DMV, page 30
She started typing on her keyboard. “Sure. It’s definitely not a complete list, but there are still quite a few names.” Violet gestured toward her screen.
“Can you print those out for me? I might do a little research myself tonight.”
“Sure.” Violet pressed a key and the printer across the room whirred into action.
Bernard walked over to collect the pages. “It’ll be interesting to see if any of those people, especially the older ones, were issued licenses of some kind. I’m thinking of those weird ones you came across,” he told Zal. “And do they keep track of everything? Has their entire history been digitized? Because my guess is that, even if they keep records all the way back, no one’s had the time to enter all of it, which means there’s probably libraries of documents or scrolls or whatever stored in a vault somewhere.”
The printer finally stopped spitting out pages, and Bernard gathered them up.
“The thing is,” Violet said, “most people, including me until I dug this up, think that the DMV is a state agency. And it is. But the state DMV reports to a federal DMV which reports to the global DMV.”
“Global DMV?”
“That’s what I’m calling it. They don’t call it that. To them, it’s just the DMV, and all these hierarchal distinctions are organic, the way things are and the way they’re supposed to be.”
“In your research,” Bernard wondered, “did you find times when there were major turning points? Big changes in the organization?”
“Why?” Zal said.
“Don’t you wonder why the DMV suddenly wants everyone to register online? Why they don’t want anyone coming into their offices anymore?”
Zal sighed. “I assumed it was to make things easier for customers, but after all this, I doubt that was even a consideration.”
“I think they want to keep people away from the offices because they’re planning to use those buildings for something else.”
“Like what?”
Bernard gestured toward a photo displayed on Violet’s monitor that was of robed Asian monks bowing before a giant bush that had been trimmed into the shape of an automobile. “Probably something we can’t even understand.”
Zal thought again of their initiation.
“I’m afraid I’m no help there,” Violet told them. “Like I said, they’re secretive. Like a cult. so there’s a lot of stuff I couldn’t find out.”
“Well, there’s definitely a transition underway, and that transition is happening much quicker than I thought possible,” Bernard admitted. “I’m sure it’s by design. And I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of deadline. Which explains why we’re suddenly doing patches and quick-and-dirty updates rather than the comprehensive system overhaul we were originally contracted for.”
“So what do we do?” Zal asked his friend.
“You got me.” Bernard slipped the printed pages he’d been holding into his laptop bag, then strapped the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll think on it and get back to you tomorrow.”
“You know what? Maybe we should talk about it outside.” He gestured, indicating the building around them. “Just in case. Meet you in the parking lot tomorrow morning?”
“Not a bad idea, I guess. Especially if we’re talking specifics. But—” Bernard pointed at Violet’s computer. “I’m sure they’re on to us already.”
Zal blinked. He was right.
Zal chastised himself. He’d been so careful to make sure that everything he did on his own company computer appeared to be connected to his work on the updates, even if it wasn’t, yet he’d been stupid enough not to even consider the possibility that the DMV would be monitoring other devices within the same building. With a project this big, the entire Data Initiatives operation was no doubt under constant surveillance. And if the DMV had now learned that one of those computers was researching the institution’s history...
“Don’t worry,” Bernard said. “We’ve been initiated. It’s all in the family.” He gave Zal and Violet a wry wave, then started off down the corridor. “See you tomorrow!”
Zal was almost afraid to speak now, worried that they were being spied upon. But Bernard was right, the damage had been done, and whatever person or program within the DMV monitored this sort of thing was already on to them.
Violet walked across the room and shut off the printer, then went from desk to desk making sure that everyone else’s equipment had been turned off for the night. Returning to her own work area, she took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. “I know I’ve been a little weird lately,” she said.
Really? They were going to do this here? Now? He imagined some smirking DMV bureaucrat listening in on their conversation, then castigated himself for being so paranoid. “No, you haven’t,” he lied.
“Yes, I have. And it has nothing to do with you. It was just some stuff I was going through at home. But that’s all sorted out now.”
Zal nodded, not wanting to press.
“If you must know...”
He started. “I didn’t—”
“You’re being polite, and that’s sweet. But don’t tell me you’re not curious.”
“Well, if you want to tell me…”
Violet smiled. “I do.” She let out a deep breath. “You have to promise that this goes no further than us, though. You can’t tell anyone. Not even Bernard.”
He glanced surreptitiously at her computer but did not want to ruin the moment. “I swear.”
She paused. “I found out recently that my dad is not exactly in this country…legally. I don’t mean he snuck over the border and made his way through the wilderness or anything like that—and it was a complete shock to me, because my parents have been here forever, since way before I was born, so I never even considered something like this—but a few weeks ago, I asked my dad why we never visited his parents, my grandparents in Canada, why they always came to visit us. I thought it would be fun to go to Canada; I’ve never been there, and I’d like to see it. He sat me down and revealed that he couldn’t leave the country because he might not be able to get back in.”
