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AP - Jimmy the Geek

I learned long ago that it’s better to spend time thinking things through than to go off half-cocked. It was this practice that made me one of the top private investigators in the city. With that in mind I pulled out a pad and a pen and started writing.

Item.

Alvin Williams – missing.

Last seen – with a Rachel9 unit, 2am Thursday morning.

Supposed to meet with mob at The Pink Pussycat.

Item

Angela Williams – an AP.

Cutting edge technology.

Programmed to dispose of me afterwards.

Capture scent.

I sit and stare at the list for a moment before adding the word ‘bitch’ to the programmed… comment, only to scribble it out again a moment later. My argument wasn’t with Angela, but with whoever had bad-mouthed me while programming her memory.

I look at my list and frown. I don’t know enough about robotics to be sure what’s going on here, though I didn’t need an expert to tell me it was trouble. This case stank worse than last week’s blue plate special at Mom’s Dinner. I think for a minute or two before picking up my pen and writing down a list of things I needed to know.

Question – Rachel9 unit specs.

Question – Angela unit specs.

Question – Capture scent access.

Question – Alvin Williams job.

Question – Mob ???

Question – Who sent Angela?

Question – Why?

That’s the problem with my line of work, always far more questions that answers.

I put down my pen before the list gets any longer, run my eyes over it and nod. First stop is to find more about robotics in general, and this Angela in particular. I need to see Jimmy the Geek anyways, to thank him for slipping me the command codes. Perhaps a quick tumble between the sheets while I’m there, to quench the fire burning in my loins.

Standing up, I take off my jacket and slip the ’45 colt into one shoulder holster and a tazer into the other. The two weapons feel heavy, but better to be safe than sorry. Replacing my jacket, I pull on a trench coat, tuck my hair up under my fedora and leave the office. On the way out I pause to check out my secretary. She’s still on her back, down on the floor now, and her hand’s moving noticeably slower inside her soaked panties. I shake my head and lock the door behind me as I leave. She’s got her own set of keys; she can let herself out when she’s done.

Leaving the old, rundown brownstone, I hang a left away from Jimmy’s place. Just down the street is a used furniture store where I could watch for any sign of a tail. I know how skittish Jimmy is about people he doesn’t know and want to make sure I lose any tails they’ve put on me. Shaking my head I see them working their way down the street, even third graders could do a better job than these clowns.

Without even looking at them I turn and walk down the steps into the subway. ‘Let’s try a simple one,’ I mutter as I walk slowly down the platform heading east. When the train pulls in I jump on and get a place near the door. As we pull away I glance around and see two of them in black suits. They look like a couple of gorillas only without the apes good looks and intelligence. As we pull into the next station I act nonchalant until the doors start to close and then slip through the door and step out onto the platform and away. In the car I can see the thugs still fighting their way to the door as the train pulls away. I smile and give them a wave as I turn away up the stairs heading for Jimmy’s again, still keeping both my eyes peeled for any other tails they might have put on me.

Jimmy the Geek ran a second hand electronics store and had a memory like a sponge when it came to electronic gadgets. If you wanted to know about twentieth century computers, Jimmy was the man to see. If you wanted to know about current military research into robotics, Jimmy was still your man.

After checking the street I slipped into the shop, slamming home the deadbolt and turning over the sign in the window. ‘Back in I hour,’ it read.

‘What a dump,’ I think to myself as I weave my way through the towering piles of electronic equipment threatening to topple over and bury me at any moment.

“Hey Jimmy.” I call out as I reach the counter without seeing him. As if in response I hear a distant flush. Relieved than nothing unpleasant seems to have happened to the Geek, I remove the hat and trench coat, draping them over the counter as I pull up a stool.

Jimmy comes in from the storeroom out back. His black pants are a couple of inches too short for his legs, his white tee-shirt still has the ironing creases in it, and the black plastic-framed glasses he’s wearing are held together with tape at the bridge.

“Hey Red,” he begins, “it’s good to see you.” He stops a few feet away from me, his head leans to one side and he gives me a disappointed look. “You’re packing Samantha.” Suddenly his voice is wary and formal. “You know you’re not supposed to bring heat here,” he says, as he backs away and reaches a hand beneath the counter.

Holding up my hands in mock surrender I give him one of my special smiles. “I know the routine Geek.” I tell him and start to undress. As I do a slow striptease for him, I make sure my clothing is in one pile and the weapons in another. When I get down to my bra and panties I give him another smile. “Happy now Jimmy?” I ask, and wink at him.

He sweeps the two weapons off to one side and pulls up a stool to the counter. “Red, I swear you only pack heat because you know I’ll make you strip.” He looks me over one more time as if to photograph me. “It’s okay,” he says, “you can get dressed now.”

Instead I lick a finger and trace it slowly down between my cleavage. “Oh, do I have to?” I say with a mock pout. Jimmy and I have been playing this game ever since I first walked into his shop five years ago. Even then I knew about his homemade death ray and his fear of weapons. “I love you too Geek,” I say as I get dressed, leaving the jacket, trench coat and fedora sitting on the counter.

As I get dressed, he pours two cups of coffee, pushing one of them across the counter towards me before climbing up on his stool and flipping his way through a magazine. He glances at the two weapons and back at me, his face creased into a frown. “What’s up Samantha, you never go around carrying both of them?”

“My god, the Geek is worried about me,” I think to myself. Putting on a smile I try to shrug it off. “It’s nothing to worry about Jimmy,” I tell him and reach out to pat his hand in reassurance. Just before it lands, I stop and pull back. The Geek never likes to be touched by anyone, a fact I’d almost forgotten. He looks down at my hand hovering close to his.

