AI AI AI AI AI AI Like You Very Much

Betsy's day had started out in a perfectly ordinary way, seeing Chas and the kids off to work and school, answering emails, and then a couple of hours on her freelance copy editing job. Then to town to drop off her car for service and drop off herself at the nail salon. The car wouldn't be ready until later, and she decided to try one of the new robo-taxi services to take her home. To her confusion, the taxi pulled up in front of the Hall of Justice where two officers were waiting.

One opened the door while the other checked a rugged looking tablet. "Betsy Green? Would you come with us, please?"

"What is this about?" she asked. A thought. "Is something wrong? Are my kids okay?"

"Yes, ma'am. Someone will explain. Please come with us."

The officers had been polite to Betsy during the intake, pleasant even, while they took her IDs and phone, though she was becoming increasingly anxious at what *must* be a mistake or a misunderstanding over some minor peccadillo. They led her into a small, what, interrogation room? No, this surely wouldn’t be an interrogation with the bright lights and the two-way mirror and the good cop and bad cop. She looked around the… meeting room? Yes, meeting room was a much more reasonable thing to call the windowless room with its table and single chair and tablet computer and flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. One of the officers told her to have a seat, and to wait for the agent. The other officer told her to have a nice day, and they left, shutting the door behind them.

Okay, an agent? Like a detective? What on Earth do they think I did? I don’t have any unpaid parking tickets. I put the shopping cart back in the little corral at the grocery, even if no one is around to see.

She felt her annoyance level rising. Don’t the police have better things to do? When this gets resolved, I am going to give them a piece of my mind! I mean, how dare they!

She took a deep breath. Now, now. I’m sure they’re just doing their jobs, and it’s not their fault that something got screwed up in the records department or whatever. After all, I support our boys in blue. And the girls in blue, of course. The women in blue. Betsy realized that neither of the arresting officers had been a woman, nor had she seen any  officers who weren't white men in the station house behind any of the desks.

You know what? When this is all over, I’ll take the high road. I’ll laugh it off. I’ll thank them for keeping us all safe, maybe offer to bring them some doughnuts, hah, hah. Or would they take that the wrong way?

The flatscreen came on and a man appeared, well groomed and in a suit and tie. He gave a warm smile. At last.

“Betsy Green? My name is Marcus Cicero, and I will be your agent today. How may I help you?”

How can he help me? He can get me out of here for starters!

“Mister  Cicero,” she began. “There’s been some kind of terrible misunderstanding. I hope you can help me clear this all up–"

Cicero interrupted her. “Before we begin, I must remind you that you are entitled to a free beverage. May I recommend a Mountain Dew Extreme Berry Boogaloo, with twice the caffeine and 5 times the flavor?”

“I… what?” 

“Or perhaps a Kombucha Dew, with a gentler flavor and live cultures to aid digestion?”

Sounds revolting! “I don’t need a soda. I need to know what’s going on!”

“I can offer a wide variety of updates on current events. But perhaps we should review this case first.”

Betsy twigged the situation. Oh, shit. “Wait, are you an AI? You’re an AI, aren’t you? Spell ‘strawberry’. Wait, no, that’s not right. How many letter r’s are in strawberry?”

Cicero offered a simulacrum of a delighted smile. “Yes, you recognized that I am an instance of the Cicero legal AI. Good catch! Consistent with Presidential Executive Order 17118, any person of interest in the investigation of a crime will be provided with basic legal representation powered by Cicero, a division of Xtrosoft.”

Fuck that! “What if I want a human attorney?”

“A human attorney may be provided for a retainer of 415 Truthcoin.”

“How much is that in real money?”

“Consistent with Presidential Executive Order 19432, Truthcoin is considered legal tender for all debts public and private.”

“How much in dollars?”

“Five thousand, two-hundred and fifty American dollars. I can also provide equivalent values for South African Rand and Russian Rubles.”

Betsy sighed. “Don’t bother. I don’t have $5000 dollars.”

“You may also choose a human public defender at no cost to you. Wait time is currently… fourteen months and twelve days. During that time, you will be remanded to one of… Alcatraz Island, Guantanamo Bay, the Kristi Noem Gravelworks facility, or one of several Robert F. Kennedy Junior Wellness Farms. Most people prefer to proceed with representation by Cicero.”

"Jeez," she blanched. "Let's just go ahead then, so I can see what this is all about."

"Excellent choice. Please place your right thumb on the tablet screen in the place indicated to agree you are accepting representation by Cicero systems, that you understand case outcomes are not guaranteed, and that your responses to this system may be used to further train and refine this large legal language model."

Betsy sighed again, and pressed her thumb on the screen in the place indicated.

"Am I under arrest? Am I being accused of something?"

Cicero made a patting motion in front of him. "Not at all. This is merely an investigation. Your conveyance, XyberCab 4573, identified you as a person of interest in the case at hand and followed its instructions to bring you here." He spread his hands in a 'voila' gesture. "Your cooperation is appreciated."

