By E.J. LeRoy
To own a business was to have an endless supply of headaches. Anna Jessop’s newest headache was the lease on that 5,000 ft2 warehouse she inherited that nobody wanted to buy in this weak economy. That was on top of the perpetual headache of running Anna-log Technologies, her retro tech repair shop. Antenna TVs, landline phones, DVD players, film cameras, shortwave radios, and other analog equipment lined the walls of her store, fixed up and ready to be sold. Customers also brought in their own devices, hoping Anna could squeeze another few years of life out of them.
Even though more people switched to old-fashioned devices to save money—no monthly or yearly licensing fees, after all—Anna’s repairs lasted a long time, leading to a drop in sales. Fewer customers bought the items on her shelves, opting instead to keep their own tech running as long as possible. In this latest economic downturn, old wisdom prevailed: “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.”
Then there were those customers who wanted free antenna TV installation and set-up, not realizing retro tech support was a job, not a charity. So, Anna lost clients who instead made their teenage grandchildren program their televisions or climb on the roof to install an old-fashioned aerial. When nineteen-year-old Johnny or Janey couldn’t figure out vintage technology, those seniors inevitably returned to hire Anna, playing the poor mouth all the while. Many of her customers struggled financially, but there were definitely some who milked the poor old man or poor old lady routine for the thrill of cheating someone.
It didn’t help that Anna refused to repair sex bots out of respect for her faith. Not only did sticking to her principles cause business losses through boycotts, the threat of discrimination lawsuits hung overhead like an invisible sword. She dreaded the inevitable day when someone would ignite a media frenzy and hire a bulldog lawyer to shut her down because she refused to give Porn Star Paula breast implants or tighten her overused hips.
Hazard leapt onto the counter, tail raised high. Anna scratched him behind his orange ear. Yep, since taking in the calico stray almost a year ago, she was now officially a middle-aged childless cat lady on top of everything else. That didn’t win her any clientele from those ultra-conservatives who wanted to support a “family business.” These days, what kept her afloat was her shop’s pinball machine, refurbished pay phone, snack vending machine, photo booth, and wire transfer services. And those things didn’t amount to much.
“What are we going to do about the warehouse, Hazard?” Anna said, petting him. “We can’t keep it, and we can’t sell it.” She looked toward her Sacred Heart of Jesus poster hanging above the antique bubblegum machine. “If You have any ideas,” she said to the poster, “I’m all ears.”
The bell jangled on the front door. Anna’s heart jumped, thinking the sound represented a quick answer to her prayer. She tried not to sigh with exasperation when a limping android entered instead of a customer. Based on his lifelike flesh and supermodel proportions, this was a sex bot.
Hazard jumped down from the counter, knocking over the book Anna had been reading earlier. While Anna picked it up off the floor, Hazard wandered off. The robot followed the cat with his bright green eyes until the animal disappeared in the storeroom. He looked at Anna again, his expression kind. Anna set Saints by the Centuries: Volume IV back on the counter.
“Good afternoon.” The robot limped closer. Anna suspected the underpinnings in his right leg became loose over time, a common problem with classic sex bots. Most likely, some joint needed to be tightened. It would be an easy repair, but Anna had no intention of aiding and abetting adultery.
“My name is Valentino,” the robot continued. “Are you Anna Jessop? I heard that you repair vintage tech.”
Anna inhaled sharply through her nose. She didn’t want to be a jerk to such a polite android, blurting out that she didn’t repair sex bots. At least, she wouldn’t make that her opening statement.
“Yes, I’m Anna Jessop. And what I’m able to repair depends upon the type of tech.” She wondered when Valentino’s owner would show up. Sex bots didn’t wander around on their own.
“Oh, wonderful. I was hoping you could fix my leg. It’s been loose for about three months now and it keeps getting worse.”
“I’m sorry about your leg,” Anna said, trying to be diplomatic, “but I’m afraid I don’t repair sex bots as a matter of principle.”
Valentino blinked. “I am not a sex robot anymore, and I prefer the term ‘companion.’” His stiff posture and tone surprised Anna, as did the fact that no human followed him into the store. She couldn’t see anyone parked in the customer lot either, waiting for Valentino to return.
“I apologize if I offended you,” Anna said, surprising herself. Since when did she treat machines like human beings?
Valentino nodded. “Your confusion is understandable. My owner died last year.”
