In the end, they decided their best course of action was to call the police, and they waited patiently in the hallway outside Heap's apartment for someone to show up. Tommy passed the time by scanning various objects he could see inside for any other clues, but everything pointed to one unsettling explanation: Heap was a very unlucky scumbag.
"There's still a connection we're missing," said Charlie, thinking aloud. "What does Heap have to do with Fifty-two?"
"Possibly nothing," said Tommy. "Heap was only a gateway. His associates, like the man at the garage, are involved in scavenging robots. It's possible that we were meant to explore this angle further."
"That kind of talk is definitely not helping, big guy. I'd rather not focus on the possibility of someone using us. I know robots are used to following programming, but I'm more of a free will fan."
"I'm sorry, but I do think it's worth considering."
"I know it's worth considering, but that doesn't make me any less creeped out," she said, then sighed in resignation. "But since we're on the topic, anyway. This really begs the question: if the feds are in on this, why don't they do their own detective work? Or, hell, at least hire us outright?"
"That I don't know, but remember, these aren't just any feds. They're from the Information Bureau, and they tend to be fond of their secrets."
"Okay, but--"
The elevator opened, and a man in a blue suit stepped into the hallway, effectively ending their conversation. He seemed pleasant enough--with a freshly shaven face, boyish hair that was parted and slicked back, and black leather shoes that, despite appearing well worn, were polished nicely. He flashed a badge from his pocket.
"Charlie Grace?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Faraday. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Charlie looked from Faraday to Tommy and back.
"Sure, Detective, but Tom's the one you really want to talk to," she said. Tommy cocked his head.
Faraday stared at the ground and pushed a button seemingly located behind his ear, relaying some form of information that they couldn't decipher.
"Right," he said. "Tom Steel, is it?"
Tommy nodded. "Yes, it is."
"Okay, Mr. Steel, why don't you tell me how you came to find the body."
Tommy said nothing at first, but Charlie could tell when he was curious about something. He turned his head, all his engines roaring, and scanned the body on the floor. "Aren't you going to move him?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
"Heap, Francis Heap, aren't you going to move the body? I'm surprised you haven't brought any crime scene investigators with you."
"Oh, they'll be along shortly," said Faraday. "Listen, I'll be perfectly honest. When it comes to the South Side, the rest of the force would rather bury themselves in paperwork than set foot between the Warehouse District and Sunset Boulevard. I don't mean to be disrespectful, especially in light of your loss."
"We didn't know him," said Tommy. "I was hired to follow Heap. I'm a private investigator."
"I see," said Faraday, absently. "Do you happen to have your license on you?"
Charlie gulped.
"I don't need one. By law, only persons intending on pursuing a career in private investigation are required to obtain licensing. As you can plainly see, Detective Faraday, I am not a person."
Faraday crossed his arms. "So you were programmed to be an investigator? Is that it?"
"I was programmed to be whatever I wanted, Detective. There are no laws prohibiting that."
Faraday raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Tommy nodded. "I was a lawyer for three weeks."
The detective shook his head and turned to Charlie. "How about you?"
"Don't look at me," she replied with a grin. "I'm just his secretary."
"Okay, then, who hired you, Mr. Steel?"
"Heap's ex-wife, one Helena Beame."
"Was she holding any grudges?" asked Faraday.
"None that were apparent. She wanted us to follow him, which leads me to believe that he was more valuable to her alive than dead."
"Why's that?"
"Beame is looking for her robot. She had reason to believe Heap had taken it."
Faraday smiled. "Now that's cute. A robot looking for a robot. Next thing you know, your lot's going to want to marry each other and start little robot families."
Tommy stared at him, the lights in his eyes dimming. "Any other questions?"
Faraday pressed the button behind his ear once more. "I believe that'll be all for now, folks. Thanks for your time. I'll be in touch."
"Wait, one more thing," said Charlie. "We have reason to believe that a garage down the road is illegally obtaining and selling robot parts. There's a whole black market operation set up there, and there's a warehouse down from it that holds robot fights. I wanted to make an anonymous tip, but I thought since you're already looking into this--"
"Thank you, Miss Grace. I'll look into it," Faraday interrupted with a smile.
Tommy, clearly ready to leave, stomped toward the elevator. Charlie quickly followed.
As they walked home, the rain died down. Just before they left the South Side, abandoning it for a cleaner, more optimistic district, they could smell the smoke of burning street trash and here the clamor and loud voices of roaming gangs of teenage thugs. It was just another night in the city.
