Future Crimes Part 56

You've no way of knowing if this maniac, who strikes at random, will come stalking you next. Will you be found sliced neatly into three portions with a lazrod?"

She uncrossed her legs and stood.

"I'm concerned for you and for every citizen of Greater LA. So, without in any way implying any criticism of the wonderful SoCal State Police or the GLA Homicide Squad, I am volunteering to go to work on the case." Smiling, Polly spread her hands wide.

"I'll be doing this as a community service, not charging anyone my usual impressive fee- From the moment I go off the air this morning, I'll be putting the entire resources of Polly Bowers, Hollywood Detective, to work on cracking this case.

And I'll bet you that you won't see a certain senile private op daring to make a similar offer on ... Huh? What?"

Jack turned off the wall.

"That's sufficient Polly for one day, Tinker."

The dog hopped up atop the desk.

"Suppose," he suggested, "we take up the challenge?"

"What challenge?" He moved over to one of the tinted vie windows of his tower office.

"How many challenges have come your way today so far?" inquired the dog.

"I mean the gauntlet that your ex-wife just tossed in your puss. What say we go after the Malibu Slicer?"

Jack stood watching the hazy morning outside, the towers and the nickering sky cars going by.

"I'd enjoy beating Polly in a contest," he said after a moment.

"But can I do it?"

Tinker chuckled.

"With me back on the job, boss," he a.s.sured him, "it'll be a cinch."

Tinker, after scanning the menu screen on his side of the small, round restaurant table, said, "The clonedveat on sawdust-rye sounds tasty. I think I'll try that and a side order of--" "You can't eat," reminded Jack from his side of the table.

"You're a robot."

"I can simulate eating, however, chief." He nodded up at the hovering android waitress.

"The cloned-veal san, hon, and the mouse-gene-lettuce tossed salad and a mug of simulated cafe blanco."

"What kind of sugasub?" inquired the pretty blonde mechanism.

"Suga .. . suga .. . sub ... up ... bup .. . w.a.n.g!"

The robot dog, who was sitting in an adjustable hi chair reached out his left forepaw and slipped it inside the andy's sin silk blouse.

"Voxbox on the fritz, sweetheart," he told her.

"Fix it in a jiffy. Voila."^ "Oh, thanks," she said, smiling.

"That feels lots better."

"You can extract your paw now," suggested the detective.

"If I hadn't been sidetracked into the gumshoe trade," observed Tinker as he withdrew his silvery forepaw, "I would've made a great healer.

Got the touch."

The healed android waitress asked Jack, "And what'll you have, sir?"

"What's the catch of the day?"

"Cloned-abalone, sir, with synthetic polenta on the side."

"Fine." He made a go-away-now gesture.

The dog watched her walk away from their table on the second level of Natural Nat's in the New Westwood Sector of GLA.

"Her backside needs realigning," he said.

"How did your morning's interviews go, boss?"

k "Where'd you acquire the ability to repair androids?"

"Little knack I taught myself," answered Tinker.

"It may come in handy when I go into business on my own, sahib."

"How're you planning to do that? I own you."

"Just kidding." The robot dog made a tinny chuckling noise.

"While you were out pumping informants and stool pigeons, I hooked myself up with the SoCal State Police main computer and read everything they have on the Malibu Slicer."

"I a.s.sume you did that discreetly. The state cops don't take kindly to--" "Do you honestly believe that any dimwit cop is going to tumble to the deft intrusion maneuvers that I practice?"

"Okay, spare me the sales pitch. What'd you find out?"

"Want me to print out my concise, pithy, and informative summation of all I've learned about the case to date?" Tinker touched a slot on his chrome plated side.

"Verbally for now." Jack glanced around the restaurant.

As yet there were no patrons at the tables nearest to them.

"And in a low, confidential tone of voice, huh?"

Tinker produced a raspberry sound with his plaz tongue.

"As you know, the killer was dubbed the Malibu Slicer because the first two victims resided in that tacky paradise. The next chopped-up victim, however, lived in the Old Westwood Sector, and the one after that was based in the Pasadena Sector. So far, there doesn't seem to be a discernable geographic pattern to the slayings. The information the SoCal cops have made public contains a minimum of bulls.h.i.t,"

reported the dog.

"I haven't uncovered any indication that they know a h.e.l.l of a lot more than they're telling the media."

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table top, "Okay, they can't link the locations--how about the victims?"

Tinker hesitated.

"They can't, no."

Jack leaned farther forward.

"But you can?"