Anna silently prayed that the deceased sex bot owner managed to find salvation.
“None of his relatives wanted me, so I’ve been alone. I don’t have any money, but maybe I could do some work in your shop in exchange for a tune-up.”
Anna glanced at the Sacred Heart of Jesus poster. I don’t get involved with sex bots, and now You send one to my door asking for repairs in exchange for honest work? Is this Your idea of a joke?
Returning her attention to Valentino, she said, “What kind of work can you do?” Surely, that would end the conversation and the robot would go away. After all, sex bots were designed for only one purpose—whether they called themselves “companions” or not—and she wouldn’t tolerate such sinful behavior in her establishment.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much experience.” Valentino’s lip twitched like he was worried. His Adam’s apple bobbed, simulating a hard swallow. “But I’m eager and willing to learn.”
“I don’t know, Valentino.” Anna wiped the counter with a nearby rag so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “I do rather specialized work here.”
“What you’re doing now seems easy enough.”
Anna froze. Unfortunately, Valentino had a point. There was no moral reason why she couldn’t tighten a robot’s joints in exchange for some cleaning work. Heaven knew her store could use some housekeeping. Still, she didn’t like the idea of a former sex bot prowling about her business, causing a scandal.
“If you fix my leg, I could vacuum your shop or maybe wash your windows. Please, Miss Jessop. I’m getting to the point where I won’t be able to walk at all if I don’t undergo repairs.”
Is this some kind of compassion test? Anna thought, glancing at the poster again. I mean, it’s not like this robot is a human being.
Something clattered in the storeroom. Most likely, Hazard knocked something over. Yep, Anna named the feline well, although that minor distraction failed to make her current robot problem disappear. Valentino stared at her expectantly.
“I can repair your leg after hours,” Anna said in resignation. Figuring Valentino would ask why he couldn’t be repaired immediately, she added, “I have a workbench in the storeroom, but I can’t leave the shop unattended.”
“Thank you, Miss Jessop. May I stay here while waiting?”
“Stay here? You mean in the storeroom?”
“No, I mean here, in your shop.”
Anna looked around in a borderline panic. She wanted to say, Are you crazy? No, you can’t stay here in the shop. Someone will see you! “I’m afraid that’s-”
Too late, the bell jangled. Anna blanched when she saw Mrs. Cabot struggling to carry a thick pink television with a built-in DVD player. Valentino, despite his pronounced limp, rushed over to help her. This situation couldn’t be any worse. The biggest, most self-righteous gossip at St. Clare of Assisi Catholic Church was receiving customer service from a former sex bot in a store that prided itself on its religious values.
“Anna, what is going on here?” Mrs. Cabot said when she plopped the TV on the counter. She scooted away from Valentino like he was diseased. Never mind that he just helped her carry a heavy object. “I thought you didn’t repair sex bots. Don’t tell me you’re caving in to the ways of the world for easy money. You know it’s impossible to serve both God and Mammon.”
Anna’s chest constricted. She inhaled deeply through her nose, willing herself to behave with Christian charity rather than cussing out this presumptuous, cheapskate, old biddy who had been a thorn in her side for the past five years. “Mrs. Cabot, this is Valentino. He’s an employee.”
“An employee? Why on earth would you hire one of those unless it was for an immoral purpose?” Mrs. Cabot narrowed her eyes in accusation.
Great, Anna thought, giving her Jesus poster the side-eye. Now she thinks Valentino’s my lover. Is this because I haven’t been to confession in almost a year?
“Is there something wrong with your television?” Anna figured it was better to change the subject than argue.
“Of course, there’s something wrong with my television. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought it in. It’s not playing DVDs like it’s supposed to.”
“I’ll take a look.” Anna plugged in the TV and popped a DVD into the player. It worked fine.
“Well, it didn’t work when I did it.” Mrs. Cabot’s tone suggested that every DVD player in the world should bow down and pay homage to her.
Anna ejected the DVD. “How about you show me what you did?”
Mrs. Cabot grabbed the DVD and shoved it into the player backwards. The machine spat it out. Anna tried not to lose her patience.
“On this model, you have to make sure the shiny side of the DVD is facing you when you insert it.”
“That is preposterous,” Mrs. Cabot said. “No other DVD player works like that. They are always supposed to play DVDs with the shiny side facing down.”
