“Is the camera and mike still in Roth’s office?” Connor asked.
Mark shook his head. “Zoe took ’em.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
Mark removed a tiny flash drive from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. “Could you hide this? If something happens to me, I don’t want this to be for nothing.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Connor said.
“I’d feel better knowing a copy’s out there.”
“I have a safe in my closet.”
“No. Not here. We’re too connected.”
Summer said, “I could stash it at the—”
“No!” Mark shouted.
Summer flinched.
“Sorry, it’s better I don’t know.”
20
Naomi and Suffer the Consequences
Naomi and Alan sat on the couch, enjoying a movie. Alan’s phone chimed.
He grabbed it from the end table. “It’s a DC number.” He swiped right and said, “Hello.”
Naomi paused the movie and watched her husband’s face. He furrowed his brows, his face etched with worry. Naomi thought maybe his mother had died.
“There must be some mistake,” Alan said into the phone. “You do not have my permission to interrogate him.” Alan listened, then said, “I know he’s not a minor.” He listened again. “I’d rather you didn’t get the police involved.” Alan massaged the back of his neck. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He disconnected the call.
“What is it?” Naomi asked.
“That was campus police. They’re saying that they caught Blake with drugs. We need to go sort this out. Do you think Silas might be able to help us again?”
Naomi shook her head, her face taut. “I told Silas we’d never ask him to bail us out again. I’m so sick of Blake’s bullshit. We should let him suffer the consequences of his actions.”
“Do you really want this in the news? It would kill your presidential campaign before it even started.”
Naomi shook her head and let out a breath. “I’ll call Silas, but I wouldn’t blame him if he stood on the sidelines this time.”
They changed into more professional attire, and their autonomous sedan drove them to Georgetown University. They lived six blocks from campus, so it was a short trip. The campus featured many gothic stone buildings erected in the 1800s and 1900s. The college was still bustling that Saturday night. Underaged students walked to and from house and dorm parties, whereas most upperclassmen were at off-campus bars and clubs.
The autonomous Toyota parked in front of a nondescript brick building. The parking lot held a few vehicles labeled Georgetown University Security. Naomi and Alan went inside. A portly middle-aged officer sat at the reception desk. They waved their hands over the chip reader and explained why they were there.
A few minutes later, they were led through security to a back room. Inside the windowless room, Blake sat with a female security officer.
The small woman stood from the table and said, “I’m Officer Trask.” They shook hands. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Sutton.”
“Yes,” Alan said.
Naomi glared at her son. He gave her an arrogant nod in return. Blake was a stocky man with a good-size gut, covered by an oversize hoodie. His stubbly beard covered his chin, jawline, and part of his neck tattoo. He was twenty-two but looked thirty.
“Have a seat.” Officer Trask gestured to the square table.
They sat around the table, Naomi and Alan flanking Blake, with Officer Trask sitting opposite them all.
“Silas Gomez is supposed to meet us here,” Alan said.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Officer Trask said.
Naomi had left him a message, so she had no idea whether or not he’d show.
“This is the situation,” Trask continued. “We found large quantities of MDMA in your son’s dorm room. We believe he’s been selling drugs on campus for quite some time.”
Blake said, “I’m not—”
“Shut up,” Naomi said, giving her son a look that could kill.
Blake looked down. “They’re not mine.”
“Enough.”
“We also have four eyewitnesses who claim to have seen your son selling drugs on campus,” Trask said.
“If he’s guilty, what are the next steps?” Naomi asked.
“I call Metro Police, and they handle it. I only waited as a courtesy to you and your husband, and so you can contact your lawyer.”
A knock came at the door, then it opened. Georgetown President Silas Gomez stood in khakis and a button-down shirt. “Hello, Naomi. Alan.”
Naomi stood from the table and approached the middle-aged man. “Thank you so much for coming, Silas.”
“You’re welcome,” Silas replied, shaking her hand.
Alan also stood and greeted the college president.
Silas said, “Officer Trask, I’d like to speak with you alone for a moment.” Silas looked at Naomi. “We’ll be right back.”
The officer left the room with Silas.
As soon as they were alone, Naomi asked her son, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I didn’t do nothin’,” Blake said. “Campus security is fuckin’ racist.”
“Are the drugs yours?” Alan asked.
“Of course they are,” Naomi said.
Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “You really think, if I was white, I’d be here?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m sure campus security is biased against people of color,” Alan said. “Maybe they made a mistake.”
Naomi frowned at her husband. “Stop it, Alan.”
“Y’all mufuckers don’t know what it’s like,” Blake said, his jaw set tight.
“You’re right, Blake. I don’t know what it’s like to have everything given to me on a silver platter only to piss it all away.”
“Naomi, that’s not helpful,” Alan said.
“It’s true.” Naomi stared at her husband for a moment to cement that fact.
“Y’all don’t know shit,” Blake said. “I’m not white, and I’m not black. You have no fuckin’ idea the bullshit I go through every day.”
The door opened, and Officer Trask and Silas stepped inside.
Silas said, “Officer Trask will stay with Blake so we can talk.”
