DMV, page 25
“You,” the man said to Danny, “refused to take advantage of the DMV’s largess, and in declining the offer of a free vehicle exhibited behavior in direct opposition to the principles behind your duly issued license.
“You,” he said, turning to Jill, “have been engaging in behavior within moving motor vehicles that is expressly prohibited by the terms of your license.” His smile returned, hard and cold. “Specifically, you have been servicing men while they were driving, thus running a risk of causing an accident, since, as you know, a man’s attention cannot be fully focused on the road when he is ejaculating into your mouth.”
Danny did not want to hear this. Jill’s red face was a mask of shame, and she looked as though she wanted to sink into the ground. Humiliated, she was unable to even glance in his direction.
“Because of this behavior, you have been sent here to be re-educated and placed in my custody.” The hard smile came again. “And if either of you hope to matriculate in anything remotely resembling a reasonable amount of time, I suggest you do everything I say.”
Danny hazarded another glance at that open door. From within, he thought he heard moaning and whimpering. The naked people in the cage stirred listlessly.
The man herded them down the center of the street. His arms weren’t long enough to go around their shoulders, but he pressed his hands against their backs, pushing them as they walked. Danny wondered if he could just take off and run, try to get away, but there was no way for him to let Jill know of such an intention, and there was no way he would leave her behind. Besides, that big wall surrounded the whole place. How could he get past that?
As they approached a concrete structure on the right that was slightly smaller than the ones surrounding it, the door to the building opened, and a woman stepped out. At least he thought it was a woman. The person was wearing female clothes and had a definitely feminine figure, but atop the graceful neck was a large manly Rondo Hatten head: brutish and bald and severely disfigured. Danny looked quickly away.
The person motioned them over, then retreated back into the building. A poke in Danny’s back let him know that they were to follow. Inside, they went down a short corridor and into a well-lit room, where the tiled floor sloped gently down to a drain in the center of the chamber. There were shackles attached to the side walls, and at the back of the room a long black table on which sat a computer as well as several old-fashioned looking tools.
The man who’d brought them here prodded them toward the table, while the person who might be a woman typed something on the computer’s keyboard before picking up what looked like a primitive glue gun and plugging its cord into a wall socket. The person faced them, smiling, the sight horrific on that acromegalous visage.
“You must be imprinted with your driver’s license number for identification purposes,” the man told them. “Placement of the number is up to you. You can either roll up your right sleeve and expose your upper arm, or drop your pants and bare your buttocks.”
Danny and Jill looked at each other, seeing the fear in each others’ eyes, then silently rolled up their sleeves.
The person’s hideous smile widened, and the voice that came out of that mouth was piercingly wild. “This won’t hurt a bit!”
TWENTY SIX
Todd was typing on his computer, halfway through a chapter that he was pretty sure was going nowhere, when he learned the news.
Across the Divide had made it onto the USA Today bestsellers list.
It was the expanded online list, to be sure, not the Top Ten that was actually printed in the paper. And he had barely made it on, entering at number 98. But his book was listed, and immediately after his agent had called with the good news, his publisher called to congratulate him. Not Chyla, not his editor, but the president of the publishing house herself.
An hour or so later, his publicist did call, and he answered warily. “Hello, Chyla.”
“Todd! Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
She jumped straight in. “I have an idea on how we can capitalize on this.”
He winced. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“I know a freelance writer, Alanis Malaga. She happens to be a friend of mine. She’s written book reviews for The LA Times, The New York Times, a bunch of places…”
“You’re going to have her review my book?”
“Too late for that. It’s already out. What I was going to say is, she’s also written profiles—celebrity profiles, political profiles—and she just did one last week for USA Today on an Indiana congressman. I’m thinking she can do one on you. She knows books, she writes about people, she has an in with the paper, you’re on their bestseller list… It’s a perfect storm. I’m pretty sure they’ll bite. And this is national exposure.”
“It’s a good idea,” Todd admitted.
“I’m glad you think so, because I already told her you’d do it, and I gave her your email. She’ll be sending over some questions later today or tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“One more thing. A little birdy told me that your great-grandmother was a Holocaust surviver?”
Todd stiffened.
“How did I not know this? That is a perfect hook! Especially for this book. We could—”
He slammed the phone down angrily.
Who, he wondered, could have told the publicist about that? And why?
For about the hundredth time since he’d gotten it, he thought about his driver’s license.
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Could someone from the DMV have informed her about his family history? That number was not a coincidence, and while he wasn’t sure how even a data-gathering organization like the Department of Motor Vehicles could be in possession of such private information, he was beginning to believe that it knew everything about him.
The phone rang again, and he answered it, steeling himself because he thought it might be Chyla again, but to his surprise, it was Beverly.
