“You know how hard it is to find twenty-seven humans in some places?” Kir said.
Jones seemed to be considering it, and then he pulled away from the robot, twisting his way out of the grip and then rubbing his shoulder. “Can we get away from this shit?” He nodded toward the bathroom.
It made Laughton realize that the pulsing under his eye wasn’t the stress of the interview, but a nausea-induced headache. “Come on,” he said. The three of them returned to the lobby. There was a clutch of upholstered armchairs toward the back of the room around a squat round table. They sat, Jones taking the seat that put his back to the wall. He seemed more comfortable, as though the little walk had given him a chance to collect himself, and figure out the situation.
“How’d you find me?” Jones said.
“In the shitter,” Kir said.
“What’s a robot cop doing on the preserve?” Jones said, addressing Laughton, and making a point of not looking at Kir.
Laughton held his hands out to either side to take in the whole club. “What’s a robot drug joint doing on the preserve?” he said.
“I’m—” Jones started, and then cut himself off, wise enough to know when saying nothing was better than trying to be right.
“This is Kir,” Laughton said.
“Department of Health and Human Services,” the robot added.
“He’s here as a favor,” Laughton said. “I’m trying to close this homicide, before Congress decides the preserve isn’t really working out and Kir’s bosses close it for us. This shit here doesn’t make me feel like things are working out.”
“You think people are going to stop getting high?” Jones said. “Of course K-B’s going to come in!”
Preserve drug laws were more stringent than those in the outside robot world. The thinking had been that the druggies would just stay off the preserve, and if Laughton could count his blessings, it was that none of it had turned up in Liberty so far.
“What do you want from me?” Jones said.
“Believe it or not, we’re not here for you. We came because we learned that sims were leaving the preserve out this way. Frankly, I’m surprised as hell you’re here. I figured you’d disappeared into Charleston.”
“Thought I’d be safer here. I’m of value to Kawnac-B.”
“Kawnac-B’s dealing sims now? I thought he stuck to human drugs.”
“Drugs for humans, sims for robots, nobody knows he’s out here. Import and export,” Jones said.
“I thought you said the Sisters already had their trafficking chain.”
“Look, I don’t run anything like that. What do I know? K-B’s under the radar, and has security.”
“Sorry,” Kir said. “This time tomorrow, this is a ghost town again.”
Now Jones’s eyes really went wide. “You can’t do that,” he said, his voice a mix of petulance and panic.
“Don’t worry,” Laughton said. “You’re coming with us.”
“You can’t protect me,” Jones said, almost beside himself again, like the first time.
eyebrows raised and pulled together, lower eyelids tense—genuine fear
“You hear the off-the-preserve news?” Kir said.
Jones looked down, turning his head away. “Those robot hot shots, right? I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
No one had said that he had. No one said it now.
The dealer huffed. “Fucking figures. You’re not here because some orgo got done. Metals supremacist bastards. Heaven forbid some metals get deactivated.”
Laughton couldn’t help but agree. He knew Kir wasn’t like that, that he really was here to try to prevent robot presence on the preserve, but any human knew that they were little better than chattel to some metals.
“I didn’t have anything to do with those hot shots,” Jones said. “Why would I kill my customers? How stupid is that?”
This was just a waste of time. It was like arguing with a child. Erica could get in moods like this, where she got focused on one thing in her mind, and wouldn’t let go of it, ignoring everything that was being said that might have superseded whatever statement she’d latched on to, talking over them louder and louder. No one had accused Jones of anything. They’d hoped he’d give them a little information, and if he didn’t want to come back with them, that was his problem. Kawnac-B would no doubt ensure that the body was never found.
Laughton stood up. “Let’s find Kawnac-B,” he said to Kir.
Jones sat up straight. “Wait, wait, what do you want to know?”
Laughton ignored him. “Come on,” he said.
Kir stood too.
“Wait a second,” Jones said, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry. See. I’m saying it. I’m sorry for running. I’ll help however you need.”
Laughton turned his back, and started across the lobby in the direction that Jones had been coming from when they’d arrived. He didn’t look back to see what Jones was doing, but he suspected that the dealer would follow them, too nervous now to be on his own. He was probably working out what Kir had said about the place becoming a ghost town. Meant the authorities were probably on their way.
The opposite hallway was shorter than the one that contained the bathrooms. There were two lounges to either side, and then a bank of doors, the two center of which were open. Laughton and Kir went through the doors side by side. They were in an enormous dining room, round tables with white tablecloths, some intended for only two people, up to those that could seat ten. A large dance floor, in impeccable condition, defined one end of the room. The old-fashioned, very human space was like a time capsule of when humans were still the dominant life-form, and enough people would need to eat actual food to warrant a space of this size. Now there was a smattering of robots with a handful of humans spread out around the room.
“This has to be the most boring illegal club of all time,” Laughton said.
“Just for your little orgo brain,” Kir said.
Laughton saw the bar in the corner, a self-serve vending machine that showed a multicolored array of memory sticks through the glass. He looked back at the tables and saw that most of the robots were using, some so far gone that sticks were still in their ports. The party was in their cpu’s. “We better get samples from the bar,” he said. “Is the department on its way?”
“Hell, yeah. The department can come onto the preserve to clear out illegal robots, and come they will.” Kir rolled his eyes. “Just got a message from Kawnac-B.” He pointed to a window in the wall above them. It showed an expensive upstairs office with wood-paneled walls and a gilded ceiling. A tall stainless steel cylinder with a screen that wrapped around the top stood in the center of the window: Kawnac-B.
“I hate that robot,” Laughton said.
“There are stairs over here,” Kir said, heading toward the bar.
Laughton followed.
“Hey,” Jones called.
“You want to come?” Laughton said without stopping.
Jones hung back, and as the police reached the door to the stairs, Laughton saw Jones take a seat at one of the tables. Two identical robots got up from one of the other tables to go and join him. There was something familiar about them, but Laughton couldn’t place what. He used his body cam to snap a picture, and then pushed it aside to focus on the meeting ahead.