Tommy prepared for his first night of surveillance by studying various espionage methods of the 20th Century but decided that old fashioned tailing was his best option. He covered himself in a long trench coat that he buttoned from top to bottom, with a pair of brown leather gloves to hide his metal hands, and he pulled the brim of his hat as far down his face as he could to make himself less conspicuous.
"How does this unit look?" he asked.
"Like a robot in a cheap disguise," said Charlie. "Now remember, keep a safe distance at all times, and when he stops, take a few pictures and leave, okay?"
"Okay."
"Just try and stay out of trouble."
"Do you want to come?"
"I think I'd better wait here, just in case. Good luck."
Tommy tugged on his hat. "Thanks," he said, and then he disappeared outside, taking to the Village streets to follow a man he'd never met. He was as excited as a robot could be.
Charlie, having no other plans for the evening, settled in at the office of Tom Steel, PI. She had to admit, if nothing else, she liked his new persona's name. It reminded her of other detective names, all of them unbelievable and coincidentally descriptive of the character's personality--like Rick Armstrong. She rolled the swivel chair to the far wall, where the short bookshelf sat with what she assumed was the full library of Johnny Lightly's horribly dated prose. Each title bore a gritty name like Machine Gun Hearts and Murder by Streetlight, and her eyes fell back on the particular novel she had skimmed earlier--Heaven is for Angels. With a mental shrug, she plucked it from the shelf, causing its neighbor to collapse diagonally across the now empty spot, rolled back across the room, propped her feet on top of the desk, and began to read.
It was everything she expected from a detective story. There was Rick Armstrong, the tough-as-nails private eye with his love of hard liquor and little else to live for, and the mysterious blonde who hires him while hiding her dark secrets, and of course, there are plenty of dead bodies. It wouldn't be a detective story without dead bodies, Charlie realized.
She was a few dozen pages in when the door opened and Tommy came traipsing back in with his head hung low.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
He removed his hat and looked up at her, his eyes barely glowing. "Not well. This unit has very loud feet."
"Aw, he spotted you, did he?"
Tommy nodded.
"Don't worry, tin man. We'll try again. I'll help you out next time, I promise."
"If there is a next time. This unit does not think he's cut out for being a detective," said Tommy as he stripped off his coat and gloves and laid them on top of the bookshelf.
"What are you talking about? You're a detecting machine--literally. You've got a built-in GPS system, and you can interface with just about any computer system you come across. That's got to come in handy, right?"
"This unit supposes so."
"See? You just have to use that silicon brain of yours. Not everything has to be done the old-fashioned way."
"This unit is surprised, Charlie. This unit did not think you were excited about our new opportunity."
"Well, I'm not, but I'm excited for you. I always am. Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble."
Tommy's eyes grew brighter, and the girl smiled. "This unit will try."
Then came the knock on the door.
"How does this unit look?" he asked.
"Like a robot in a cheap disguise," said Charlie. "Now remember, keep a safe distance at all times, and when he stops, take a few pictures and leave, okay?"
"Okay."
"Just try and stay out of trouble."
"Do you want to come?"
"I think I'd better wait here, just in case. Good luck."
Tommy tugged on his hat. "Thanks," he said, and then he disappeared outside, taking to the Village streets to follow a man he'd never met. He was as excited as a robot could be.
Charlie, having no other plans for the evening, settled in at the office of Tom Steel, PI. She had to admit, if nothing else, she liked his new persona's name. It reminded her of other detective names, all of them unbelievable and coincidentally descriptive of the character's personality--like Rick Armstrong. She rolled the swivel chair to the far wall, where the short bookshelf sat with what she assumed was the full library of Johnny Lightly's horribly dated prose. Each title bore a gritty name like Machine Gun Hearts and Murder by Streetlight, and her eyes fell back on the particular novel she had skimmed earlier--Heaven is for Angels. With a mental shrug, she plucked it from the shelf, causing its neighbor to collapse diagonally across the now empty spot, rolled back across the room, propped her feet on top of the desk, and began to read.
It was everything she expected from a detective story. There was Rick Armstrong, the tough-as-nails private eye with his love of hard liquor and little else to live for, and the mysterious blonde who hires him while hiding her dark secrets, and of course, there are plenty of dead bodies. It wouldn't be a detective story without dead bodies, Charlie realized.
She was a few dozen pages in when the door opened and Tommy came traipsing back in with his head hung low.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
He removed his hat and looked up at her, his eyes barely glowing. "Not well. This unit has very loud feet."
"Aw, he spotted you, did he?"
Tommy nodded.
"Don't worry, tin man. We'll try again. I'll help you out next time, I promise."
"If there is a next time. This unit does not think he's cut out for being a detective," said Tommy as he stripped off his coat and gloves and laid them on top of the bookshelf.
"What are you talking about? You're a detecting machine--literally. You've got a built-in GPS system, and you can interface with just about any computer system you come across. That's got to come in handy, right?"
"This unit supposes so."
"See? You just have to use that silicon brain of yours. Not everything has to be done the old-fashioned way."
"This unit is surprised, Charlie. This unit did not think you were excited about our new opportunity."
"Well, I'm not, but I'm excited for you. I always am. Just promise me you'll stay out of trouble."
Tommy's eyes grew brighter, and the girl smiled. "This unit will try."
Then came the knock on the door.
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