Pretending to be on Mrs. Cabot’s side would hopefully produce better results than a debate. “You’re right. It is preposterous. I think you should write a letter of complaint to the manufacturer.”
Mrs. Cabot pursed her lips. “That’s not a bad idea. I’m going to do that right now. I’ll see myself out.” She picked up the television and headed out the door, refusing Anna’s help to carry it. When she left, Anna startled at the sight of Valentino sitting calmly on her folding chair, reading Saints by the Centuries: Volume IV. While dealing with Mrs. Cabot’s DVD problem, she had forgotten about him.
“I apologize for reading your book without asking,” Valentino said, setting it back on the counter. “I’m afraid I was too overcome with curiosity, and I figured Mrs. Cabot would refuse further assistance from me.”
“You’ve got that right.” Anna released her breath in a frustrated sigh. She rubbed her forehead with one hand, trying to massage away her tension headache. “Within the next twenty-four hours, your presence in my shop will be the talk of St. Clare of Assisi Catholic Church; the next homily will be about the evils of committing adultery with robots; I’m going to lose more business than ever; and nobody’s going to buy that stinking warehouse I’m trying to sell. On the bright side, my day can’t possibly get any worse.”
“I’m sorry for all your troubles,” Valentino said. “Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”
“I doubt it, but thanks for the offer. Since I’m ruined anyway, how about I close up shop a little early and fix your leg, huh?”
“I’d appreciate that, Miss Jessop. Thank you.”
“Anna’s fine.” She flipped the shop sign to “closed” and then beckoned for Valentino to follow her into the back. Hazard sat on a shelf licking his paw. He had knocked over a tap & die set earlier, which now lay on the floor. Anna reshelved it. Valentino lay on his back on her workbench and stared at the ceiling.
“So, can you tell which of your joints are loose?” Anna said, bringing out her toolbox.
“I’m pretty sure it’s my right hip and knee joints.”
“Okay, so we’re looking at a ball joint and a hinge joint. Are they metal or plastic?”
“Metal—stainless steel.”
“Right, a screwdriver or wrench should do the trick. I won’t know which until I get a look inside. I’ll also need a scalpel, TPE glue, some water, a cloth, and gloves. Sit tight.”
Now that the worst had happened—Mrs. Cabot discovering that she had a former sex bot on the premises—Anna found it surprisingly easy to gather her materials with the professionalism of an experienced surgeon rather than the nervousness of a fretting sinner. She also grabbed a towel from her apartment above the shop to give her “patient” some privacy.
“Are you ready?” Anna asked as she pulled on her gloves.
“Yes.” Valentino lifted the side of the towel to expose his right hip. “Go ahead.”
Anna made the incision without hesitation. Although she never “operated” on a sex bot before, she had experience with TPE when repairing medical devices including prosthetics. It wasn’t difficult to find the loose ball joint and tighten it with a wrench.
“Thank you,” Valentino said. “That feels better already.”
Anna grunted in acknowledgment and then sealed the incision with TPE glue. She moved on to the knee—similar problem, same solution, easy fix.
“Just stay there for an hour while the glue dries,” Anna said. “Then, you’ll need to let it cure for at least twenty-four hours. That means no vacuuming my shop until tomorrow night at least.”
“Thanks, Anna. I promise to work hard as soon as I’m able.” Valentino sat up, still wrapped in the towel. “May I ask what you meant by that stinking warehouse you won’t be able to sell?”
Anna cracked up. Yep, she was losing it. Her reputation was ruined, her business was about to go bust, she just did her first repair on a sex bot, and her robot patient wanted to know about her “stinking warehouse.”
“Have I said something amusing?”
“Oh, it’s not you. It’s just that I’ve been having a rotten time lately. That ‘stinking warehouse’ I referred to is a 5,000 ft2 property down the street that I had the misfortune to inherit. In this economy, nobody wants to buy it, so it’s just bleeding out cash.”
“So, it’s empty?”
“Yeah, it’s empty.”
“Perhaps you could fill it with inventory.”
“The thought crossed my mind, but I’m a one-woman operation. I wouldn’t need all that space for a business that’s just surviving as it is. Besides, more unsold inventory means more taxes on said inventory.”
“In that case, may I live there in exchange for working here as a full-time employee?”
“Live there? Why would you want to live in a warehouse?”
