Chrome Hearts

The cowboy hat draped over one eye was black leather, scuffed and worn, like it’d seen some things, but the leg peeking through the lace slit of her skirt was brand new, chrome plated titanium, fastened together with countersunk bolts. Whoever she was, she was special. Or used to be.

“Detective Panther,” she purred, tipping up her hat with one manicured finger. “They told me you’d be the one to talk to.”

She must have seen my eyes drift to her leg, because she shifted, covering the slit with her hands. “The casing’s in the shop.”

I knew enough about her kind not to comment further. “What can I do for you, Miss…?”

“Carmen,” she said. “Carmen Electric.”

Of course. The embarrassment over her leg, the elaborate cowboy getup; she was a Silica Siren. I took a good look at her as I slid around the cluttered desk. Flounces of azure and turquoise draped around the tawny skin of her shoulders. A gold star glittered over her left breast. Without the leg, you’d never know.

While I studied her, she assessed the office with golden amber eyes, flipping her blonde curls over her shoulders and offering only a delicate sniff of disappointment at what she found.

My chair emitted a soft puff of dust from the crack in the seat as I sunk into it. The boys down the hall must have pissed themselves laughing, sending her in here: Ol’ Panther will take the case, Lady. Nothing better to do.

“Someone’s trying to kill me, Detective,” Carmen said, her voice smoky as she slid a piece of paper across the desk.

“Didn’t know cyborgs could be killed,” I said, picking it up. Don’t perform tonight… or ELSE! was written in purple glitter ink. A letterhead read The MoonDown Theatre, Route 18, Vilis Village, Colony 718-B. I raised the paper to my nose and sniffed. Sweet and oily.

“Snake oil,” I said, almost to myself.

Carmen narrowed her eyes. “I never touch the stuff,” she said, offended. “And of course cyborgs can be killed. It’s just harder than with…” She waved a hand at me, and her pink lips turned down slightly as if embarrassed at the ease with which my mortal body could be destroyed.

I put down the page. “I guess that’s true. Lady Chromeheart had her head cut off and she’s doing just fine. Couple weeks in the hospital sounds like.” I bit off any more details. Partly because I was ashamed to admit I was one of the million or so subscribers to Lady Chromeheart’s Legion page, but also at the dark look Carmen threw me.

The glare sparked a memory. A woman in black lace and violet silk shooting lasers from her fingertips, blowing away smoke from the end of the barrel. “I know you,” I said, and her lips turned up as if to say, of course you do. “You headlined the Marquee before Lady Chromeheart.” The dark look returned, and I tapped the letter. “Is this where you are now, The MoonDown?”

“For now,” she sniffed. “So can you help me or not?”

I escorted her to the door, holding it open for her. As Carmen flounced out to her waiting hovercab, ignoring the snickers from the better and bigger offices lining the hallway, I caught the look of sympathy from my secretary. “So you'll take it?” Leah said, her voice full of hope and something softer I couldn’t quite place.

_________________________________

Carmen said she found the letter in her dressing room, so while she warmed up for the evening - refusing to let another Siren take HER stage - I looked around.

The room was enormous. By any standard, but especially by the MoonDown’s. Hell, it was half the size of the stage. Fresh flowers sat in a vase on her dressing table, and thick drapes framed a window out to the launch bay. The table was strewn with makeup and hair products, earrings scattered like diamonds across the chrome surface. I flipped open a leather folio and eased out an envelope, the edge torn open, as if in a hurry.

I’m sorry, Carmen, it read in block letters. A man’s hand, nothing like the floaty script of our death threat. But with Lady C out, I need butts in seats. Your Legion count isn’t high enough. Your fans love you, but you don’t pull in numbers like you used to. Stick with Marty, he’ll take care of you. Vito.

The door opened and the MoonDown’s owner, Marty, poked his head in. “Find anything?”

I slid the envelope into my pocket. “Not yet. How’s she doing?”

Marty scratched his balding head and threw a glance over his shoulder. “Carmen’s been through it, but she’s a professional.”

“What do you mean, through it?”

“Losing the Marquee was hard on her,” Marty sighed. “When I offered her this gig, I hoped she’d be happy. I know these days it’s all about Legion numbers, right? But in my book, it’s the juice in the squeeze, ya know? Not the number of oranges.” He patted his thinning hair. “We love her here.”

“She came here after Lady Chromeheart replaced her?”

“Yep. Took Doll-E’s spot.”

“Doll-E?” My ears perked up, at the first whisper of motive.

Marty shifted his weight. “Doll-E Parton. She had a little problem with…” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Snake oil. Some of them start taking it when they think they’re heading towards sunset, ya know? Gives ‘em a little extra pep. Mostly she tends bar now. Some day shifts now and then, but… ” He trailed off.

I thanked Marty for his time and shut the door behind him. Taped to the back of the door was a smiling picture of Lady Chromeheart.

I stepped in for a closer look. Other than the translucent chest piece that showed all the cyborg’s inner workings, including a glowing red fusion core, her wide bluebell eyes and dark waves were all woman.