Betsy tried to take a deep breath, felt the air hitch several times on the way into her lungs. Okay, maybe this won't be too bad. "I can't imagine anything I would know about." Another thought. "Wait, do you represent me? Or the police?"

Cicero gave a bland smile. "I am a neutral arbiter. I represent both sides."

Well, fuck. "Okay, what's going... I mean, what is this investigation about?"

"Do you belong to a neighborhood organization which meets on a bi-weekly basis?"

"A group of us have sort of a social club. I'd hardly call it an 'organization'. And we get together to barbecue a couple of times a month, if that's what you mean by 'meeting'.

"And does a neighbor named Jerzy Rothstein attend these meetings?"

"Jerzy? Sure," she said, then immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. Am I getting him in trouble? Cicero nodded slightly, encouraging. Betsy felt awkward at the silence. Then, "He lives next door. He's a good guy. Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"One of your patriotic neighbors reported a pattern of seditious and disrespectful statements directed at the President of the United States during several of your meetings. We would appreciate it if you could corroborate any such behavior."

Betsy thought about Jerzy. He was a sweet man, but kind of an odd duck. Chas liked to say that Jerzy was a bleeding-heart, liberal, ex-hippie. But he would say it with warmth, as if they were in a sitcom and Jerzy was their wacky neighbor.

Divorced, kids grown, Jerzy mostly kept to himself, but always came to the barbecues with a twelve-pack of beer or one of those gigantic vegetable platters they had at Sam's Club. In the fall, she would see him rake up the leaves on his front lawn and then stand in his driveway, rake planted tines-down in front of himself, leaning on its pole like he was posing for a Norman Rockwell painting, watching the neighbors come and go. Sometimes she thought he was waiting for someone to stop and compliment him on the tidiness of his yard. She would wave to him if she was on her way out or returning home, and he would wave back.

And he was funny! He would make these wry little comments about things, never unkind about anyone in their community, and then he would look around nervously to see if anyone noticed. If he got a beer or three in him he would loosen up, and go on hilarious rants about celebrities in the news or politicians. In fact, a couple of weeks before he had many of them in stitches over the President's... Oh. Oh, shit.

Jerzy had launched into a bit about a certain feature of the President's appearance, the weird folds of skin under his jaw that sometimes resembled a part of a woman's intimate anatomy. It was a riot! Betsy, who had had her share of margarita's, and who had never noticed this feature of dear leader Cinnamon Hitler, had not been able to keep her giggles under control. When Jerzy went on to describe an imagined scenario of the President periodically choosing a Cabinet Secretary at random to simulate "oral sex on the neck vagina, like going down on a female Oompa-Loompa" she completely lost it. Honestly, she hadn't laughed that much in a year.

Fear suddenly punched her in the gut.

"Look," she said. "I think I know what you're referring to. But, Jerzy was just trying to go for a laugh. He's a witty guy! He didn't mean anything by it. He wasn't being serious. He certainly wasn't being seditious. Besides, what about the First Amendment?"

Cicero blinked twice. "I'm afraid I have. no knowledge of that. I apologize." He leaned forward. "Did anyone there say anything? Perhaps suggest to him that he was being disrespectful?"

"No, we were all having a good time. No one was taking it seriously." Except for whichever one of us reported it.

"What about you? Did you find it disrespectful? To the President of the United States of America? Or were you enjoying Mr. Rothstein's performance?"

Betsy's mouth was dry. She suddenly regretted not having the free soda. "I think maybe I should take the fifth?"

"You are not accused of anything." he reassured her. Yet, she thought. "We are simply trying to ascertain the facts. Your cooperation is appreciated."

"Look," she said again, swallowing. "I was drunk, okay? I'd have lost it at anything risque. And I wasn't the only one, you know." She began to cry. "I didn't think I was doing anything wrong! It was Jerzy!" She shook her head. "He was just being so funny," she wailed.

Cicero did the patting motion again. "There, there, Betsy. May I call you Betsy? Everyone makes mistakes. Don't give it another thought."

She slumped in her chair. "So, now what?"

"One last thing, and then you will be free to be on your way. Can you tell us who else was there, on the day to which you are referring, who perhaps was also overcome with alcohol and conviviality, particularly enjoying your friend's commentary?"

"I don't want to get anyone in trouble," she whispered. She could hear the pleading in her own voice. But I don't want to be in trouble, either, she thought. After a moment, she named everyone who was there, including her own husband and kids. After all, we were all just having a nice time. No one breaking the law. Besides, they probably already know.

The table in front of her lit up with a transcript of their conversation. "Please place your right thumb on the tablet screen in the place indicated to agree to the veracity of this transcript." She scanned the document. Slowly, she pressed her thumb to the screen in the place indicated.

Cicero smiled. "Thank you, Betsy, for your cooperation."