Valentino looked at the floor, like he was ashamed to make eye contact. “Where else could I live? Paul’s family didn’t want me, and most places won’t rent to robots. Of course, I don’t have any money, so it wouldn’t matter if they did.”
“So, where have you been living?”
“Nowhere. Everywhere. I maintain my monthly charging schedule by plugging into the public library’s system.”
“I see.” Anna chewed on her bottom lip. Did the command to “harbor the harborless” apply here? Even if it didn’t, she didn’t like the idea of this unwanted robot wandering around town without a place to stay. “In that case, you’re welcome to live in the warehouse in exchange for work until I sell it. After that, we’ll figure out something else.”
Valentino met her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Anna. That’s more than generous. Once the TPE glue sets, I’ll get to work. I’m very reliable.”
Despite everything else going wrong in her life, Anna smiled. “All right. It’s a deal.”
News of Valentino’s employment at Anna-log Technologies and his new residence at Anna’s warehouse spread throughout town. Mrs. Cabot didn’t waste any time informing her fellow busybodies at St. Clare. Word definitely got back to Fr. Upton because his homily that Sunday emphasized the evils of robot eroticism in all its forms. During social hour in the parish hall after Mass, Anna found flyers for an upcoming Rosary protest at Storm Port, that sex bot brothel downtown. Several of the parishioners whispered among themselves and then went silent when she approached. Any chatter she overheard referenced robots. Yep, she was definitely the subject of this week’s gossip fest. The odds of the parish bulletin renewing her advertisement for Anna-log Technologies was next to nil.
Oh, the heck with them, Anna thought as she walked home. Hazard frequently knocked things off of her shelves, but at least he wasn’t a Pharisee.
As for Valentino, he definitely earned his keep during the work week. Vacuuming, dusting, washing windows, cleaning the bathroom, organizing inventory—the shop never looked better. Even though robots didn’t require lunch, Anna gave him periodic breaks anyway. Valentino used those times to read Saints by the Centuries: Volume IV, which struck his fancy for some reason.
“Do you have the rest of the series?” Valentino asked when he finished the book.
“Yeah. Did you want to read them?”
“Oh, yes, please.” Valentino’s eyes shone even brighter than usual. “They’re such wonderful stories.”
The corners of Anna’s lips twitched into an almost-smile. “I think so too.”
“So far, I think St. Valentine is my favorite, and not just because I share his name.”
“Yeah?”
Valentino nodded. “St. Valentine’s story reminds me of Romeo and Juliet in that he brought so many star-crossed lovers together, only he did so in defiance of the emperor’s edict against marriage instead of a family feud.”
“Huh, I never really thought of it that way. You know, Valentino, I think-”
A man entered the store, followed closely by a top-heavy gynoid. “So, I heard you tune up companion robots now?” the man said, nudging the gynoid toward the counter. The robot blinked, her expression vacant. “Lily’s wrist snapped when it smacked against the nightstand.” Lily raised her arm, proving that her wrist hung limp.
Valentino mouthed the word, please, clearly wanting Anna to help Lily the way she helped him. But that was different; he wasn’t anyone’s erotic companion anymore. If Anna fixed Lily’s wrist, she might as well hang up a sign saying, “Sex bots repaired here.” Then, any semblance of adhering to her faith would become a pathetic joke. Still, the robot’s wrist was in pretty bad shape. Anna’s gaze shifted between Lily and her Sacred Heart poster. What do You want me to do?
“I’d really appreciate your help,” Lily said. “This has been quite uncomfortable for me.”
Something about the robot’s voice invoked pity, weakening Anna’s resolve.
“Yeah, I’ve been worried about my Lily.” The man rubbed Lily’s arm with affection. “The nearest robot surgeon is more than seventy miles from here. I’ll take her, of course, but we were hoping to avoid a long commute. And I’ve heard good things about your technical skills.”
“All right.” Anna quoted a price far higher than her other repair jobs, partly because of the delicate nature of the operation but also hoping to get rid of him and his bot without refusing service outright. The man agreed to pay. Now, Anna had to keep her word, which, remarkably, didn’t seem so terrible.
“Okay, Lily. Let’s get you fixed up. Valentino, mind the store.”
