Men Are Trouble

Men Are Trouble
James Patrick Kelly
2004 by James Patrick Kelly, Inc.
First Published in Asimov's Science Fiction, June, 2004.
I stared at my sidekick, willing it to chirp. I'd already tried watching the door, but no one
had even breathed on it. I could've been writing up the Rashmi Jones case, but then I
could've been dusting the office. It needed dusting. Or having a consult with Johnnie
Walker, who had just that morning opened an office in the bottom drawer of my desk.
Instead, I decided to open the window. Maybe a new case would arrive by carrier pigeon.
Or wrapped around a brick.
Three stories below me, Market Street was as empty as the rest of the city. Just a couple
of plain janes in walking shoes and a granny in a blanket and sandals. She was sitting on
the curb in front of a dead Starbucks, strumming street guitar for pocket change, hoping
to find a philanthropist in hell. Her singing was faint but sweet as peach ice cream. My
guy, talking 'bout my guy. Poor old bitch, I thought. There are no guys -- not yours, not
anyone's. She stopped singing as a devil flapped over us, swooping for a landing on the
next block. It had been a beautiful June morning until then, the moist promise of spring
not yet broken by summer in our withered city. The granny struggled up, leaning on her
guitar. She wrapped the blanket tight around her and trudged downtown.
My sidekick did chirp then, but it was Sharifa, my about-to-be ex-lover. She must have
been calling from the hospital; she was wearing her light blue scrubs. Even on the little
screen, I could see that she had been crying. "Hi Fay."
I bit my lip.
"Come home tonight," she said. "Please."
"I don't know where home is."
"I'm sorry about what I said." She folded her arms tight across her chest. "It's your body.
Your life."
I loved her. I was sick about being seeded, the abortion, everything that had happened
between us in the last week. I said nothing.
Her voice was sandpaper on glass. "Have you had it done yet?" That made me angry all
over again. She was wound so tight she couldn't even say the word.
"Let me guess, Doctor," I said, '"Are we talking about me getting scrubbed?"

Her face twisted. "Don't."
"If you want the dirt," I said, "you could always hire me to shadow myself. I need the
work."
"Make it a joke, why don't you?"
"Okey-doke, Doc," I said and clicked off.
So my life was cocked -- not exactly main menu news. Still, even with the window open,
Sharifa's call had sucked all the air out of my office. I told myself that all I needed was
coffee, although what I really wanted was a rich aunt, a vacation in Fiji and a new
girlfriend. I locked the door behind me, slogged down the hall and was about to press the
down button when the elevator chimed. The doors slid open to reveal George, the bot in
charge of our building, and a devil -- no doubt the same one that had just flown by. I told
myself this had nothing to do with me. The devil was probably seeing crazy Martha down
the hall about a tax rebate or taking piano lessons from Abby upstairs. Sure, and drunks
go to bars for the peanuts.
"Hello, Fay," said George. "This one had true hopes of finding you in your office."
I goggled, slack-jawed and stupefied, at the devil. Of course, I'd seen them on vids and in
the sky and once I watched one waddle into City Hall but I'd never been close enough to
slap one before. I hated the devils. The elevator doors shivered and began to close.
George stuck an arm out to stop them.
"May this one borrow some of your time?" George said.
The devil was just over a meter tall. Its face was the color of an old bloodstain and its
maw seemed to kiss the air as it breathed with a wet, sucking sound. The wings were
wrapped tight around it; the membranes had a rusty translucence that only hinted at the
sleek bullet of a body beneath. I could see my reflection in its flat compound eyes. I
looked like I had just been hit in the head with a lighthouse.
"Something is regrettable, Fay?" said George.
That was my cue for a wisecrack to show them that no invincible mass-murdering alien
was going to intimidate Fay Hardaway.
"No," I said. "This way."
If they could've sat in chairs, there would've been plenty of room for us in my office. But
George announced that the devil needed to make itself comfortable before