Finally, something interesting this time. My only known and therefore favorite and most useful roommate, Castilles, seems to have an odd knack for trouble that’s enviable by anyone in the sleuthing business, except for the odd detail that he isn’t in this sleuthing business, which makes it awfully convenient for both of us that there’s a certified Private Detective Bot about zero houses away from him.
It all started within a few days of Castilles’ arrival, when he described being stalked by a man in a tan coat who called him a funny weird name. The case sounded intriguing, but given a description like that could describe nearly a third of the men of Limbersdale, we agreed to put the case on hold until more sufficient evidence would appear.
So it remained on my desk, a footnote not even worthy of a blog mention, until some corroborating evidence a bit too conspicuous to ignore showed up. A few events, unrelated so far as I know, had left me in need of a new upkeeper, and I soon got an arrangement with a new guy who wanted me to meet him in the park for some reason. So I showed up and who should stand waiting to meet me other than a man in a long tan coat. I’ll keep his name anonymous here, because I don’t want him looking up his own name and finding this post, so I’ll call him Solitaire for now. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know about my blog, or else he’d know better than to try and pull a fast one on us, but if he looks me up and comes across this page, expect radio silence from here on out because we’re probably evacuating the premises.
Anyway, the first thing I noticed about him was his coat. Yes, it’s incredibly fashionable, and yes, as an upkeeper it helps to have extra pockets, but they typically aren't seen in loose clothes, let alone in summer. Don’t wanna get cloth caught in machinery in the middle of a repair, am I right? The second thing was his demeanor. Pleasant on the surface, but there was definitely a sense that he needed to put it up—like a man wearing just enough shampoo that you can tell he doesn’t want to be caught without it. And believe me, I know enough suave wannabes to know what they smell like.
The kicker? The minute I played back the recording I’d taken, Castilles’ memory kicked in and confirmed my suspicions: sure enough, we had our guy.
So if you ask me, and this post isn’t over so good luck with that, it’s pretty obvious what Solitaire’s getting at: he wants Castilles, so he gets at him by posing as an upkeeper for the bot that happens to share his room. Only there’s one problem in his plan: me. If your plan is to pick on an ace detective’s buddy through the ace detective himself, then you pretty much get whatever’s coming to you. So, Castilles and I decided to get a lay of the land around his hotel—nothing illegal, which I mention because, for the record, the last time I mentioned doing anything illegal on the Internet, things got a little awkward with the police, and I’m not in a hurry to repeat that in the middle of a case. Anyway, his being my upkeeper meant I was privy to a few certain details, including knowing that he lived in a hotel and knowing that certain hotel receptionists may or may not take his being my upkeeper to mean that we may or may not have access to any room keys that may or may not have existed in the first place, if you catch my drift. Solitaire probably warranted me for a fool, and that was the only warrant I’d need.
If we’d been searching up there, and I’m not saying we had been, there’d be a couple things I’d end up finding. First of all, a good number of tan coats would imply that Solitaire was either not the brightest cell in the organ, if that’s how humans say it, or more likely he was just new to the job and still thought it was cool. If you’re stalking someone, probably the worst way to do it is to have virtually your entire wardrobe match, so unless I’ve uncovered a secret uniform, he has no idea what he’s doing—supported by some ominous dialogue from when I met him—but that can also make him unpredictable and dangerous. There would also be a few strange implements around the place, including a screwdriver completely covered in rust, which I normally chalk up to human negligence, but seeing as we’re dealing with a robot-stalking potential criminal, it could also be some sick form of techno-sadism. Take your pick.
Suddenly, the door flew open. If we’d been in there, we’d be found out for sure, but for aforementioned legal reasons, it’s also possible we were still in the lobby and Solitaire saw us and gave us a glare I hadn’t seen since that mob boss I told off. Now wasn’t the time for showing off my hand at insults, though—I had a client to protect, after all. Some quick thinking and the nearest throwable object later, Solitaire was completely dazed and we made a break for it, myself out the window and Cast putting his wheels to use once we made it out the doors. Oh, I never mentioned Castilles has wheels, but he does. Anyway, Solitaire knew we were onto him now and will probably stop at nothing to cut the case short at its gray and fashionably teal sources, so I knew there was no going back now.
We managed to escape with our lives and a few other things, however we came across them, including some evidence in the form of a notebook. Beyond that, though, we’d escaped Solitaire’s game empty-handed… or that would be the case, if our little adventure had been the mission’s true objective. What he hadn’t counted on was that I’d formed a trio between my client, myself, and a little harmless guy… and they never suspect the harmless guy. While Castilles and I were distracting Solitaire with a mad chase, I set Dant after his workplace, which may or may not have been unlocked anyway, and maybe notice a few papers that may have never been written, and may not be in our possession now. Brilliant, am I right? Anyway, now we have everything I need to get to the bottom of this… and the first piece of evidence we saw implied that it’s getting personal for the client. My favorite kind of mystery.
Ladies, gentlemen, bots… the case is on.