“I’m glad you decided to help Lily,” Valentino said after the robot and her human left. Anna felt dirty as she put the money in the cash register, not just because she repaired a sex bot but because she felt good about it afterward. Lily and the man’s smiles after “surgery” meant almost as much as the cash needed to keep her solvent.
“I guess my days of good, clean Christian living are over.” Anna wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself, Valentino, or both.
“Why do you say that?”
“Come on, Valentino. You’re not that naïve, not after reading that saints book. By repairing a sex bot, I’m causing scandal and facilitating sin.”
“A companion bot. And you did a good thing for Lily and her human partner, even if you don’t agree with their lifestyle.”
“Did I?” Anna tinkered with a vintage tape recorder she acquired the other day from a woman giving away “old junk.” Maybe someone would buy it for the novelty.
“Yes, you did. Think of it this way. If you were a surgeon, would you refuse to treat a prostitute’s broken wrist just because she was a prostitute?”
Anna looked up from her work, startled by her employee’s analogy. “No, of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because she would be a patient. If doctors only treated people considered moral, they wouldn’t be good doctors—certainly not ethical ones. It wouldn’t be Christian either.”
Valentino smiled gently. “Then you have your answer.”
Before Anna could reply, Valentino said, “Excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
Glaring at the Sacred Heart poster, Anna thought, You have a strange way of communicating, You know that? Jesus’s smile remained inscrutable, as always.
In the three months that followed, Anna found herself torn between her wholesome tech work and an increasing demand for companion bot repairs. As she suspected, St. Clare’s parish bulletin quit advertising Anna-log Technologies in light of her expanded services. Also, the newest issue gloated about the closing of that robot brothel, Storm Port, as though a single Rosary protest had anything to do with the health department shutting them down. Would the community be praying for the downfall of Anna-log Technologies too? With the warehouse lease approaching, they wouldn’t have to pray too hard. Despite popular belief, companion bot tune-ups didn’t bring in that much money, not when accounting for overhead expenses. The reduced clientele didn’t help either. Anna-log Technologies was on the verge of closing.
During the work week, Valentino showed no signs of distress despite Anna explaining several times that she could go out of business any day now. He just smiled, offering encouraging words that did little to alleviate her anxiety. Despite the risk of his employer going under, Valentino continued working diligently in exchange for his lodging. During breaks, he tore through the rest of Anna’s twenty-two volume set of Saints by the Centuries. With her permission, he also took some of her books “home” to the warehouse to read in the evenings. He also mentioned sharing them with friends. Meanwhile, Hazard still knocked things over, oblivious to his owner’s financial worries.
One evening after business hours, the phone rang. Anna expected another tirade from Mrs. Cabot or one of her lackies. Either that, or someone needed work done on a companion robot. Maybe ditching the rotary phone for one with caller ID would be a good idea. In the meantime, she braced herself for either a belligerent prayer intervention or an overly detailed description of a companion robot’s repair needs. She definitely didn’t expect a call from Lizzie at St. Clare’s parish office. Great, am I going to be excommunicated now?
“Do you still have that warehouse for sale?” Lizzie asked. “My husband and I were thinking of starting a sporting goods store and need space for inventory.”
Thank you, Jesus, Anna thought. “Yes, I do. Would you like to come see it in person on Saturday afternoon around two o’clock? I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“That would be great. Thanks. And Anna?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks.” Anna rolled her eyes and hung up. It took her a few minutes to realize she would finally sell that good-for-nothing warehouse. “This is it, Hazard.” The cat twitched his ear but otherwise ignored her. “We’re going to get rid of that money pit for good.”
While walking to the warehouse with Anna, Lizzie spoke cheerfully about her and her husband’s plans for the property. They would store jerseys, equipment, memorabilia, trophies, and anything else remotely related to sports. Anna listened politely, not giving two hoots about what they did. The warehouse would be Lizzie’s headache now.
Anna got out her keys. “My employee, Valentino, is currently using this for lodging, but I’ll secure other arrangements for him once the property is sold.”
“Yes, I know about Valentino.” Lizzie’s tone was neutral. “And I’m not sure if Joe and I will lease or buy the property outright.”
“That’s all right.” Anna grasped the correct key. “Either way, I’ll be happy to have you and Joe as clients.”
