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The mechanical cop came roving through the ninth floor of the Plaza Hotel, swinging his electric nightstick. "Time's up there," he said as he jabbed at the inhabitant of one plastic cot and then another. Dawn light was beginning to show dimly at the barred windows. Heavy rain continued to fall. A lean scraggly man sat up, massaged his face with scabby hands. "I still got an hour, you dumb tin can." He pointed at the ticking meter beside his cot. The robot flophouse cop rolled on, poking his stick into sleepers whose meter time had run out. "Time's up there. Rise and shine." He stopped beside another flopcot. "Off your ox, buddy." He repeated this twice before holstering his shock stick to grab at the fat man sprawled on the raveled thermal blanket. From the next bed a black man in a tattered jumpsuit said, "You got yourself one for the Cadaver Service, cop." "Time's up there," the mechanical cop told the fat man as he shook him by the shoulders. "Rise and shine." The black man, yawning and lowering his feet to the floor, said, "Cardiac thing, I'd guess." Two cots to the left of the dead man, Thad McIntosh awoke. He shook his head from side to side, gulped
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