DMV, page 14
Taking out his key card, he opened the door to his room and stepped inside, giving a small start when he saw a pudgy, affable man sitting on the edge of Durrell’s bed and looking at him. “Hey!” The man smiled. “Didn’t catch you at lunch. Where were you?”
“What are you doing here?” Jorge frowned. “Where’s Durrell?”
The other man looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“My roommate. Durrell.”
“I’m Durrell.”
FIFTEEN
Their mom had taken a second job, and she’d strongly suggested that Danny and Jill find part-time work as well. While Danny assumed that his dad had had life insurance, he knew nothing about the specifics. Maybe it was taking a long time to come in, maybe it would all be eaten up by medical and funeral expenses, maybe it wasn’t all that much money. For all he knew, there’d been no life insurance at all. Whatever the reason, there was serious belt-tightening going on in the family.
Their mom’s second job, as a cashier at the store Lights ‘N’ Things, was on the weekend, so Danny and Jill were on their own Saturdays and Sundays. Since seeing the accident, his sister was sticking much closer to home, and if Danny still wasn’t sure she was making the smartest decisions, at least she didn’t have as much of an opportunity to screw up.
Screw
He didn’t even want to think about that.
Both he and Jill had been keeping their eyes open, but there was no proof that the hit-and-run had even happened, let alone that the man driving the car had been their father. They’d gone online to look up local accident reports and police logs, but found no mention of any car running into a woman pushing a stroller. His sister had taken him to the spot where the accident occurred, and the two of them had gone up and down the adjacent streets, looking for the red sports car that she said their dad had been driving. Jill didn’t know the make of the car but assured Danny that she would recognize it if she saw it again.
They hadn’t seen anything even close.
This morning, both of them had finished a late breakfast and were debating whether to keep looking.
“Are you sure you saw…what you saw?” Danny asked, not for the first time.
Jill didn’t bother to answer.
He’d been afraid to delve deeper, not because he didn’t believe her—he did—but because he was afraid of finding out more. This time, however, he continued to press. “Do you think he was a ghost? Or do you think…he didn’t really die?”
She shrugged.
“Maybe he faked his own death. Maybe—”
“I saw him die. I was there.” It was the first time she had talked to him about it, and her bluntness surprised him.
Neither of them wanted to discuss it further, and Danny was about to suggest they take the day off, when there was a knock at the door.
“DMV!” a man announced.
He looked over at Jill. “DMV?” Danny said.
She looked through the peephole, then opened the door a crack, keeping the chain latch in place. “Yes?” she said.
“DMV. We’re here for Danny?”
We’re here for Danny
There seemed something ominous in those words, almost threatening, and luckily for him, Jill picked up on it, too. She quickly closed the door and bolted it. “What does that mean?” she demanded.
“DMV Home Support,” came the muffled voice. “Danny missed his appointment for the driving test, and we’re here to administer the test where it’s more convenient. Sorry it’s taken so long, but we’re really backed up.”
She still wasn’t opening the door. “I’ve never heard of DMV Home Support.”
“It’s a service we provide. It started during the pandemic. Offices were closed, but people still needed to take the driving test in order to obtain licenses, so we instituted our Home Support Program. HSP remains available to applicants like Danny who, for one reason or another, find it inconvenient or prohibitive to come down to the office.”
“That’s okay, Danny’s not interested in getting his license right now.”
What? He took a step toward his sister, instinctively about to object, when suddenly there was a loud bang! as the man hit the outside of the door as hard as he could.
“He made an appointment and did not show up for that appointment!” The man was shouting, and Danny could hear the anger in his voice. “He has to take the test!”
Danny and Jill exchanged a frightened glance. He could read in her expression the same thought that was in his own mind: why did this have to happen when their mom wasn’t here?
“I’m calling the police!” Jill announced.
“We work hand-in-hand with the police. They are fully supportive of the Home Support Program,” came the man’s voice from in back of them.
Both Danny and Jill screamed, whirling around.
Standing behind them in the living room was a middle-aged white man of medium height. He was clean-shaven, had hair that was short but not too short, and was wearing casual business attire. He looked like someone who worked for the DMV.
The man stepped past them, opening the front door. Parked at the foot of the driveway, Danny saw a generic white mid-sized sedan.
The man smiled. “Would you like to use your own car or would you prefer to test in our DMV vehicle? I assure you, you are neither more nor less likely to pass or fail the test based on which vehicle you choose to drive.”
Frightened, Danny looked toward his sister. He had no idea how this guy had gotten into their house—
and so fast!
—and felt as though he was being forced into taking the driving test, something he no longer wanted to do. Everything was rapidly going off the rails in a completely crazy way, and on Jill’s face he saw the same fear and confusion he felt himself.
“Which car would you like to drive for your test?” the man asked.
“I’d rather wait for my mom,” Danny said.