Opening the door to the warehouse revealed about a hundred racially and ethnically diverse companion robots wandering around in various states of undress. None were stark naked, but there was plenty of beefcake and cheesecake to go around. Anna’s voice box failed. There was simply no explanation for this facsimile of an orgy. When she allowed Valentino to stay, it never occurred to her that he would invite all of his compatriots. Anna looked at Lizzie, still at a loss for words. Her would-be buyer tensed.
“It looks as though you already have more clients than you can handle.”
Anna didn’t bother interpreting those snappish words as Lizzie stormed off, her high heels clicking hard enough to make dents in the sidewalk. If there was ever a time for a Christian to swear, this was it. “What the hell is going on here?” All the robots in the warehouse stared at Anna, dumbfounded.
“Please, allow me to explain,” Valentino said, coming forward. “I know I should have asked first, but I was afraid you would say ‘no.’ These are all displaced companion robots, most from the defunct Storm Port. They had nowhere else to go.”
Anna pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off her newest headache. It took incredible willpower not to unleash a torrent of profanity. She spoke through her teeth. “Valentino, I can appreciate your wanting to help other robots in need, but-”
“We’ve thought of a way to save your business,” one of the gynoids said, pulling on a shirt. The TPE glue bottle in her hand made it clear she had only been topless to repair her damaged chest.
“A way to save my business?” Anna’s head spun. “How?”
“Over the past month, I’ve been sharing your Saints by the Centuries books with all my friends.” Valentino indicated toward the other robots. “Together, we decided we could each choose a saint to portray, outfit ourselves in period-appropriate clothing, and act as a kind of living history museum. You could sell tickets, and we could give presentations about our chosen saint in character and answer questions. Maybe we could organize ourselves by continent or time period or patronage. We could also rotate our cast to maintain interest and encourage repeat visits. With your permission, we’ll become a veritable gallery of saints.”
Anna blinked. “You… you all want to be saints?”
All the robots nodded or murmured in agreement.
“Where are we going to get the costumes?” Anna couldn’t believe she was entertaining this absurd notion, but with the lease coming due, she was out of options.
“We have lots of costumes,” a red-headed gynoid said, grinning. “Storm Port prided itself on providing immersive, fanciful experiences for the customers. We have Roman centurions, Greek maidens, doctors, nurses, librarians, homemakers, you name it.”
“If you let us borrow a sewing machine, we can make appropriate modifications to our attire,” an android with an exaggerated six-pack said.
“It would give us a purpose and a place to live, not to mention pay the lease on your warehouse,” Valentino said. “Please, Anna. We promise to do an excellent job.”
Yep, I’ve officially lost my mind, Anna thought. To Valentino and the other robots awaiting her response, she said, “Let’s make it happen.”
A Sinner’s Gallery of Saints opened a week later. Only the diligence of ninety-two robots working twenty-four/seven—plus the grace of God—could have brought this project to fruition so quickly. With Valentino in charge of the museum he and Anna co-named, opening night would run smoothly. St. Clare’s parish bulletin refused to run an ad, but Anna found other places to advertise including by word of mouth. Once the secular press had a field day with the bizarre concept of former brothel bots exchanging their worldly careers for pseudo-sainthood, parishioners became curious. It was hard not to gloat when Mrs. Cabot, of all people, purchased a ticket.
“Thank you, Valentino,” Anna said on opening night. She still couldn’t get over how the robots managed to pull off this wild scheme. Valentino looked especially striking as St. Valentine, having obtained red velvet at a buy nothing group to make a robe. “If this goes well, I won’t go bankrupt anytime soon.”
“You’re welcome, Anna,” he said. “And thank you. Companion robots grow restless without a purpose, and we thought there couldn’t be a greater one than this.”
They exchanged smiles. When the receipts poured in, they smiled some more. There was enough to cover the lease. Apparently, even in a bad economy, the polar combination of sex and religion sold.
Six months after the museum’s opening night, the buzz settled down. Anna worked peacefully in her shop, back to repairing TVs and the occasional bot. At least for now, the warehouse sustained itself with a slow, steady stream of museum goers. Moreover, ninety-two robots, including Valentino, enjoyed a permanent home.
“I won’t ever be rich,” Anna said, scratching Hazard’s neck when he jumped up on the counter, “but with A Sinner’s Gallery of Saints, we’ll keep limping along.”
Content and headache-free, she winked at the Sacred Heart poster. When a flash of light streamed through the window onto the image, she could have sworn that Jesus winked back.
Leave a Reply