memory file through the system yet?" I asked.
    Sanchez nodded.
    "Get a hit on Four Arms?"
    Sanchez nodded again, curtly.
    "Did you pick him up yet?" I asked.
    "Not yet. We're looking."
    My next request was awkward, absurd. But I said it anyway, and I didn't hesitate because I'm a bot and I appreciate directness.
    "I need his name," I said.
    Sanchez stopped typing. He took another sip of coffee. His pink nose twitched in disgust. "Who programs these damn robots?"
    "Four Arms's name," I said. "I need it."
    "Heard you the first time." He leaned back in his chair, which in the cramped quarters was quite an accomplishment. "You're not getting it."
    We stared at each other across the office.
    "Somebody needs to do something, Sanchez."
    "Somebody is doing something, Mack."
    "Who? You?"
    He opened a drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Not my beat."

    "Tell me whose beat it is, so I can talk to them."
    He stuck the cig in his mouth, rolling it around without lighting it. "Go home, Mack."
    "It's just a name."
    "It's trouble, is what it is." He tossed the unlit cig into an ashtray. "You're concerned, I can see that. But the Bakers aren't your problem."
    "Bleakers," I corrected.
    "Damn." He hunched over, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "You can't get involved. In the first place, you're a private citizen. In the second, you're not even that if your probation falls through. And it will fall through if you get in the middle of this."
    "That's my problem," I said. "It's only a name, maybe an address."
    "It's more than that." He took another gulp of coffee, lit up his cigarette, and puffed like a steam engine. "This is my problem, too. I put my ass on the line for you."
    "I know."
    "Doctor Mujahid put her ass on the line."
    "I know."
    "There are a lot of important people watching you, Mack."
    "I know."
    He drummed his fingers on the desk. His little black claws pinged on the metal.
    "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"
    I didn't bother answering the question.
    "They mean that much to you?" he asked.
    "They should mean something to someone," I replied.
    Sanchez drew in a long mouthful of smoke until his cheeks bulged. He blew it out his nostrils in a slow, steady stream.
    "Can't argue with that, Mack. Didn't think Megalith programmed you with such a warm, fuzzy side."

    "He didn't. Must've been something I picked up along the way."
    Sanchez turned his chair eighty-six degrees, opened a drawer in his desk, and tossed a file in front of me. I reached for it, but he slammed his tiny paw atop the folder.
    "This isn't in your best interests. But since you're dead set on doing it, I have to lay down one rule before I let you look at this."
    The folder was so close now I could easily brush him aside and take it. My battle predictor said the chances of him stopping me were nil.
    "When you find this guy—if you find this guy," he