In my line of work, you become best friends with death.

I caught my first murder fifteen years ago: Taisha Whitmore. Eight years old. Daughter of a family of holdouts unwilling to be bought out to make way for the Lunar Express Station.

 

I bet you can already tell how this case shakes out, right? No witnesses, no one saw a thing. Dan Getter, casino mogul on the Moon, got his station right after. No one stuck around, they all took the money. Case went unsolved. People stopped giving a shit.

 

But not me. I remembered.

 

It was my last day as a cop.

 

And I had a tab to settle.

 

* * *

 

I stepped out of the bus terminal and leaned against a neon ad of a lady holding a jar of skin cream. The Lunar Express Line was packed with tourists off to gamble and celebrate. Lunar New Year. The worst.

 

Fido was with me. Partnered since the Whitmore case. Even though he was a dogmech, he wanted to see justice just as bad as I did.

 

The street outside was bustling, the overhead a constant loop of exploding fireworks and cartoon snakes slithering by. I lit a cigarette that tasted like a dirty gym towel. Fido stepped from my side and sat down on his hind legs to face me.

 

“As you know, Sergeant Davis, smoking tobacco cigarettes is in violation of the Cleaner Air Act of 2137,” Fido said, his unblinking digital green eyes staring at me.

 

We did this dance every time. It was programmed in. “I hear you Fido. Stopping crime one cigarette at a time.”

 

“As you know, Jack, I can’t help it,” Fido said.

 

“I’m kidding, pal,” I said as he stepped back beside me. I patted him on the faded NYPD insignia and pulled out my phone. A message from the Hawaiian, a local fixer. He'd agreed to meet. I flicked my cigarette out of Fido’s sight. Wasn’t in the mood for a littering reminder. Because in my trench pocket was a different reminder.

 

A folded-up picture.

 

Taisha Whitmore. Eight years old.

 

I pulled out the blinders I sometimes used on Fido. A pair of Ray-Bans he couldn’t see out of. Needed to focus, not hear a never-ending cycle of violations.

 

One sharp whistle and a rickshaw pulled up. We rode past vendors of grilled foods, snake parade floats, neon signs advertising massages. Men sitting in little huddles gambling. Sexmechs luring drunken tourists down alleyways.

 

We stopped under the neon sign for Cigar, a lowkey jazz joint. The Hawaiian sat in a booth watching a lady in a silver dress wail into a microphone. He handed me a bag. Shimmery black that felt like wax paper. Hawaiian didn’t ask why I needed a gun in a smuggler’s bag. Didn’t matter. We exchanged nods. Me and Fido headed for the exit.

 

Rows of hotshot limos idled outside of Caesar’s. Roman statues and columns stretched high into the air.

 

“Jack, I’ve received a critical update. Do you want to hear the details?” Fido said.

 

“Last time I said yes you chewed my ear off.” I let Dan Getter’s people know I arrived. Fido and I walked inside and stood in the lobby near a massive fountain of Jupiter. Guests milled around, waiting to check in. Leah, in a toga, walked up and asked me and Fido to follow her.

 

Showtime.

 

She led us to a private elevator that opened into the penthouse. Dan was sitting on a white leather couch staring at a fireplace.

 

“What can I do for you, officer? Leah here tells me this is about a break in a case from... what? Fifteen years ago?” Dan said. A balding man with a gut that hung over black silk boxers and an open robe.

 

“Can we speak privately, Mr. Getter.”

 

Dan nodded at Leah. She disappeared into the elevator.

 

“This is about Taisha Whitmore. Do you remember her?” I asked.

 

“Hah, yeah. Shame. They never caught the killer, right? Too bad,” Dan said, walking over to his bar cart.

 

Fido stood in front of the fire. Watching.

 

“Yeah. I thought it was you. You believe that?” I said, laughing.

 

Dan didn’t laugh. “I thought I remembered you.”

 

“You paid good money to get the case quashed. Well-played. You’re a job-creator, right?”

I pulled out the sunglasses and placed them on Fido’s head. They wouldn’t stop him hearing the shot and arresting me.

 

I didn’t care.

 

“I think it’s time for you to go.” Dan said.

 

I pulled out the picture and placed it on the coffee table. “Strangled to death. That girl,” I said. I pulled the revolver out of the smuggler’s bag. Flames from the fireplace reflected off the silver metal.

 

“How did you get that in here?” He looked afraid.

 

Good.

 

“I have money, I can pay you. I ca-“

 

Bang.

 

The blood spray hit the wall behind him.

 

I waited for Fido to arrest me.

 

Nothing happened.

 

“Do you want to hear about the update now?” Fido asked, turning his head to look at me. My reflection stared back in the sunglasses.

 

“Yeah, Fido. Now’s a good time.”

 

“A critical upgrade to my decision-making and auto-arrest protocol. Would you like me to apprehend you?”

 

“No,” I said, lighting a cigarette.

 

Sometimes life throws you an ex machine. I didn’t complain.

 

“I suggest bringing me by Chris in the Maintenance Unit,” Fido said.

 

Chris did memory wipes for a few bucks. No questions asked.

 

I put the gun in Dan’s hand and took us down in the elevator. A very surprised Leah stood in the lobby.

 

“He’s asked to be left alone,” I said.

 

Leah looked at me. Shocked is an understatement. “I thought he had to take you in?”

 

“New update,” I said. “Got what he had coming for what he did to your little cousin.”

 

Leah smiled and disappeared into the casino. I'd settled my tab.

 

I patted Fido on the head. “C’mon, pal. We got a retirement party to plan.”