Silas led them to an empty office and shut the door behind them. Silas sat behind the desk, Naomi and Alan in the chairs opposite. Silas was tall and thin with wavy salt-and-pepper hair.
“I’m really sorry about this,” Naomi said.
“Please,” Silas said, holding up one hand. “I understand how difficult young adults can be.”
“What can we do?” Alan asked.
“I don’t know. Normally, we’d call the police and expel him.”
“Normally?”
“This isn’t a normal situation. I do acknowledge your status as a friend of Georgetown University.”
“This is his last year,” Naomi said. “What if he finished the year online?”
“That’s a possibility, but we’re still obligated to report the crime,” Silas said.
“Blake has felt very alienated here,” Alan said. “It’s not easy for him. He doesn’t fit in with the white students or the people of color. I think the drugs were his attempt to gain acceptance.”
“That’s unfortunate. Here at Georgetown, we try very hard to be an accepting and inclusive campus. I understand the difficulties of living in two worlds. My mother’s from Mexico and my father’s from Virginia. It wasn’t always easy navigating the two cultures, but I do think we’ve made great strides in this country over the years.”
“I think, given the circumstances, a strong warning and removal from campus would send the proper message,” Alan said.
Silas nodded and looked to Naomi. “What do you think?”
“I think my son has real problems that we as a family need to tackle, but involving the state will only
compound these issues,” Naomi replied.
“I think we can accommodate, provided you remain a friend of the university. By the way, we’re looking for donors for the new VR center. Would you be interested in becoming a gold-level donor?”
Naomi pursed her lips and said, “Of course.”
Naomi wrote a check for 100,000 Fed Coins, nearly wiping out their savings account. But Blake avoided expulsion and arrest.
They drove across campus to Blake’s dorm, with campus security in tow. Officer Trask escorted them to Blake’s dorm room so he could collect his belongings. He was no longer allowed on campus without a security escort. Blake lumbered along at his own pace, his escorts slowing their pace to match his.
Blake’s dorm room was outfitted with an OLED television, with nanospeakers for perfect surround sound. His walls were an homage to drugs and women with large derrieres. Somehow he had affixed a mirror on the ceiling over his bed.
Naomi packed a suitcase with his clothes.
Officer Trask stood by the door.
Blake looked around his room and said, “Damn, we need to hire some movers.”
“We will,” Alan said. “Just pack what you need for the next week or so. The movers will get the rest.”
Naomi’s phone chimed. She swiped right and said, “Vernon, can you hold on a minute?” Without waiting for an answer, she said to Alan, “I’m taking this outside.”
Alan nodded.
Blake scowled at his mother.
Naomi left the dorm room. The hallway was mostly quiet, only the occasional student. The campus security, now and earlier, had probably moved the parties elsewhere. She put the phone to her ear as she walked to the elevator. “Thank you for calling me back. It’s perfect timing. Another minute and I might’ve punched my son in the face.”
“That bad?” Vernon asked.
“Part of me wanted to let the police deal with him.” Naomi entered the elevator and pressed L.
“That’s not a good idea. We don’t need that kind of press.”
“Don’t worry. I fixed it.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I wrote a check for 100,000 Fed Coins.”
“Ouch.”
Naomi exited the elevator. “I know.” She sighed. “And Alan makes excuses for him. He never lets Blake fail. Now he’s this arrogant asshole who I can’t stand to look at.” Naomi stepped outside into the crisp night air, headed for her Toyota sedan.
“He can’t be that bad.”
“Maybe I’m a terrible mother.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Sometimes I wonder what would happen if he were arrested. Would he pass the psychopath test? I have a feeling he wouldn’t. Part of me wanted him to be arrested so they’d test him and send him to the island.” Naomi paced on the sidewalk near her car.
“That’s understandable. You’re upset. You just spent a fortune bailing him out. This is on him. Not you.”
“Is it?”
“Of course it’s on him. You’ve done your part. Blake has been given every opportunity to be successful.”
Naomi sighed. “My son’s a loser.”
“Stop, Naomi.”
“Worse than that, he’s a bad person.”
“People change. Give him time. I was punk when I was his age too.”
“You grew up in the projects. You had an excuse.”
“That’s not an excuse. I matured, and I grew up. He will too.”
“I love you, Vernon,” Naomi said.
“I love you too.”
“I miss you. I really wanted to see you this weekend.”
Heavy footsteps approached.
“We’ll find time next week,” Vernon said.
Naomi turned to the footsteps. Blake stared at his mother, a suitcase in hand. Officer Trask and Alan lagged behind.
“Talking to Vernon?” Blake said, lifting his chin.
“A work call,” Naomi replied.
Blake snickered. “Yeah, right.”
21
Derek Burns the Midnight Oil
The road looked blurry. Derek drove his old box truck on Route 66 West toward home. He opened his eyes wider and slapped his face lightly. It was times like this he wished he’d had an autonomous truck. Thankfully, traffic was light.
Derek grabbed his phone from the cupholder and tapped the April icon. Straight to voice mail. Again.
