Read Online The Winter of the Robots by Kurtis Scaletta - Free Book Online

front of our house.
    Jim: Tell him I’m sorry. Srsly. It’s a nice car.
    Oliver: I will. Anyway, I can’t go. ttyl.
    Jim: Going to see Dmitri. Want to go?
    Rochelle: To the hospital?
    Jim: He’s home now.
    Rochelle: Hm. I really don’t know him at all.
    Jim: Me neither. His sister asked me to come. I don’t think he has many friends.
    Rochelle: He doesn’t. Doesn’t seem to want any.
    Jim: So, want to go? I don’t want to go alone & I have to talk to you anyway.
    Rochelle: Ooh, mysterious. Sure.
    It took two buses and an hour to get there. There was no straight route. We had to go downtown and transfer.
    “So, talk to me about what?” she asked when we were on the second leg of the trip.
    “I was wondering if you were going to do the otter thing without me.”
    “I don’t think so. Why?”
    “Because I’ve been thinking. I don’t think it’s safe. There were some metal barrels. I bet you they’re filled with toxic waste.” That part was a lie, but I needed to keep her out of there. “And the signs said Keep Out.”
    “No worries,” she said. “I’ll do something else.”
    “Cool.” I pulled the rope to stop the bus. “We get off here.”
    The Volkovs’ house seemed to sag at the corners. There was a new Cadillac Escalade in the driveway, freshly washed and out of place.
    “Wow. I wonder what his dad does?” The SUV probably cost even more than Peter’s A7.
    “He’s a limo driver,” said Rocky. She pointed at a subtle decal on the back window: Lowry Limousine Express, Ltd. Followed by URL and phone number.
    “Of course.” The fancy car was his business. Maybe it was worth it to drive around in style.
    As if on cue, Mr. Volkov came out of the house. He was an older version of Dmitri, in a dark wool coat and aviator glasses. He nodded at us. The mirror shades and the overcoat and the luxury SUV probably accounted for the rumor that he was a mobster. He looked the part—more crime boss than hired thug.
    “You’re here for Dmitri? He’s inside.” He had an accent. I wondered how long the Volkovs had lived in the U.S. He climbed into the car and backed out, the Escalade barely making a noise as he rolled it out onto the street.
    Rocky elbowed me. “You’re crushing on the Caddy?”
    “Yeah, I might get one myself. I should ask him how it drives compared with a Lexus RX.”
    “Buy me a Prius while you’re at it.”
    “No prob.”
    The porch was crowded with boxes of mysterious engine parts and car trim. We navigated through them to rap on the front door. The silent ten-year-old answered the door, giving us one look before wandering off again, leaving the door open so we could come in. A cartoon blared on the TV. Alexei stood watching it, rocking from foot to foot.
    “Hey.” Dmitri limped downstairs, dressed in jeans and a Packers sweatshirt. One pants cuff was rolled up, giving him a lopsided look. He hadn’t shaved his head, so he had a peach-fuzz layer of hair on his scalp. He seemed smaller and more normal without his tough-guy boots.
    “Hey, how are you?” I asked. I had to shout to be heard over the TV.
    “Better,” he said. He showed us a bandaged hand. “I get to keep my fingertips.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    “They’re still numb,” he said. He shouted into the living room. “Turn it down, Alex!”
    The boy found the remote and lowered the volume a notch, his eyes still glued to the screen. A parrot was on the screen jabbering in Spanish. The set was high-definition, good enough to see the pixels from the computer-generated animation.
    “He loves this show,” Dmitri said. “He doesn’t understand a word. Come on. Masha made tea.” We followed him into the kitchen—heaps of onions and turnips and beets in bowls on the counters—very homey. Malasha was there. We traded hellos, and she went to the living room to watch Spanish-speaking parrots with Alex.
    “Want some?” Dmitri filled a china cup—a dainty one, with flowers, that looked odd in his bear paw of a