Prologue
Oh my God! What's happening?
I locked the door quickly and peered through the peephole. I was terrified someone had followed me. My heart pounded as I reached into my pocket searching. As always, my handy tape recorder was there. Thank the Lord! I hadn't lost it in the panic. The tape recorder my papá gave me back in our home country was his last gift to me. The tape recorder my papá used to expose the corruption before the cartels took him out. I am now using that same recorder to capture the corruption here in my new home in San Diego. At least, I guess that is what I am doing.
"Güey, Miguel, what have you gotten yourself into?" I muttered.
It was a regular job, or so I thought. Cleaning high-scale hotels was routine, and spotting someone like our US Senator was not so unusual. The unusual part was when he was closely followed by a shady individual as they entered a suite. This dude looked like the cholos from back home. His muscular frame could not be hidden by his fancy suits. Nor could he hide his tattoos that peeked out from his cuffs. His sunglasses must have cost more than my entire rent. Seeing them together, curiosity overcame me. I don't know why I did it. It was probably years of watching my papá be the journalist he was, but I pulled out my tape recorder and found a vent to hear their whole conversation. The Senator was working with this man to traffic young girls from Mexico. Neta? This elected official was profiting and helping out this criminal. Vete a la chingada! I can't believe it! I thought I had escaped that life, but here it was. America was just as corrupt as back home.
I slid onto the floor and surveyed my tiny apartment as I pushed my back into the door. Although I was a janitor, my home apartment wasn't spotless. What a shithole. Spending all day cleaning up for rich people really ruins your desire to clean your own home. Plus, no matter how clean this place got, it couldn't hide how poor I was now. The scarce furniture, the smell from the balcony from the neighbors' smoking weed, and the few dents in the wall. You can't hide this stuff. I had almost no possessions. Any wealth my family had was abandoned when my family was murdered. Leaving little Miguel in the hands of my distant relatives in Cali.
I stroked the recorder with my fingers, which brought my papá's words to mind: "Mijo, justice isn't just a word; it's our duty, our fight." He was right, of course, but what can I do? I can't trust the police. I've learned that the hard way. Being a Latino in America wasn't easy. Who could I trust? I know a lot of media is bought and paid for here. You see it in the news. The powerful can purchase whatever coverage they want. So, what options do I have? I shouldn't have done this. What was I thinking?
Quickly, I hid the tape somewhere nobody would find it, a little place in my apartment that was undetectable unless you knew what to look for. I'll have to keep this safe until I can devise a plan. Maybe I can find a true journalist, someone like my papá, someone who wasn't afraid, someone who stood for justice. I probably made a big mistake. I should just destroy it now and be done with the whole thing.
WEE-WOO! WEE-WOO!
A police siren blared as it drove past my building! It almost gave me a heart attack. I need to be careful. I cautiously approached my door, opened it, and peered into the hall. Somebody had to have seen me. I was so stupid. I was so going to get myself killed! Just like papá did.
"I'm so fucked!"
Part 1
1.
It's been a few weeks since I uncovered the Senator's sex trafficking plot and taped his conversation. That tape was hidden in my apartment, and the fear of it being found has made me a very paranoid güey. It looks like I got away with it, though. Thank the Lord.
My brain was working overtime, reviewing possibilities of what to do with this exposing evidence. Every idea ended up with my doom, following my papá's path. I didn't want that. I wanted to live, even if my life was currently shitty. When I allow myself to be stupid, I fantasize about giving the tape to Natalie Chen. She is the hot political journalist I occasionally see on TV. She seemed to be one of the few reporters in Cali with any backbone. It would be my in, and I'd win her over with my charm. Nights were spent whacking off to that idea. It was stupid. Really stupid. As dumb as it was, I had to admit I cummed hard each time that Mamacita, in my fantasy, thanked me for exposing those monsters. Her slightly too short skirt drove me wild. She was a fantasy to me.
Focus, Mijo. I was still on alert. I've been so careful every time I left the house since that day. Nobody is following me, and nothing is suspicious. I am so lucky.
Nothing suspicious, alright, until I got home.
"What the..."
A large wooden crate lay on the floor of my living room. I couldn't believe my eyes. It felt so out of place. I didn't order anything, and hell, I can't afford anything this big. How did it even get in here? That pinche landlord. I'm really sick of him letting packages be delivered directly into my apartment! He's told me it's unsafe to leave them in the halls, but is it safe to have him enter my apartment? Especially now?
I stiffened right up and nudged the large, heavy crate. Nothing on it indicated it was some trap, but what could it be? A tag was addressed to me. It offered me congratulations?
Maybe it was my lucky day. I usually spent a few hours a week entering every contest I could find. I win random prizes all the time, but this? They were usually small gift cards. I hoped one day I would win something big. I told myself it had to be a probability thing, but really, it was just desperation. Maybe... Maybe it was my lucky day?
My hopes skied as I quickly removed the crate's lid, which revealed, "Oh my god!" It was a naked woman with styrofoam all around her. Not just any woman, but she was not moving? I started to panic until I noticed a letter.
"Congratulations, Miguel Ramirez," it continued on to tell me that I won a contest for a three-month trial with this brand new experimental AI maid robot. I didn't remember entering a contest for a maid robot, but I entered so many. Who knows? Of course, I had heard about AI cleaning robots. It was the talk of my work! Thanks to them, each of us thought we would soon be out of our jobs. Can you believe they found cheaper labor than Mexicans?
I looked over at the robot in the crate. Just her face was exposed, but she was breathtaking. Liking my lips, I noticed the letter had further instructions on the back. It also had a phone number for questions. It gave a return address that I had to have the robot sent to by the end of the three months. If I didn't, I'd have to pay more money than I would make in 20 lifetimes. It concluded by saying I hoped I would enjoy Ivy and consider purchasing her after the trial. Ivy? She had a name.
I stared at that note for what felt like hours before picking up my phone. Good things like this don't happen in this world. Not for people like me.
Papá always said, "Question the gift horse, Mijo. Sometimes, it's just a beast in disguise."
"Hi Ivy," I said to no reaction. She remained completely still. Studying her face, I almost drooled. This was going to be a long three months.
"Good evening. You've reached Innovative Home Solutions. How can we help you?"
The voice on the other end was masculine with a hint of a Latino accent, which put me at ease. My bro.
"I... Hi. I'm Miguel. I was sent a package with this number. Is this some kind of prank?"
"Miguel, what was in the package? We offer many products and services here."
"It's a freaking robot!"
"Oh, let me see. Miguel Ramirez?"
"That's me..."
"Yes, I see it here. Yes, you were the big winner of our last contest. Congratulations! That's Ivy, our newest AI maid. She'll do an amazing job for you! Not a finer maid around. Cook, clean, and help you sort your life out. She's perfect. Just return or purchase her before the date, and please give us feedback. We are working hard to improve the model."
"I see..."
"You'll love her. Just engage with Ivy respectfully, and there will be no problem."
This is insane!
