Smartystan

An incessant clicking of Dr. Frampton’s teeth unnerved her husband. They lay in bed and basked in the darkness.

“What’s wrong? They got the guy. Why are you still up?”

“I just hope that it was the right criminal….”

Now Roger Frampton was awake. He turned on his light. He noticed that Dr. Frampton held a smartpistol in her hand.

“Jesus, Keij’, is that thing loaded?”

“It is.”

He reached over and took it from her with a sense of calmness and directness.

He placed it in a drawer of the nightstand.

“We can talk about this….”

“Talk about what?! My best friend had his house burglarized, they rounded random men and said that it was the guy. I’m not buying it and I don’t have to do so either.”

Roger looked at her with both the moonlight and the lamp shining on her brown skin.

“I know you’re hurt. I know you’re going through something that can potentially upset you for the rest of your life. However, if you take into account the facts….”

“I know the facts, darling. I know that whoever broke into Covey’s home made it personal and that he knew him. None of the suspects that presented themselves knew him. And the guy that Covey picked out, he only did it out of frustration.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Don’t ‘okay, okay’ me, dear. I know what I’m saying. I know for a fact that whoever did this crime is probably sitting at home eating cheese pops with Covey’s belongings. I want justice and I’m going to make sure my friend is avenged.”

“What are you going to do? Go vigilante?”

“I may, and I may not…of course I’m not going to do that. But I will see if some PIs can’t do some work to find the guy who actually did this.”

Roger lay back, dazed. He then shot right back up again.

“Whatever you plan to do, I will stand by you. I know you're shaken. I know you have misgivings about this whole affair. I realize that. For you to get an investigator on the case might bring a mark against this household. We have to go about this with clarity.”

“You don’t think I’m clear?”

“I didn’t say that. I mean…babe…there’s a multitude of avenues we can pursue. One is to go back to the cops and tell them all that you know. Another is going vigilante and possibly risking getting our heads blown off our necks or arrested ourselves. Or we can get a PI and have him or her find the culprit. I’m for two of these options. I think you know which ones.”

Dr. Frampton laughed. It was hearty and deep and resonant. It was the first time she laughed in the weeks since the Dr. Strong's home invasion.

“You’re right. I get carried away sometimes as you know. So the vigilante part is out of the picture. We can, though, pursue the other two routes at the same time, no?”

“No, either or.”

“I understand that. I just get so worked up after a while of just sitting on my hands and not being able to do anything. Our justice system is the most robust in the entire world. These crimes are extremely rare. That’s why I think of the whole thing as personal.”

Roger put his hand on her arm. “Get some sleep. We can do all of this planning over grapefruit and toast.”

She smiled and lay back down and kissed his mouth.

Once the morning sun shone across their bedroom that Saturday morning, Dr. Frampton stretched and felt ready to pounce on her ideas and make them real. Roger Frampton had already commanded a synth to start a pot of coffee and sliced the grapefruit. The toast popped up from the toaster. Dr. Frampton came down the stairs, yawning. On the kitchen island, there existed a digital tablet with all sorts of investigators who could help solve the case.

“Good morning dear,” Roger intoned.

“Good morning, Dr. Frampton,” a synth called out with enthusiasm.

“Good morning everybody,” Dr. Frampton said with a smirk.

The synth took the coffee off of the burner and poured cups for its owners.

The black liquid remained that way as the Framptons drank their java black. No cream, no sugar. And the acidity of the coffee enhanced that of the genetically modified grapefruit. They spread genetically modified butter on their genetically modified bread that became toast and looked each other in the eye.

“So?” Roger asked, eyebrows raised.

“I am just going on my background. What if we summoned one of Belinda’s learned machines and my synths to fight against this horrible human being.”

“We can certainly fight,” Roger said, “but there’s no guarantee that a machine or synth can do the job. I mean look here: ‘Human asks four hundred dollars an hour for work done to catch criminals.”

“And just below that, it says there’s a synth or learned machine that can do the job at a fraction of that price,” Dr. Frampton explained.

“It’s not like we’re hurting for cash, darling,” Roger reminded her.

“I know. I just wanted to point out the fact that there exist alternatives.”

“Nobody got hurt in all of this.”

“Physically. I think that Covey doesn’t show it, but he’s emotionally and psychologically scarred.”

“I see. And you’re not? Up at all hours of the night, teeth chattering in the dark…gripping a pistol….You may want to see a PsychSynth that you designed yourself.”

“I could do that, or I could find satisfaction in the reality of actually nabbing this bastard and continuing on with my life. I selfishly want to get this guy. Of course it’s for Covey, but I have rational self-interest in getting him because he hurt my friend.”

Roger spooned some grapefruit into his mouth. He did it almost theatrically and then bit into it. “You know we both need some vacation time?”

“Time off? Is that what we really need, sir? I’m totally against it. Now, we go to work.” Dr. Frampton sipped coffee.