"He was an asshole," said Charlie, breaking the wall of silence they'd built up around themselves. "He didn't even care what was going on. You could tell by the way he just stood there with that smug grin on his face."
"Are we supposed to feel bad for Heap now?"
"No... I don't know, Tommy. Even though Heap was a sleaze, he was still a person, and they were using him, just like they're using us. That has to be worth something."
"Should I have slugged Faraday? It seems like I should have."
"Nice thought, but probably best that you didn't."
They stopped at the office first to collect their files and make sure everything else was locked up. They didn't want to risk leaving anything important laying around, just in case it decided to mysteriously disappear before morning.
Charlie was the first to notice the blinking light on her desk. Someone had sent them a message. It was text only, which she found particularly peculiar.
"Tommy, I think you better see this," she said, reading the single line that appeared on her desk's built-in screen.
Tommy rushed to her side, reading the message for himself.
Please stop looking for me.
"Fifty-two," said Tommy. "She's still out there."
In the morning, Charlie went about her routine as if it was any other day. She took her hot shower, put on her blue jumper, and went to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before heading to the garage. Tommy was already at the table, slouched over with his morning can of chilled oil in one hand.
"Any luck?" she asked.
Tommy shook his head. The lights in his eyes seemed distant. She wondered if he was dreaming. She then wondered if he could dream, contemplating that idea as she opened a package of granola.
"This is more difficult than I thought. She's covered her tracks very well."
"Hence the whole not-wanting-to-be-found thing, I imagine."
"Tracking down the source of the the Identity Database changes was simple compared to this. There were logs, after all, the type that don't allow deception, but this is different. A simple text message can be sent from just about anywhere, and its source can be masked. There's always a trail, but this one only leads me in circles. She used proxies, logged into remote servers, and closed all her connections."
There was a confused look on Charlie's face.
"Trust me, it's complicated," he said.
"Can you still track her down?"
"Possibly. It'll take time, though."
"Do your best, and let me know when you find something, okay?"
"Okay."
"That's my boy."
She finished her granola quickly and set off for work. She'd barely unlocked the door when the phone in her office began to ring.
"Charlie!" Tommy said excitedly from the other end of the connection. "I've found her."
"There's still a connection we're missing," said Charlie, thinking aloud. "What does Heap have to do with Fifty-two?"
"Possibly nothing," said Tommy. "Heap was only a gateway. His associates, like the man at the garage, are involved in scavenging robots. It's possible that we were meant to explore this angle further."
"That kind of talk is definitely not helping, big guy. I'd rather not focus on the possibility of someone using us. I know robots are used to following programming, but I'm more of a free will fan."
"I'm sorry, but I do think it's worth considering."
"I know it's worth considering, but that doesn't make me any less creeped out," she said, then sighed in resignation. "But since we're on the topic, anyway. This really begs the question: if the feds are in on this, why don't they do their own detective work? Or, hell, at least hire us outright?"
"That I don't know, but remember, these aren't just any feds. They're from the Information Bureau, and they tend to be fond of their secrets."
"Okay, but--"
The elevator opened, and a man in a blue suit stepped into the hallway, effectively ending their conversation. He seemed pleasant enough--with a freshly shaven face, boyish hair that was parted and slicked back, and black leather shoes that, despite appearing well worn, were polished nicely. He flashed a badge from his pocket.
"Charlie Grace?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Faraday. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
Charlie looked from Faraday to Tommy and back.
"Sure, Detective, but Tom's the one you really want to talk to," she said. Tommy cocked his head.
Faraday stared at the ground and pushed a button seemingly located behind his ear, relaying some form of information that they couldn't decipher.
"Right," he said. "Tom Steel, is it?"
Tommy nodded. "Yes, it is."
"Okay, Mr. Steel, why don't you tell me how you came to find the body."
Tommy said nothing at first, but Charlie could tell when he was curious about something. He turned his head, all his engines roaring, and scanned the body on the floor. "Aren't you going to move him?" he asked.
"Pardon?"
"Heap, Francis Heap, aren't you going to move the body? I'm surprised you haven't brought any crime scene investigators with you."
"Oh, they'll be along shortly," said Faraday. "Listen, I'll be perfectly honest. When it comes to the South Side, the rest of the force would rather bury themselves in paperwork than set foot between the Warehouse District and Sunset Boulevard. I don't mean to be disrespectful, especially in light of your loss."