“Nothing huh?” He says, looking me in the eye and taking my hand in his. I sit frozen, staring at Jimmy’s hand. As far as I could remember, he’d never allowed another person to touch him, and here he was holding my hand in his with a look of concern on his face. “Talk to me Red. Something is up isn’t it? The town is abuzz, and now you show up carrying your old man’s Colt ’45.”

To break the tension of the moment I change the subject.

“Jimmy,” I say, “I need some information about Rachel9 units, and the latest developments in robotics. I also need some advice.” I squeeze his hand before letting it go rather too reluctantly for my total peace of mind. That capture scent must have been a good batch

“Rachel9,” asks Jimmy, and starts punching at a hidden computer keyboard. A small holographic image appears on top of the counter and spins around. “Rachel series: Sexbot, 5’6”, 38DD, 22” waist, 36” hips, head hair to below shoulders, programmed to please.” He looks up at me. “Sounds like a promotional ad,” he says and resumes typing. After a moment he nods his head. “Here we go. This is from one of the trades. The Rachel series has put the traditional streetwalker out of business. Starting with the first introduction of this robot, each revision has become more lifelike. The latest version, Rachel8 is able to function as a solo unit without human programming. It is said that the next version, Rachel9, will be able to make command level decisions on its own. This writer, for one, is concerned about robots being able to make their own choices. Does this mean they have free will?”

I look at the Geek. “Free will, is that possible?”

He looks at me through the spinning image of the Rachel series. “I don’t know Red. There have been efforts in that direction but actual progress, I don’t know.”

“That leads me to another area I’ve been wondering about. Just how real can they look and act?” I ask. “I hear on the street that the Angela series really takes the cake when it comes to AP’s.”

“Angela series?” Jimmy asks. He starts typing. “Angela, Angela,” he mutters her name to himself again and again, as though it was some kind of mantra. After ten minutes he looks up from the keyboard. “I don’t know where you heard of this Angela series Sam, but there’s no such critter anywhere on here.”

I look at him, but he seems genuinely puzzled. “Hmmm, I guess my informant was wrong then,” I say, trying to cover my tracks. “So how far can they take this stuff? What about emotions?”

Jimmy sips his coffee.

“Well…” he says, “the simple emotions like happy or sad have been around for a while. All it needs is movement of a few servos to change a frown into a smile.” He chews his upper lip as he’s thinking what to say next. “But the stronger emotions are harder to fake. Laughter for instance is a human thing, and so far no one’s been able to come up with a substitute for it.”

Sipping my coffee, I pull a face and look at it with disgust. “My god Geek, you been brewing this all week?” I put down the cup and look at the grin on his face, “Cute joke…” I say, and slide the cup across the counter towards him. As he pours me a fresh cup I ask “what about tears Jimmy? What about love?”

“Love?” He asks, turning round and looking at me in surprise. “What have you gotten yourself into Sam?”

“You don’t want to know honey,” I tell him, taking the chance of calling him something different for a change.

He accepts my answer and then goes back into lip biting mode while he thinks.

“Tears…I seem to remember something about that…one minute.” He starts typing into his computer and, after a minute he smiles. “Here it is. In last month’s issue of Robotics Institute studies a Dr. A. Williams claimed to have made a robot that no one could tell from a human. It came complete with tears and a full range of emotions.” He looks up at me. “It was real blue sky type of research, but when asked for proof he was shown to be a fraud. Looking at the article he scans it for more pearls of wisdom. “It seems he’d found a way to make a plastic that felt and acted just like skin.” Looking at me he adds, “but turns out it was all faked in the end…you okay Samantha, you look a little pale?”

As he talked I got this sinking feeling that I knew who Angela was, and what this Dr. William’s name might be. The color had drained from my face and I realised Jimmy was looking at me in a strange way. “Oh sorry yes, just distracted a moment.”

He shakes his head; clearly he doesn’t believe me. I lean forward and lower my voice. “If you had to disable a robot…would the taser do it?”

He looks across at the weapon lying on the counter “You’d be better off using the codes I gave you.”

“But what if I don’t have time to read them out clearly, would the taser work then?”

He reaches out and hefts it in his hand.

“Modified?” he asks.

“No, standard.”

He rolls his eyes. “You carry that antique cannon and an ‘over the counter’ piece of crap like this?” He shakes his head, slides off his stool and heads into the back of the shop. I hear him rummaging around and a couple of minutes later he reappears with another taser which he hands to me. It’s the same shape as mine, but instead of being silver its matt black. “Don’t get caught with this Samantha.”

I look at it, turning it over in my hand and nod my thanks. Jimmy was the local black-market dealer in esoteric weapons. “Thanks Geek, how much do I owe you?”

Instead of naming a price for me to haggle with, he comes out from behind his counter and hugs me tightly, whispering in my ear. “Be careful Samantha. I don’t want to be facing your old man when I pass on and explain how I let his little girl die.” He kisses me on the cheek and lets me go, “no charge Red, this one’s on the house.”

I stand there. For a moment I’m stunned, first a hand in mine, followed by a hug and a kiss. “You worry too much Jimmy,” I tell him, before grabbing my things and almost running out of the door. I’d never seen the Geek this way before and it unnerved me. I’d always known he and Dad had been close, but his words implied that he knew a lot more than he was letting on.

Outside the shop I stop dead in my tracks. Angela is standing there beside a car I’ve never seen before waiting for me to come out of Jimmy’s. It occurs to me that I forgot to amend her programming to stop her following me.