“You made an appointment!” The man’s face twisted in anger. He was practically shouting. “We drove all the way out here just for you!”
We?
“Our mom—” Jill began, trying to help.
But Danny was already being ushered out the door. He wanted to cry out, and Jill was shouting at the man on his behalf, but he was too stunned to react, and in a matter of seconds, he was on the sidewalk next to the white sedan. In the passenger seat was a dark-skinned, seriously overweight woman of indeterminate ethnicity stuffed into a blue uniform at least one size too small. She stared disinterestedly out the window.
Although the polar opposite of the man next to him, she, too, looked like someone who worked for the DMV.
“As you have expressed no preference, your driving exam will be conducted in our vehicle. Tanya here will administer the test.” The man held out a key. “Please get into the driver’s seat and follow her instructions.”
He wanted to say no, wanted to run back into the house and bolt the door, but the man had gotten into their house before, and Danny had no doubt that he would be able to do so again.
And what would happen to him if that occurred?
Danny glanced plaintively over at Jill, who had her cell phone out and was again threatening to call the police.
What if I just run away? he thought. What if I escape down the street or run over to one of the neighbor’s houses screaming?
But he didn’t do that. Instead, he accepted the key and walked around the front of the car, getting into the passenger side.
“Please start the vehicle,” Tanya said in a bored voice, not bothering to look at him. She was writing something on a white form attached to a metal clipboard.
This didn’t feel like a real driver’s test, but it was, Danny knew, and before he turned the key in the ignition, he strapped on his seat belt and shoulder harness, adjusting the side and rearview mirrors, as he had been taught. Only after that did he start the engine.
If Tanya noticed him following proper procedures, she gave no indication. “Pull out,” she told him indifferently, “and drive to the end of the block.”
Putting on his turn signal to indicate that he was merging into traffic (even though there was no traffic on their street), Danny carefully pulled away from the curb and drove to the end of the block.
“Turn right,” she said. “Then left at the next stoplight.”
He did so, maneuvering into the proper lane, signaling, waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic and steering onto Union Street. The traffic here was far heavier, and in the lane to his right, a Corvette sped by then swerved into his lane, causing him to apply the brakes.
“Pass that son of a bitch and cut him off,” Tanya ordered.
This had to be part of the test. His hands steady on the wheel at ten and two, Danny said, “The speed limit here is thirty five.”
“Shit.” Tanya started furiously writing on her clipboarded form.
There were no more instructions as he continued on for several miles, stopping at red lights, driving through green. He was starting to question whether she was even awake, but was afraid to look over and check. Several cars passed him on the right, though he was going the speed limit, and Danny wondered if he was going to have points taken off for not keeping up with the flow of traffic.
“Turn into that parking lot on your right,” Tanya told him. For the first time, he heard what sounded like excitement in her voice.
The empty parking lot was in front of an abandoned grocery store, and even from here he could see glittering shards of broken glass on the faded rutted asphalt, but he did as he was directed and signalled right, pulling off the street.
“Now do a donut,” she told him. “Haul ass.”
He was pretty sure that was illegal, and while he was not quite as certain as last time that this order was a test, he said honestly, “I don’t know how.”
“Shit,” she said again, and started scribbling on her form.
Unsure of what to do, he drove aimlessly around the vacant parking lot, trying his best to avoid potholes and broken bottles, until Tanya sighed and said, “Back onto the street.”
For the next ten minutes, she had him drive through business districts and residential neighborhoods, telling him to turn seemingly at random. Danny thought he’d have to demonstrate how he could parallel park or do a three-point turn, all the things he’d studied, but Tanya seemed to have no interest in that, and eventually she waved a weary hand at the windshield and said, “Drive home.”
Back at the house, the man from the DMV was standing exactly where they’d left him on the sidewalk. Jill was far behind him, sitting on the porch steps, and she stood and hurried over as Danny parked next to the curb.
He turned off the ignition, handed Tanya the key and got out, walking around the hood to where Jill was now standing.
Next to her, the man grinned. “Congratulations! You passed!”
How was that possible? The man had no idea how well or how poorly he’d driven. Tanya was still sitting in the car, writing. She hadn’t told anyone anything or handed in her form.
With a flourish, the man presented him with a driver’s license. “Here you go! You’ve earned it.”
How was this possible? Frowning, Danny looked down at the card. Instead of a photo, there was a colorful illustration. It was probably supposed to look like him, but it definitely did not. The drawing was of his head, but the nose was too big, the hair was red instead of brown, and the eyes were manga wide. It was the smile, however, that was most disturbing. Not only was it Joker sized, but several teeth were missing, and the ones that weren’t were of varying shapes and sizes.
“This isn’t a real license,” Jill said, pulling it out of his hand.
“I assure you, missy, it is.”
“That’s not even a real picture of him. It’s a…a cartoon!”
“Photographs can be faked,” the man said patiently. “You can do almost anything in Photoshop these days. This is a unique signifier that cannot be duplicated and thus provides protection from identity theft.”
