Back at home that evening, I calmed myself with packing and staring longingly at my homework, no easy feat with robots running through my head. But Mom was still out somewhere, texting that the dude she planned to meet was running way late. We’d have to catch up later, because I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for trouble to come to me.

By the time I got to the darkened alley where Matt and Garrett had agreed to meet, homework seemed like a distant memory. Cool light bled in from the street, pooling against the brick walls, the familiar scent of ash in the air. California was on fire again.

Matt leaned on a fence under the hazy evening sky. “Where the hell is Garrett?”

My pulse was elevated just being back here, and the barking dog in the adjacent yard wasn’t helping. “He just texted. Said he’s being tailed.” I was crouched beside the very dumpster where I’d found Ko Prime’s body, not far from the alley’s entrance where the hum of traffic drifted in. Dad’s watch was nowhere to be seen though, and one of the dumpsters was missing. If the cops had been here at all, they’d already packed up and left.

Matt pushed off the fence, his shoulders tight. “Tailed?”

“He didn’t go into detail.”

“Should we … leave?”

My phone flashed. A text, but not from Garrett. From the mysterious 395 number that had messaged me at the park. This guy again?

395: stuck! I can’t get out

me: what do you want?

395: if he find you it means you get dead

My mouth went dry. There weren’t any security cameras we’d missed above the coiling graffiti on the backside of the pizza place. This guy couldn’t be watching us. Still, pretty fricking suspicious.

me: seriously who are you??

No response.

me: look asshole I’m tired of your nonsense

me: tell me what you want

Nothing. I shrugged at Matt’s questioning eyebrows. “Just some prick that keeps texting me gibberish. Says if someone finds me I’ll get dead.”

“And you don’t think maybe that’s something we should be concerned about given everything else going on?”

“The only thing this guy’s harming is the English language. It’s probably a bored junior high schooler who got his Xbox taken away.” I wasn’t sure if I believed me, but what was I supposed to do? Call off this search on account of a text? “Look, I’m gonna get started in the dumpster. But if you wanna go home …”

Matt’s eyes flashed. “I can help if you let me. I’m not here just to stand around and look pretty.”

If only he’d pitch in where it made sense, instead of making it this big thing. I closed the distance between us, reaching up to grasp his shoulders and fix him with a solemn stare. “You’re right.”

He gave me a cautious side-eye. “About what?”

“That you’re not here to stand around and look pretty.” I broke into a wide grin. “I mean, have you looked in a mirror?”

He barked out a laugh, batting me away. “You’re a terrible friend. You know that, right?”

“Like you’d have it any other way.”

The dog whined, and something rustled at the far end of the alley.

I spun, my bad tooth pulsing as a tall figure strode toward us through the shadows.

“Garrett?” I shouted, my chest tightening.

His bot strolled into the light filtering from the street, its tall frame draped with a new suit two sizes too big. “I apologize for my tardiness.”

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Oh, thank God. Mental note to work out a bot time-share later. “You lose your tail, I take it?”

He drew to a stop with his goofy smile. “Do I look like an amateur?”

Matt scratched around his cast. “You did get tailed to begin with.”

“On that topic,” Garrett said, motioning at his legs, “there’s something down here I need to show you.”

“Not a sentence I ever wanna hear in a dark alley.” I let out a tight laugh. “What is it?”

“This,” he said, dropping his trousers.

“Oh my God!” I yelled, shielding my eyes. “Eww!”

“What the hell, man?” Matt shouted.

“Guys,” Garrett said breathily, “I located the tracking device!”

I peered through parted fingers, reluctantly swinging up my flashlight.

In the halo of light, Garrett had his boxer briefs hiked up, a tangle of frayed wires spilling from one hip. “It gave off all variety of spread-spectrum signals, so I dug it out!”

“Jesus H,” I said. “Give a girl some warning.” I wanted to trust Garrett here. He’d saved our lives, and frankly he knew more about these bots than we did. But I gave it fifty-fifty odds he’d found an actual tracking device.

