“I used to box, or so I’ve been told. I’ve got a medal and everything.” He reached forward with his good hand and felt Cliff’s neck, his heart racing a little. There was no pulse and more than that the skin was cold, apparently the same temperature as the frozen air of the warehouse.
“He’s dead,” said Rad, not quite believing it himself. He looked at Jennifer.
“Depends on your definition of dead, I suppose,” she said.
Rad’s jaw moved up and down but he couldn’t find the right words to answer. He carefully lifted one lapel of Cliff’s trench coat with his injured hand and reached inside with the other. Maybe there was some ID, or something else that would be useful. Instead, his fingers closed on the smooth metal of the hip flask. He pulled it out and looked at it.
Well, he needed a damn drink, and it didn’t look like Cliff was going to mind much. He glanced back to the body and uncapped the flask to take a sip.
“Wait!”
Rad ignored Jennifer as his nostrils caught fire, reacting to the poisonous fumes from the flask. His throat closed in a reflex action and he choked – then coughed, hard. Through watering eyes he saw Jennifer move in front of him and he gasped as she knocked the flask out of his hand. The detective retched and bent over, and saw the flask on the warehouse floor, a thick liquid spilled from the open top.
“Sweet Jesus,” Rad said, his voice a rattling croak. He coughed again and stood. Jennifer scooped the flask up and held it away from her, looking at it like it was about to explode.
Rad’s throat was raw. Jennifer tipped the flask upside down, letting the rest of the liquid escape. It was bright green and pooled on the cement floor like oil. The smell was sharp, like gasoline and coal smoke and lemon juice.
Rad managed to find his voice.
“What is that?” He peered closer, fascinated by the evil liquid on the ground. Jennifer crouched near to the floor to take a closer look.
She looked back up at the detective. “It’s anti-freeze,” she said.
“He was drinking chemicals?”
Rad stroked his chin with his good hand, and looked down at the dead body in front of them. Dead? His punch hadn’t been that heavy, unless maybe the guy had had a fractured skull to start with.
He looked at the wet mark shining on Cliff’s chin. Then he swore and knelt down again. He poked at the thug’s face.
“Son of a bitch,” said Rad as he pushed hard at the shiny patch, enough for the skin to slide back over the bottom of the jawbone.
Except it wasn’t bone, not at all. The shining patch was metal, silver. The whole goddamn jaw was made of it.
Rad jerked his hand away, only for Jennifer to take over. She pulled at the torn skin, then gripped at the edge with both hands and yanked. She rocked backwards on her heels as a rubbery beige something that had been Cliff’s face came cleanly away.
“They’ve started already,” she said, and she stood, tossing Cliff’s face to one side and putting her hands on her hips. She pursed her lips in thought.
“He’s a robot,” said Rad. “And you’re not surprised. Who’s started already? More robots? And where do robots like this guy come from anyway? The only robots I know of are the ones that the Navy used to make. He doesn’t look like one of those.”
Jennifer looked at him and nodded. “It’s been modified. Upgraded.”
“Oh,” said Rad. He had that sinking feeling again; here he was, helping someone who knew more about what was going on than he did.
Jennifer pushed Cliff’s head to one side, revealing the rear half of the skin-mask. She pulled the robot’s hat off; Cliff’s hair was still in place, slick and proper just like any self-respecting crook would like it. But beneath, in the dim warehouse light, his real face shone, all silver and wet and angular, a whole lot of triangles and rectangles that explained Cliff’s special kind of handsome. Inside the metal mouth were teeth which looked pearly white and human enough, as did the eyes set into the steel brow.
Rad felt a little ill and rubbed his finger against his pants. He wasn’t sure what the flesh-like material was that covered the robot but he had a feeling he didn’t want to be touching any more of it. He looked down at