Sally's Story: Rough Diamond

	Ferrying their now less-than-conscious ward away and out of the alley, the two detectives now had to figure out where to bring him. He wasn’t under arrest, contrary to his mumblings as they deposited him in the back seat, but that raised the issue of where he could stay the night and sober up. Sally had gleaned that he was likely bumming from place to place, spending his mornings comatose in discotheque booths and stairwells before returning to the dancefloor come night. Twisting the key, Vincent turned to the man who lay in the back, half-awake.
	“Mitch,” he started, rustling him by the shoulder. “Mitch!” The man roused just a little bit, limbs slack as he turned his head over.
	“Whuzzat?”
	“Do you have a place you stay overnight?”
	“Hm?” The man’s brow was furrowing in genuine confusion, the words contorting around his head but not penetrating. Vincent sighed, nodding to Sally as he peeled away.
	“Hey Mitch,” she started. Her light voice made him perk up a bit, finding purchase somewhere. Nandroids and their variants were meant to deal with less-than- or nonverbal children, with one such six-foot child slumped in the back. “You somewhere sleep?” She mimed sleeping with her hands, a half-lidded stare widening just a bit. A connection was made somewhere, transmission scrambled as he tried to connect her words.
	“Yyyyes… yes! Bed here,” he grumbled, trying to contort himself and put his head down. He twisted in the seat, a giggle turning to a cackle at some unknown joke.
	“You have a *home*-bed?” Another verbal poke at the man made him fling up from the seat.
	“Yeah! Yeah, yeah,” he started, something clicking in his head, finally. “It’s, uhm, shit… Damn that’d be nice right now.” Neon lights strobed past his eyes as Vincent drove, some amalgam of restaurants and cafes pulling away the man’s attention. Sally glanced at her partner, smirking slightly.
	“Would coffee be wise,” she whispered.
	“I’ve no idea,” he admitted. “But it would wake him up some at least.” Slipping along the cement curb Vincent parked, tossing his wallet to Sally.
	“Vince?”
	“I gotta stay here and watch him, can you get the coffee?”
	“Y-Yeah…”
	“Great, and uh nab me one too.” Nodding, she popped out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Bleary eyed pedestrians stumbled about, the allure of what lay blocks away in the discos and alleys enough to keep them upright. Some had taken shelter inside the little brick building, silk-shirted men courting a new partner in leather booths with coffee and more between them. A few eyes darted up at the robot, hands stuffed in corduroy pockets as she sidled up to the counter.
	“Hey darling, what can I get yo-oop!” The waitress’ eyes popped a bit at seeing a robot, evidently a rare sight. “Miss, er, are you allowed to be out?”
	“Ma’am?”
	“We run an honest establishment here miss, just trying to keep my nose clean, yes.” Her eyes were narrowing uncomfortably, face flushing as she eyed the robot. Sally fished in the wallet and slapped a handful of bills on the counter.
	“My partner’s outside, I’m just grabbing coffee. Two, please, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
	“Partner,” she snorted, not buying it for a second. “Fine, just be quick about it.” Nails clattering on the countertop she snatched the money and slipped into the kitchen behind her, huffing, as Sally lingered around. An older model jukebot sat, murmuring, in the wall. A drunken parishioner of the establishment sat by it, the two crooning together quietly as he rested his head on the cold glass.
	“Here,” a gruff voice returned. Someone new from the kitchen placed the two cups down in front of Sally. The robot turned to a gentle, older face, smiling warmly as he dropped a slew of coins in her hand. “Have a nice day!”
	“Y-You too,” she squeaked as she slipped away with her coffee. He waved, smiling, little creases working their way up his face. The woman stood, staring, in the kitchen, only relaxing once the robot was out the door.
	“Weird,” Sally thought. The two cups steamed in her hands, puffs of vapor trailing behind her as she slid back in the car, yoinking the odd cup off the car roof and into Vince’s waiting hand.
	“Thanks Sal.”
	“No trouble, sir. Oh- here,” she said, coins jingling in her jacket pocket.
	“Keep it, it’s no biggie.” Sally peeped a bit, refocusing to hand Mitchell his own cup. He grasped it in his hands, vision focusing on the fuming liquid inside.
	“Mmmmmmm,” he groaned. Squeezing it he raised it to his mouth, sniffing and toying with the lid. “Hot, too hot,” he yelped, sipping. He sipped again, repeating the line, and then a second time.
	“Let it cool, Mitch,” Vincent chided. Sitting on the curb, car filling with the pungent aroma of black coffee, they waited on their subject to finish his cup, the foam stressing in his hand as a drop here dripped down his chin. Downing it in an enthusiastic gulp, panting to cool his scorched tongue, he sighed, content. The caffeinated kick-in-the-pants had him shaking his head, awake again, and then some. Taking deep breaths he tried to steady himself, heart thumping in his chest. He unbuttoned his shirt to cool himself off as he stared into the rearview mirror. The pair watched him slow and steady his breathing, the gentle rush of in-out timing out. Vincent cracked a window, a shiver of air slinking inside and around.
	“Okay,” he slurred. “I’m… phew… I’m awake, I’m awake.”
	“Alright Mitch,” Vincent started. “Can you tell us if you’ve got a place to go, to, uh, cool off?”
	“I should, I think. I’m foggy still- wait! I have a number.”
	“Yes?”
	“Yeah , yeah- it’s a number uh,” he paused, thoughts skipping along to recount the number out loud. “That should help. I don’t have the address down.”
	“I assume you haven’t stayed there in a while?”
	“Yes,” he murmured, coy again.
	“Who’s gonna be picking up the phone?”
	“Uhhhh… I don’t know!” Mitchell was picking through the conscious list of numbers he had locked away. He knew that one would be the most help, but couldn’t pick out its owner in the fog still circling his head. All he had was the number, shining clear through the mist. Vincent sighed.
	“Can you watch him, Sal?” The robot nodded. Inside Vince zipped for the payphone, slipping a bill to the waitress, nervous again, for some quarters. The line buzzed, ringing. On the other end a voice picked up.
	“Hello? That you Mitch?” The names lined up at least.
	“No, this is a… friend of Mitch’s.”
	“Shit,” the voice mumbled, anxiety creeping in. “What’s wrong?”
	“Nothing, nothing. He’s in a bad way, and said you had a place to stay for him?”
	“I mean, yeah but- who is this?”
	“We’re not causing any trouble. Mitch is, uh, unable to come here but he tossed out your number. If you could help us out we can get him back to you, okay?”
	“O-Okay…” The man shuffled on the other end, apprehension flooding his voice. Reading out an address he sighed, Vincent already committing it to memory. “Get him here safe, okay?”
	“Of course, sir.” With a click the line disconnected, Vincent rushing back to the car and swinging into the driver’s seat. Cruising away he nodded enthusiastically to Sally, smiling beside him, their passenger jittering in the back.