With one finger, I traced the laser blasted holes in Lady Chromeheart’s cheeks.

_________________________________

I was approaching the spare dressing room, the one Doll-E Parton used, when I heard the scream. Doll-E flung the door open, and burst into the dark hallway, her scarlet wig askew. Only one eye had been made up, and I looked away, trying to save her dignity.

She rushed past me to the bar, any thought of fixing herself up - the early patrons had already begun to trickle in - abandoned as she hurried to the source of the scream.

“I’ve been poisoned!” Carmen screamed from the floor, writhing, kicking her legs. She’d changed into a pair of fringed leather pants and a silky crimson shirt with embroidered white roses. “Call the police!” When no one moved, she sat up, and pointed a manicured finger at a stooped, skeleton of a man grasping a glass of something green and foamy to his narrow chest. “You! Go get the police!”

The man jerked and ran out the front door still clutching his drink.

“God, please don’t let me die! I’m so young! I have so much to live for!” She flopped back onto the floor, one hand splayed above her head, the other hovering over her eyes, knuckles pressed to the bridge of her nose as if not to smudge her makeup.

Marty sniffed the glass where Carmen had been sitting as Doll-E knelt beside her, holding her hand. “My God!” Marty exclaimed. “It’s salt water! How much did you drink, Carmen?”

Carmen let out another shrill cry. “Just a drop! I could tell right away it wasn’t right!”

“If you had drunk the whole glass…” Marty didn’t elaborate; we’d all seen the effect of salt water on cyborgs. He whirled to face the bartender, a tall monocyclid with four arms. Standard food service model. “Reggie, did you do this!?”

All four arms rose as his shiny round head went back and forth. “Nossir,” he said. His speaker was cracked and tinny, like it hadn’t been serviced in a long time. “I just came on shift. Carmen made her own --"

“It could be in the bottle!” Carmen wailed, sitting up. “Everyone knows I only drink Flirty Shirleys. Three parts coolant…” She sniffed, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. “Two parts cherry flavored full synthetic… Ultra Premium!!!” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing.

Marty tore the top off a bottle of viscous crimson liquid and sniffed. “It reeks of salt water! Who was on shift before you, Reggie?” Marty roared. “Who would have done this to our Carmen?!”

Reggie said nothing, but when Carmen lifted her head and looked behind her, Doll-E slowly got to her feet.

“I was. But I didn’t… I would never… “ She glanced at me as if seeing me for the first time, her yellow eyes wide. She licked her lips, light from the bar catching on the silver teeth that had lost their white caps.

_________________________________

Doll-E’s dressing room had no window and only a cheap plastic folding table. But the mirror was stuffed with photos of Doll-E and her fans. She gazed at them lovingly as she started work on the other eye.

“Yeah, I used to be pretty bad on that stuff,” she said, in response to my question. “Snake oil is terribly addictive, you know.”

I didn’t, not from personal experience, being human and all, but I’d heard stories of cyborgs freezing in place, too gummed up with the stuff to move an inch even as they screamed for someone to do something. Nothing to do at that point but pull out their cores, put them out of their misery.

I pawed through the small locker where Doll-E Parton kept her belongings. I flipped open the lid of a battered wooden box to reveal a meager selection of jewelry. A tiny dancer slowly revolved twice before stopping.

“I don’t do it any more though,” Doll-E said, lifting one eyelid to hook on a pair of thick lashes. “I went to rehab twice - Marty paid, the doll - and finally it stuck.” She dropped the eyelid and blinked twice. “Been sober now for eight months.”

“Congratulations,” I said, peering into a small silver purse. I pinched an item out with two fingers. “Anyone else around here use it?”

Doll-E’s reflection opened her mouth, then closed it again. She dropped her eyes to the tabletop. “I don’t like to speak ill.”

I flipped to a blank page in my notebook. “It’s not looking great for you right now,” I said. “You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“Why are you still getting ready then? What could it matter?”

She turned to me, blinking her long lashes like I was missing the point. “These people came to see a show. They’re counting on me.”

I handed Doll-E my notebook and the purple glitter pen I’d found in her purse. “I need a writing sample.”

“Ok.” She took the pen and leaned over the paper. Her tongue flicked out between silver teeth as she concentrated. “What do you want me to write?”

I dictated the contents of the death threat, watched her carefully print out each word.

“I just want you to know…” she said, handing me the sample. “I would never hurt Carmen. I know she took my spot, but… I just want her to be happy.”

“Give me a name then,” I said. I didn’t need it though. The minute Doll-E handed me her writing sample, I had all the proof I needed.

“I can’t,” she said. “The only person who does snake oil around here is… Carmen.”

_________________________________

The police and the media had arrived by the time I got to the stage. Carmen was in her element, lit up in the glare of cameras, while Marty stood off to the side, arms crossed as he spoke to a blue skinned officer. The officer’s tentacles probed through the bar, checking bottles while they spoke.