"We didn't know him," said Tommy. "I was hired to follow Heap. I'm a private investigator."
"I see," said Faraday, absently. "Do you happen to have your license on you?"
Charlie gulped.
"I don't need one. By law, only persons intending on pursuing a career in private investigation are required to obtain licensing. As you can plainly see, Detective Faraday, I am not a person."
Faraday crossed his arms. "So you were programmed to be an investigator? Is that it?"
"I was programmed to be whatever I wanted, Detective. There are no laws prohibiting that."
Faraday raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Tommy nodded. "I was a lawyer for three weeks."
The detective shook his head and turned to Charlie. "How about you?"
"Don't look at me," she replied with a grin. "I'm just his secretary."
"Okay, then, who hired you, Mr. Steel?"
"Heap's ex-wife, one Helena Beame."
"Was she holding any grudges?" asked Faraday.
"None that were apparent. She wanted us to follow him, which leads me to believe that he was more valuable to her alive than dead."
"Why's that?"
"Beame is looking for her robot. She had reason to believe Heap had taken it."
Faraday smiled. "Now that's cute. A robot looking for a robot. Next thing you know, your lot's going to want to marry each other and start little robot families."
Tommy stared at him, the lights in his eyes dimming. "Any other questions?"
Faraday pressed the button behind his ear once more. "I believe that'll be all for now, folks. Thanks for your time. I'll be in touch."
"Wait, one more thing," said Charlie. "We have reason to believe that a garage down the road is illegally obtaining and selling robot parts. There's a whole black market operation set up there, and there's a warehouse down from it that holds robot fights. I wanted to make an anonymous tip, but I thought since you're already looking into this--"
"Thank you, Miss Grace. I'll look into it," Faraday interrupted with a smile.
Tommy, clearly ready to leave, stomped toward the elevator. Charlie quickly followed.
As they walked home, the rain died down. Just before they left the South Side, abandoning it for a cleaner, more optimistic district, they could smell the smoke of burning street trash and here the clamor and loud voices of roaming gangs of teenage thugs. It was just another night in the city.
"He was an asshole," said Charlie, breaking the wall of silence they'd built up around themselves. "He didn't even care what was going on. You could tell by the way he just stood there with that smug grin on his face."
"Are we supposed to feel bad for Heap now?"
"No... I don't know, Tommy. Even though Heap was a sleaze, he was still a person, and they were using him, just like they're using us. That has to be worth something."
"Should I have slugged Faraday? It seems like I should have."
"Nice thought, but probably best that you didn't."
They stopped at the office first to collect their files and make sure everything else was locked up. They didn't want to risk leaving anything important laying around, just in case it decided to mysteriously disappear before morning.
Charlie was the first to notice the blinking light on her desk. Someone had sent them a message. It was text only, which she found particularly peculiar.
"Tommy, I think you better see this," she said, reading the single line that appeared on her desk's built-in screen.
Tommy rushed to her side, reading the message for himself.
Please stop looking for me.
"Fifty-two," said Tommy. "She's still out there."
***
In the morning, Charlie went about her routine as if it was any other day. She took her hot shower, put on her blue jumper, and went to the kitchen for a quick breakfast before heading to the garage. Tommy was already at the table, slouched over with his morning can of chilled oil in one hand.
"Any luck?" she asked.
Tommy shook his head. The lights in his eyes seemed distant. She wondered if he was dreaming. She then wondered if he could dream, contemplating that idea as she opened a package of granola.
"This is more difficult than I thought. She's covered her tracks very well."
"Hence the whole not-wanting-to-be-found thing, I imagine."
"Tracking down the source of the the Identity Database changes was simple compared to this. There were logs, after all, the type that don't allow deception, but this is different. A simple text message can be sent from just about anywhere, and its source can be masked. There's always a trail, but this one only leads me in circles. She used proxies, logged into remote servers, and closed all her connections."
There was a confused look on Charlie's face.
"Trust me, it's complicated," he said.
"Can you still track her down?"
"Possibly. It'll take time, though."
"Do your best, and let me know when you find something, okay?"
"Okay."
"That's my boy."
She finished her granola quickly and set off for work. She'd barely unlocked the door when the phone in her office began to ring.
"Charlie!" Tommy said excitedly from the other end of the connection. "I've found her."
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