She spoke quickly, as though afraid he might hang up. “Hey, Todd, is Rosita there? I want to apologize for last night. I think maybe I’d had a little too much to drink, and with everything else that was pressing down on me, maybe I overreacted a little.”
“Rosita’s at work, and don’t worry about it. We both understand. In fact, I think she was planning to call you today.”
“I should apologize to you, too. Jorge’s been gone for so long, and no one can help me find him or even knows where he is, and I’ve been reading all these other horror stories online, and then some chick calls and tells me she’s screwing him and he’s leaving me, and then you two tell me that you learned about people who have come back from the camp brainwashed or hurt…”
“I don’t blame you. You had a perfect right to be mad, and it’s my fault that we didn’t tell you earlier. I’m sorry.”
“So what do we do now? Do you know where this camp is?”
“That’s the thing. They couldn’t tell me. But a guy I know, a cop, has been transferred over to the DMV. I haven’t heard back from him recently , but he’s supposed to be looking into it for me.”
“Are you going to talk to him again?”
“Today,” Todd promised.
“Let me know what happens. And tell Rosita I called. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“As soon as she gets home. And I’ll have her call you if she hasn’t already.”
“You’re good guys.” There was a pause, and he could almost hear her smile over the phone. “No matter what Jorge says.”
After getting off the phone with Beverly, Todd found the email with Jim Briggs’ number. He was still concerned that the policeman’s phone might be tapped, but things had gotten serious enough that they needed to talk. Perhaps, he thought, they could meet in person.
Jim answered on the second ring. Todd was circumspect in his conversation, but was able to learn that the lieutenant was off today. Speaking casually—too casually, so that Jim would pick up on the obvious underlying thread—he suggested that the two of them meet, just to catch up on things. They decided on a neutral site: Fichtner Park, just down the street from the library and the police station—and far enough from the DMV office that they shouldn’t be spotted by any employees.
A half-hour later, Todd was waiting in the narrow parking lot by the baseball diamond when Jim showed up in a white car that looked almost like a police vehicle, except for the fact that the identifying seal on the driver’s door was that of the Department of Motor Vehicles. Todd walked over as Jim emerged to greet him. “Todd,” he said, nodding.
This wasn’t the confident competent officer who had shared inside information about police culture and vetted the versimilitude of his novel. This was a haunted man. He’d lost weight, his skin was sallow, there were bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Todd said. He tried not to stare but couldn’t help himself; the change in the other man was so profound. He knew what he wanted to talk about, had even planned out what he was going to say while he waited, but now that the moment was here, he was not sure where to begin.
Jim solved that problem for him. “It’s even worse than I thought it would be. The DMV.” He took a lone free cigarette out of his shirt pocket and used a Bic to light it. Todd had not known that he smoked. “I never liked the department, either as a regular citizen or a cop, but now that I’m in the belly of the beast…” He shook his head, took a long drag.
“Can’t you transfer back?”
He smiled wryly. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“So you’re like, what, a babysitter? Or a security guard? I don’t get why you’re there. It doesn’t seem like they would need a police lieutenant, someone with your skills, at the DMV.”
“I was transferred over because they wanted someone who could help track down what they call ‘the renegades.’ Those people who ended up dying in the fire.” He paused. “Those people who were burned to death.”
A bee flew between them, and Jim jumped. He tried to laugh it off, but his eye remained on the insect as it alighted on a leaf on a nearby bush.
Now they were getting close to the things Todd wanted to talk about. He glanced around to make sure no one else was walking behind him. “Do you think the DMV had something to do with it?”
Jim lowered his voice. “The DMV had them killed. I can’t prove it, but I know it.”
“You’re a cop. Can’t you investigate?”
“I’m their cop.”
“You can tell other cops about it. The ones you worked with. They can’t just murder people and get away with it.”
“Officially, it was an accident.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Can’t you go to the press? Anonymously?” Todd suddenly thought of an idea. “Or I could go to the press!”
“No!”
“You think…”
“They know I know you. It wouldn’t be good for either of us. And by the way, your brother-in-law? I don’t know exactly where he is. But I’ve heard things about that camp. Not good things.”
That camp.
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Things were fitting together far more closely than they should, as far as Todd was concerned. When he was a kid, that whole “Never Again” refrain had seemed like a paranoid response to a one-time historical episode. But attitudes and events of the past few years had started to make him feel that history could repeat itself. And now eternal vigilance seemed like a vital necessity, “Never Again” a valiant rallying cry against a reality that was already here.
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“I’m going to give you the advice I’ve been giving other people I’ve dealt with: Stay as far away from the DMV as possible. Renew your license when you need to, pay for your tags each year, but otherwise don’t have any contact. That place is toxic. It’s…”
“Evil?” Todd offered.
Jim looked at him with troubled eyes. “Yes. It is.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment.