Carmen held up a holopad to show her Legion count. The live camera shifted to take in the rising numbers - 3406, 3582, 4035. The holopad couldn’t keep up with the anonymous Legioneers wishing Carmen safety, asking if she was coming back to the Marquee.

A a white flash emitted from Carmen’s right ear. “Hold on,” she said to the reporter. She pressed her right earlobe. “Hello, Vito! I’m fine. Of course, I’m going on! What… Oh no, really? I — wait, I’ll put you on speaker.” She clicked the holopad and the manager of the Marquee’s face floated up.

“Great news!” His pink cheeks were flushed. “Lady Chromeheart’s ATX Connector was severed in the accident so it’ll be at least three months of recovery. If you’re available, I'd love you to come back to -- “

“Yes!” Carmen shrieked. “Of course, if you need me, I’ll be there! I assume you’ve seen my Legion page?” She winked at the camera.

“Of course I’ve seen it,” Vito said. “Congratulations!”

With promises to send over a hoverlimo by the end of the week, Vito hung up.

Carmen clipped the holopad back in place and shrugged to the camera. “That’s showbiz, I guess. One minute you’re playing to drunks at a B Colony rat trap, and the next you’re back headlining at the Marquee!” She squealed and did a little run in place, blonde curls bouncing under her cowboy hat.

I cleared my throat, and Carmen turned to me. “Oh! I forgot about you.”

“I’m ready to share my findings,” I said. I felt the glare of lights as the camera turned to me, and Carmen frowned as her face fell into shadow.

“I think we can forget about that,” Carmen said. “I don’t even care about going on tonight. Let poor Doll-E have one last hurrah.”

“I —“

But already the camera was turning away again, back to the real star.

Pull yourself together, Panther, I said to myself.

“I’m ready to make an arrest,” I said in a loud, clear voice. “Officer, will you please escort Miss Doll-E Parton out here? I think you’ll find her in her dressing room.”

Carmen’s hands flew to her mouth, as Marty began to protest.

I climbed onto the stage to address the crowd which had grown sizable, and raised a hand for silence as Doll-E was marched into the room, her yellow eyes wide with fear. I cleared my throat and held up the death threat.

“I knew the letter’s author had to be someone from this theatre, as it was written on MoonDown letterhead. Then, I found residue of snake oil on the letter, which means the writer was also a user. And finally, it was written in purple glitter ink.” I held up the pen. “Not unlike this pen I found in Miss Parton’s dressing room.”

All eyes swiveled to Doll-E, who hung her head.

“Therefore,” I said. “The writer of the letter could only be one person. Miss Carmen Electric.”

The silence was deafening in the few seconds before everyone began to talk at once, and I had to shout for silence several times.

“I first suspected Miss Electric when I saw the letter from Vito in her dressing room. She was jealous Lady Chromeheart had taken her spot at the Marquee, and blamed it on Lady Chromeheart’s high Legion count. A death threat would be an irresistible bit of click-bait, wouldn't you say?” Carmen didn’t respond, but glowered at me. “Then the poisoning, and the suspiciously easily uncovered smoking gun held by Miss Parton. But ultimately,” I held the death threat higher, so everyone could see it, “it all came back to the letter.”

I unfolded the writing sample I’d gotten from Doll-E. Gasps filled the room as I held it side by side with the original.

“As you can see,” I said. “The writer could only be Carmen, because Miss Parton,” I glanced at Doll-E who wore a tiny smile below grateful yellow eyes, “is illiterate.”

“I didn’t know that!” Carmen screamed.

I looked at Doll-E’s writing sample. It was nothing but squiggles and circles, a cyborg trying her best.

“Arrest her, Officer,” I said, handing over both papers.

Carmen fought the handcuffs only a moment, before surrendering. Then she laughed. “I committed no crime,” she said, batting her amber eyes. “I’ll be at the Marquee by week's end.”

I didn’t doubt it. Whether she would see prison time or a slap on the wrist, wasn’t up to me. But as they dragged her away, I knew this would only increase her Legion count. I wondered if there’d be a spot for Lady Chromeheart when she did come back.

My holopad beeped with a message: Nice work, Panther, the chief said when I answered. The boys want to take you out for a couple of hot ones when you’re clear.

I thanked him, and hung up, and it was hard to keep the smile off my face.

Another beep, from Leah this time: Saw you on tv! You deserve it, Cam. If you’re hungry when you get back, I ordered too much dinner XX

I felt a hand on my arm, and when I turned, it was Doll-E. “Thank you,” she said.

“You know Carmen will just get more famous from this, right?” I said. “Her plan worked anyway.”

Doll-E threw a glance over her shoulder at Marty and the dazed, loyal regulars filling the seats vacated by the fans who’d come for the drama of an impending murder, not the show.

“No,” she said, reaching up to straighten her wig. “The way I see it, I won. Now if you’ll excuse me…” A bright smile crossed her face, her silver teeth glowing under the stage lights. “I have a show to do.”

As I watched her walk away, basking in the glow of her fans, I pulled on my coat, and tucked away the holopad, hoping Leah wouldn’t mind a bottle of something hot with our dinner.