“I don’t do skin jobs,” Neumann said.

Swiveling back in his chair, the tinker ignored the Android and returned his focus to his workbench. Probably a green farm worker who got tricked into buying a trinket or looking to sell cheap tech. Greasy fingertips and a magnifying glass piece embedded over one eye, Neumann examined the inner workings of a Victola phonograph.

“Good, then I won’t have to arrest for a violation of Saturn law of robotics human impersonation statute 13B.”

Imagine if greyboys started playing cops and robbers, he thought. Neumann huffed at the beefy Android’s sense of humor. Meat or Metal, big men didn’t ruffle his feathers. As a veteran, Neumann didn’t scare easy.

“I don’t junk work either. Take your kink down the road, grey boy,” Neumann said.

With a cotton swab, Neumann daubed a tiny cogwheel. Paper thin metal, these things were easy to corrode and easy to snap. He’d ever been into antiques preferring laser surfing, but when he was recuperating at the VA hospital Neumann put himself together over a broken transistor radio. Neumann reached for a tweezer. A chill skittered up his neck. Danger tapped Neumann’s shoulder.

“Your interest in my appendages is … flattering. I’m not here to dance, flesh bag. Cobbler sent me, said you were Detroit, said you were the man to see about a special repair,” the stranger said studying Neumann up and down. “I guess you are not up to it.”

Ocular implant retracting, Neumann whipped around in his retro motorized wheelchair. Soldier to solider, they stared at each other spoiling for a fight. Hands in a fists, Neumann squared up until he saw the lenses poking from the Android’s bundle.

“Dude is that a camcorder!”

“Totally, I’m a collector. Stumbled across this beauty on a Olde Earth trek. I wanted to give it to my lady then I stepped on it hurrying to the precinct. Can you fix it it or do you want to trade insults?”