“It doesn’t even look like him!”
“Be that as it may.” The man turned back to Danny. “Now, there are restrictions. For the first year, you cannot drive at night unless another licensed driver over the age of twenty-one is in the car. This applies to the hours between six p.m. and six a.m. During that same year, you cannot have more than one passenger under the age of eighteen in the vehicle at any one time, and no one in the back seat. The passenger cannot be a minor of the opposite sex. You cannot eat and drive. You cannot text and drive. You cannot talk on the phone and drive. While the car is parked, there is to be no fornication in the vehicle unless it is with your sister or another female family member.”
“Eww!” Jill squealed disgustedly, shaking her hands as though they were covered with something repulsive that she was trying to get off.
Danny’s face felt hot, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Other than that, my boy…” The man clapped an unwelcome hand on Danny’s back. “Drive carefully and have fun.” He started around the driver’s side of the car. Before opening the door, he held up a finger, resting his elbows on the vehicle’s low roof. “One more thing. Since this is your first time, you have been given a provisional driver’s license. Which means, if you are in an accident, your license will be revoked. If you are cited for a moving violation, your license will be revoked. If you break any of the rules I have described to you…there will be consequences.” He opened the door. “Good driving!”
Moments later, the car was speeding down the street away from them.
Danny looked over at his sister. He didn’t know what to say, and obviously she didn’t either, because she turned away and headed back up the walkway and into the house.
When their mom came home after work, both Danny and Jill tried to explain what had happened, attempted to convey to her the frightening craziness of it all, but no matter what either of them said, they couldn’t seem to capture her attention. She was distracted, and when Danny showed her his driver’s license, she glanced at it and said, “I think we should visit Daddy’s grave tomorrow. All of us.”
Danny met his sister’s eyes as their mom left them, walking into the kitchen to start dinner. Jill crooked a finger, and he followed her down the hall into her bedroom. She closed the door behind them.
“What was that?” he said.
“I think I know.” Jill’s voice was so low that Danny could barely hear her.
“What?”
She glanced nervously toward the closed door.
“Jill?”
“I think she saw Daddy.”
SIXTEEN
This couldn’t be the place.
Todd stood on the cracked sidewalk, looking from the piece of paper in his hand to the peeling blue door in the tan brick wall that was sandwiched between a shuttered tattoo parlor and a particularly dark and seedy looking bar.
Yesterday afternoon, he had called the phone number on the business card he’d been given by the scarred man at his book signing, and had reached a robotic recording, which stated an address before clicking off. He thought he’d be talking to a person, and so hadn’t been prepared for such a short swift message. He didn’t even have anything with which to jot down the information. He remembered the address, though—1432 East Lincoln Avenue—and quickly found a pencil and piece of paper, writing it down. Just in case he’d gotten it wrong, he tried calling again.
A message informed him that the number was out of service.
It didn’t matter. Todd was certain the address was correct, and he looked up directions on both MapQuest and Google Maps, printing out the one that seemed easiest to follow.
Now he was not so sure he’d heard the address correctly.
He smelled strong beer and cigarette smoke coming from the open door of the bar, heard two men with loud slurred voices arguing. Not expecting anything, he knocked on the rough wood of the blue door, flakes of dry paint fluttering down from the contact point with his knuckles. He was about to turn away, when the knob rattled and turned. The door opened, and at the foot of a stairway leading upward stood a man with a bald head and a long red scar across his scalp.
“Welcome,” he said, beckoning Todd inside.
Todd had come prepared. In a shoulder bag were pens, pencils, a notebook and his laptop. He’d also brought a checkbook, in case the tutorial cost money. He wouldn’t pay much, but if the DMV prep seemed legit, he was willing to fork over a few bucks.
Although, now that he thought about it, he should have brought cash. The checks had his address on them, and he wasn’t quite comfortable letting these people, whoever they were, know where he lived.
Todd followed the man up the steps. At the top of the landing was another door, this one red, and beyond it a large open room that seemed surprisingly clean for this building in this neighborhood. Around the room, computer terminals sat on square institutional tables next to freestanding whiteboards on which words and arrows and simplistic drawings of intersections had been scrawled.
The man who had given him the card approached, smiling. “I’m glad you came.”
Behind him, against the far wall, a small group of men and women stood watching them.
“Our tutors,” the man told Todd. “All former DMV.” Each appeared to have been maimed or injured in some manner. Todd saw a woman with a missing thumb, a man with a dead arm, another man wearing a leg brace. Nearly all seemed to have scars on their faces.
An elderly Asian woman and an African American teenage boy were already being coached at separate tables by teams of tutors.
“We use no names here,” the man told him. “We know your names, of course, but for our protection, tutors use no names. The DMV would pay handsomely for that information, and we can’t take the chance that after you pass your tests, one of you might reveal who we are.”