“This is April. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”
After the tone, Derek said, “Hey, I was hopin’ to talk to you. I’m drivin’ home from the farmers’ market. Between Friday and today, I’ve sold out. I’m not even workin’ tomorrow. I gave my table to the guy next to me. I can’t believe I’m still standin’ after this week. I’m worn out. I hope you’re not workin’ too hard. Well, if you get this message, call me back. I could use the company. I love you.”
Derek set his phone back in the cupholder. His eyelids drooped and shut, then he opened them wide. He opened the window, letting the cool air blow into the cab. He turned up the radio, listening to upbeat music, singing along. He slapped his face.
Somewhere along the line, he ran out of steam. His eyes drooped and shut for an instant, but he opened them again. A moment later, he shut his eyes for a few more seconds, but he opened them again. He did this over and over again until he was gone.
As he slept, he didn’t notice as the truck slowed, his foot no longer pressing the gas. He didn’t notice as he drifted off the highway into the grass median separating westbound and eastbound traffic. He didn’t notice as he drifted onto 66 East, traveling the wrong way.
He awoke with a jolt when his box truck smashed head-on into an autonomous BMW. The speed of the lighter-weight BMW was offset by the girth and comparatively low speed of Derek’s box truck, creating a head-to-head stalemate that totaled both vehicles. The initial impact yanked Derek toward the windshield, his seat belt the only reason he didn’t go through the glass and beyond.
The wreckage blocked the left lane of eastbound traffic. The autonomous vehicles adjusted to this bottleneck instantly, sending signals throughout the network. Vehicles many miles away slowed and moved to the right lane in anticipation of the upcoming impediment.
Derek groaned and tried to move, but his lower leg was pinned by twisted metal. He attempted to pull his leg from the wreckage, but the pain coming from his right ankle took his breath away. Autonomous vehicles zipped past, without the urge to rubberneck.
He looked into the decimated BMW. He was relieved that it seemed empty. A dealer tag was in the front window. Probably delivering itself. He checked the cupholder, but his phone wasn’t there. He glanced around the cab but didn’t see it anywhere. He’d never used the voice command on his phone, but he’d seen others do it.
“Genie,” he said.
Nothing in response.
“Genie?”
Still nothing.
It’s prob’ly broken.
His rush of adrenaline was waning, and the pain from his ankle was excruciating. The autonomous vehicles were his only hope. Most were programmed to instantly report accidents to a database used by police and other autonomous vehicles.
22
Jacob, Drunk on Tiger Bone Wine
Tiger bone wine was 58 percent alcohol. A fact Jacob didn’t know until it was too late. He stumbled into his house. Their robotic dog, Spike, stood in the dark foyer. The small doglike bot was one foot tall when on all fours, but it’s long neck added two more feet. The robot’s head watched Jacob, like a snake coiled and ready to strike. As soon as its facial recognition software identified Jacob, it sat down, returning to energy-conservation mode.
Jacob went to his home office. He placed his phone on the charger and his wallet and keys in his desk. Then he went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. Jeeves stood in the corner, plugged into an outlet.
After hydrating, Jacob tiptoed up the curved staircase and into his master bedroom. He opened one of the double doors and crept insid
e. Rebecca slept on her side of the canopy bed. Jacob crept past their bed and the sitting area to the en suite bathroom. He thought he might vomit, but the feeling passed. He peed, brushed his teeth, and tossed his clothes into the hamper. Wearing only his boxers, he padded back to the bedroom. He placed his glasses on his bedside table and climbed into bed.
Shortly after he’d drifted off to sleep, he was wrenched from his slumber by a chiming cell phone. Jacob turned toward the noise.
Rebecca grabbed her phone from her bedside table. “Hello?” she whispered, raspy from sleep. “This is Rebecca.” She listened for a minute. “Is he okay?” She listened again. “Did he ask you to call me?” Rebecca paused. “Oh, I see. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She disconnected the phone and looked at Jacob. “Derek is in the hospital.”
Jacob sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What happened?”
“He was in a car accident.”
“Why are they calling you?” Jacob grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and put them on.
Rebecca frowned at his callousness. “I’m still his emergency contact person.”
“What about his mother?”
Rebecca cocked her head. “The one who’s battling cancer in the hospital as we speak?”
Jacob cleared his throat. “I forgot. Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”
“I think so, but I don’t know what’s going on between them. Maybe they broke up? Maybe he doesn’t trust her to be his emergency contact?”
“You’re not his wife anymore.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Why do you care so much about him?”
“He’s Lindsey’s father.”
“Biological father.” Jacob crossed his arms over his hairy chest.
“You know what I meant.” She sniffed and narrowed her eyes at Jacob. “Have you been drinking? You smell like alcohol.”
“A client offered me tiger bone wine, and I felt obligated to accept. I didn’t realize that it has a very high alcohol content.”
Rebecca slipped from bed. Her bikini underwear showcased her thin legs. Her new breasts proudly pressed against her camisole top. “I need to get dressed and go to the hospital. He’s in surgery, and somebody should be there when he wakes up. I’d like it if you came with me. I’d rather not go by myself at this hour.”
2050: Psycho Island Page 10