He tugged up his pants, panning between us. “There’s no need to be grossed out—it’s like a Ken doll down there. I just thought you should be aware of the tracker. The manual is quite clear. It must be how Beard Guy has been following me. We can take our time now.”

I exchanged a wide-eyed look with Matt before turning back to Garrett. “Since when have you had the manual?”

“How did you imagine I knew to replace the eyes? I snuck into Father’s study and found the old Otokotronics manuals from when he worked there, back before he started his foundation. They don’t cover the more recent bots but are still relevant. The machine translation from Japanese is even mostly readable.”

Old? These bots seemed well beyond any known tech. How were they kept secret so long? And how did bogus cops get them? But this explained how Garrett knew so much—even if it wasn’t improving my confidence in his conclusions. “You still have the tracker?”

Garrett produced a grin and a squashed water bottle, something tiny rattling inside.

I raised my flashlight to illuminate a microchip with two wires connected. That’d be power, if Mom’s electronics lessons were any guide. At minimum, it was more evidence to show her. The girls from robotics club would totally flip if they saw this—not that I could say anything. “Mind if I keep it?”

Garrett waggled the bottle. “Just perhaps don’t plug it in.”

Or carry it around, battery or not. Matt apparently had the same idea, as he offered me his steel Zippo shell, its stash of joints evicted. I sealed the chip inside and pocketed the lighter to keep my lint and gum wrappers company.

“Okay,” Matt said, his hands in his pockets, “now can we get this over with?”

Shadows clung to the houses behind the alley, standing watch against the encroaching business district. Everything was still as a held breath.

We scoured the garbage for any sign of my watch, finally coming up empty handed. It must have fallen somewhere in the dead-end alley behind the ramen place instead. I sat back on my haunches in the trash, tossing aside a questionable bag of shredded cheese. What was I even doing here? Digging through spoiled food in the hopes I’d—what?—find the magical clue to spur Mom to action?

“What kind of name is Ko, anyway?” Garrett asked from across the dumpster, his new suit well on its way to ruined. “Japanese?”

I lifted my shoulders. “It’s a family name. My dad’s from Budapest.” At least, that’s what Mom told me.

“Oh, cool. My father grew up in a little city outside Hiroshima. He said he left to make something of himself, to get out from under his family’s shadow.”

“Sounds like it worked.”

Garrett cocked his head. “Sometimes it’s difficult for me to remember that not everyone has the same means.”

Not worrying about money seemed so foreign. So … out of reach.

“Hey!” Matt called from outside the dumpster, where he’d been sulking and digging in the dirt with a stick. “I found something.”

Gut clenched, I vaulted out to find him crouched by the fence between the dumpster and the alley’s entrance. In the glow of his flashlight, a strip of happy little flowers grew from a crack in the concrete. “Flowers?”

Matt pointed the flashlight at me and I recoiled with a yelp. “Sorry.” His light found the flowers again. “They’re the same kind Ko Prime gave Garrett in that other alley. Yellow star creeper.”

Garrett lumbered out of the dumpster, still strangely kid-like in his grown-up body. “I would get out my flowers to compare, but they’re in my other pants.”

“Please don’t pull anything else outta your pants tonight.” I rubbed at the spots dancing in my eyes. “Aren’t these star flowers all over Las Yerbas?”

“The white ones.” Matt scratched his head. “My sister grew ‘em in the garden before Dad kicked her out. But these yellow ones are pretty rare.”

“Really? They’re all over my—” Garrett straightened. “I see them sometimes.”

That didn’t sound suspicious at all. “So … what?” I crouched beside Matt. “Ko Prime was here at some point, alive and picking posies before meeting Garrett?”

“That tracks.” Matt rose to dust his hands on his jeans. “Only I don’t get what she—”

He never finished his sentence, because the dog growled at a vehicle drifting into the street at the alley’s entrance, the telltale flicker of red and blue lights playing off every surface. The police cruiser eased to a stop, its profile in shadow, the driver’s door just a few brisk strides from us.