Up The Tower by J.P. Lantern

well. That was harder.
    “Goddamn, baby” said Crash, looking up at the copbot. “I heard you had a morning. I didn’t believe it, to tell the truth.”
    “We both had mornings,” said Partner. “They ended thirty-eight minutes and forty-two seconds ago. Forty-three. Forty-four—”
    “—I got it, baby,” said Crash. “That thing all right?”
    “I think so. Its processor seems to have been altered in some way. It’s...friendly.”
    “Friendly? A copbot?”
    Samson finished with Crash’s hand, whirling his tools back into his belt.
    “Tell ‘em, Partner. You’re friendly, right? A good dude?”
    “ Yes . Anyone who is a Good Dude also has nothing to fear from me. Gangsters abound though. We are in The Tower, where from the bad men of the city come.”
    “Is that what they tell you?” asked Crash. “Who’s the baddest of them all?”
    “As in, most dangerous? Nicolai Petrov, by most accounts. A thought-criminal, capable of much revolutionary action. His methods are exacting and cruel, and—”
    “That wet sock? Ah, baby.” Crash clanked the shoulder of the copbot. “You see what they tell folks? Petrov. Who’s second-best?”
    “Second-baddest?”
    “Yeah, same thing.”
    “Second- best is indeterminable from my data. Samson here is clearly the first best that I have seen. Second- worst would be Punchee Wallop. Seventy-two murders are suspicioned under him in the database, and—”
    “That’s enough.”
    Samson, unable to stop himself, asked, “Do you want to ask him who’s third?”
    A dangerous glint entered Crash’s eyes.
    We all gonna die. You could die just later today.
    “You know what, Partner? I gotta talk to my boy here. That all right, baby?”
    “Yes! Privacy, very important.” It leaned over to Samson, in a voice that was no doubt intended to be conspiratorial. “Do not worry. No doubt your privacy is being secured at a database in North Dakota.”
    Partner stepped out of the room. Crash turned and slapped Samson. It was slow, cold. With as heavy as the suit was, he did not have to put much force behind the blow.
    “Third, huh? That what you say, baby?”
    “I’m sorry, Jackson.” Samson tried to stand up, head ringing. Crash would get even madder if he stayed on the ground. He’d call Samson a coward.
    You could die just later today.
    “What, baby?” Hand raised up again, this time with tech spilling over the fingers. “What? What you call me?”
    “I’m sorry, Boss Crash. It was a mistake, Boss Crash.”
    “Mm. Sort of like when you got my Crowboys killed, huh? And now Storey’s boys too.”
    “What?”
    “Storey’s boys. You sent ‘em into those booby traps of the Crowboys. Didn’t you know about them?”
    “No.”
    Samson was mortified. He hadn’t wanted anyone to die today. And now there were more.
    “Well. Storey thinks you did, baby. That ain’t good news for you. Someone’s got to talk that woman down. I thought maybe it should be me, but you seem to got such a mouth.”
    “Please, Boss Crash.”
    Crash waited.
    “I got the copbot. You saw how I got it. I can, I don’t know. Whatever you want with it, all right? I can add on to it, maybe. Give it those rocket packs—”
    “I want it melted down, like the others.”
    “Really? It can...it talks, though! Didn’t you see it? It could be a discovery. If we had someone who understood artificial intelligences...”
    “I know all the hell I need to know. It’s made of valuables, but all unrefined. Sort of like you, baby. You saying I ought to melt you down instead?”
    “No, Boss Crash.”
    Crash stepped to the door, shaking his head.
    “Copbot that talks. What I want with a copbot that talks? The whole damn appeal of the things is that they don’t talk back. My engineer gets all excited about taking away its best feature. Goddamn, baby.”
    He shut the door behind him. Partner stayed outside, not called in yet.
    Several minutes went by with Samson just looking at the door, feeling alone.