All in the Presentation

“No, Mister Nichols. I think it’s time you left.”

Mac didn’t glance around. He knew the patrons were shuffling around behind him. He’d heard the soft clicks as they disengaged from their stations.

“I’d rather go out the front way,” he said.

The bartender’s face didn’t move. “I’m sure you would.”

Mac lashed out with his other fist. He winced at the impact. You had to be perfect, or else the drama-circuits wouldn’t register and the damned things would just ignore the blow.

“Damned robots,” he muttered, as the barkeep went down. “I’m sticking to meatspace cases from now on.”