“What’s going on there?” Todd asked finally. “They’re kidnapping people and sending them to training camps to apply for jobs. They’re giving crazy tests and killing ex-employees, employees who all happened to be maimed and disfigured. I mean…what the hell? And this isn’t a book. It’s real life.”
“It is real life,” Jim said. “Which is why I agreed to meet you, why I’m telling you not just to be careful but keep away.”
“They can’t get away with this, though.”
“They can and will. And they have been for a long time.” Jim took a deep breath. “But I might have an idea. Don’t say anything,” he added quickly. “Never bring it up, don’t tell anyone else, forget you ever heard it. But…I have an idea.”
Todd could tell from the lieutenant’s anxious expression, as well as his haggard appearance, the toll this was taking on him, and he nodded in acknowledgement.
“We probably shouldn’t meet again. And don’t call or email me, either. I know it sounds paranoid, but assume all of my communications are being monitored. If I find anything specific about your brother-in-law, I’ll get word to you somehow.”
“Okay. And thanks.”
Jim got into his car. Todd started to wave goodbye—
And it was as though black paint was suddenly sprayed onto all of the car’s windows from the inside. In the space of seconds, the windows were covered, and whatever was covering them was not still but moving. Todd took a step forward and saw that the glass was swarming with bees.
He yanked open the door, thankfully not yet locked, then jumped back, expecting the insects to fly immediately out of the car. A few emerged lazily from the vehicle’s interior, but most remained in place, and Todd saw Jim engulfed by the bees, thousands of them crawling over him and each other in layers so thick that only a general human shape was discernible. He was crying out in pain, but even his screams were muffled by the overwhelming infestation, and Todd jumped the curb, ran to the edge of the park’s lawn and picked up a stick that was lying amidst brown leaves and other broken branches at the base of a tree. The stick was short—only about two feet long—but it would have to do, and Todd ran back to the car and began sweeping the bees off Jim with the piece of branch, prepared at any second to run away should they swarm and attack him.
For some reason, they didn’t. And he was able to practically roll them off in sheets. Many were dead, and the majority of those that weren’t appeared to be docile. Jim had stopped screaming, and by the time Todd had swept most of the bees off him, it was clear that he was unconscious. Amazingly, Todd had not been stung himself, and, taking a chance, he reached into the car, put his hands under Jim’s arms and pulled him out. Once off the car seat, the officer’s body became considerably heavier. Unable to carry such weight, Todd lowered the policeman onto the adjacent parking space, leaning him against the curb, before taking out his phone and calling 911.
A few random bees were flying around, a few others still clung to Jim’s clothes and hair, but most of them, dead or alive, remained in the car, and Todd kicked the door shut even as he explained to the dispatcher where he was and what had happened.
Where had the bees come from?
Clearly, they’d been in the car all along, but how had they gotten there and why hadn’t they attacked earlier?
At least they were trapped, which meant that whoever ended up investigating this would have something to work with.
Jim was breathing, but his face was red, bloody and swollen, as were his arms. Both his shirt and pants were riddled with holes. CPR obviously wasn’t required, but Todd didn’t know if there was something else he should be doing to revive the policeman. His instinct was to lightly pat the man’s cheeks, the way he did with Rosita when she was asleep and he was trying to awaken her, but with that puffy skin and so much blood, he didn’t think that was a good idea.
A bee flew out of Jim’s open mouth.
Todd jumped.
Luckily, he heard the sound of an approaching siren at just that second, and a few moments later, he was flagging down the ambulance.
Paramedeics had Jim on a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance in a matter of minutes, even as the man in charge was asking Todd specific details about what had occurred. They had shooed the remaining bees off Jim’s clothes and body, but one of the paramedics had captured several of them in a clear plastic container to take along with them, no doubt to determine whether the insects contained any venom to which Jim was allergic.
The ambulance took off, but the two policemen who had arrived in conjunction with the paramedics remained. They had overheard him explain what happened but asked him to go through it again, taking notes. It was unbelievable, but they believed it. The proof was right in front of them. The younger of the two tapped on a corner of Jim’s windshield, causing a bloblike movement of blackness within. “Jesus,” he said. “There must be thousands of ’em.”
That was no longer Todd’s concern. He’d done his duty, told them everything he knew, and now he just wanted to get the hell out of here.
“Do you know what hospital they’re taking him to?” he asked.
“It’s usually whatever’s closest.” The older officer tapped something into his handheld device. “Looks like he’s headed to St. Jo’s.”
“Thanks.”
Leaving the cops to figure out what to do, he drove home. Could the DMV be behind this? he wondered. What if Jim was being punished for talking to him?
Someone honked, and, startled, Todd glanced at the rearview mirror. A black Camry sped up from behind, practically tailgating him. He was tempted to slam on the brakes and let the asshole crash into him and suffer the consequences, but he didn’t want to waste half an hour exchanging insurance information. He wanted to get home.