Violet shook her head. “Like I said, I was shocked. He told me that he was going to school here on a student visa, that he met my mom in college—my mom is a citizen, by the way, even though she’s originally from El Salvador—and that he just overstayed his visa. To hear him tell it, he never thought about it, it never came up. He moved in with my mom, they both graduated and got jobs, bought a house, had me, and..life just happened. I’m not quite sure I buy that. He had to know when he was applying for a home loan or a car loan or applying for a job that he was lying on whatever forms he had to fill out, but whatever. The point is that he lied to me. Or I felt like he’d lied to me, because he never told me any of this. I said he should see if there’s a way that he could become a citizen, or at least a legal resident, maybe pay a fine or something and then get permission to stay, but my mom…” She sighed. “My mom and I had a big fight—after Donald Trump, she doesn’t trust the government with anything involving immigration—and I ended up walking out, which was why I stayed with you. My dad eventually called a truce, and everyone’s agreed to sort of let things just stay where they are. So, once again, my grandparents are coming to visit from Canada next month. My dad said I could go and visit them if I wanted, and maybe I’ll do that eventually, but he can’t go back.” She smiled sadly. “Anyway, that’s what’s been going on, and I just thought you should know.” Her smile brightened. “Being as you’re my boyfriend and all.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll call INS and turn your dad in?”
“It’s not INS anymore. It’s ICE. Has been for years. So, no. Someone so out of touch is not someone I’m really worried about turning anybody in.”
Zal thought of something. “Does your dad have a driver’s license?”
“I assume so. He drives.”
“Let me see your computer. I want to look something up.”
Her face paled as she realized what he intended to do, but she stepped aside to let him access it. A few keystrokes later, they were looking at her father’s driver’s license.
“It’s a conditional license,” Zal noted. “And there’s an asterisk next to it. And that asterisk means…” He clicked to another screen and was suddenly silent.
“What?” Violet prodded. “What does it mean?”
“It means he has been designated as a victim. Other drivers can hit him, or run him over, or crash into his car with impunity.”
The stricken expression on her face pierced right through him. “This can’t be real.”
“It’s real.”
“What can we do?”
“Tell your dad to stop driving, first of all. Try to keep him off the streets. Make up a reason. Any reason.”
“We can’t let them get away with this,” Violet said. She was almost in tears. “We need to do something about it.”
“We will. We’ll figure something out,” Zal promised. He stood, hugging her tightly. “We’ll find a way.”
THIRTY TWO
“Do you think Daddy killed Mom after we were gone?”
Danny pretended to be asleep, not wanting to answer his sister’s question, not wanting to even think about it. They were both chained to their beds for the night, their diapers fastened. This, for Danny, was the most humiliating indignity they had to endure, and even if he had to go to the bathroom, he made sure he held it until morning when they were allowed access to a toilet.
Thea, the toughest person in their dormitory, a middle-aged woman who looked like a hardcore criminal, had taken exactly the opposite approach on the first night Danny and Jill had been there. She’d done everything in her diaper, and in the morning when one of the DMV workers had told her to take her diaper off in the bathroom and dispose of it, she’d said, “You take it off! Take it off and wipe my dirty ass, bitch!”
She had been beaten in front of them, and hauled away.
They had not seen her again.
Jill had whispered to him later that the whole thing had been faked, a way to intimidate the rest of them, but he wasn’t buying it. He thought she’d probably been locked in that cage with the naked people.
Now he lay in bed with his eyes closed, in case his sister was looking over at him.
“Do you think he did? Danny? Do you think he killed her?”
He didn’t respond, and she was silent after that. Eventually they both fell asleep.
In the morning, once they were released from their shackles, there was a rush for the bathroom. Danny’s and Jill’s beds were close to the door, and they were only a few people back from the front of the line, which was good because Danny really had to go. In the bathroom, he took off and threw away his diaper, did his business, changed into the orange prisoner-like jumpsuit they were required to wear, then came back out to wait for Jill. Together, they walked through the double doors to their dorm’s mess hall, where they ate their bowl of unflavored gruel.
“How long do you think we’ll have to be here?” Danny asked as they walked out with everyone else for their morning lesson.
“I don’t know,” Jill said. “Forever?”
It was a joke, but it wasn’t really, and they followed along in silence as the group was marched past the nearly identical buildings to a large oval racetrack. Instead of grandstands, there were fake stores and houses, like those on a movie set, flanking both sides of the roadway, making it appear as though the track ran through the center of a city’s main street.
As usual, today’s instructor, an extremely tall man with distractingly short legs, had not provided them with his name. Before ordering them to follow him to this location, he had said simply, “You may address me as ‘Sir.’”
Now he guided them toward a white car positioned next to the curb in front of the first fake building. Once they were all gathered before him, he said, “In order to earn the right to once again legally operate a motor vehicle on public streets, you’re going to have to learn, or re-learn, some of the basics. This morning, we will be talking about crashes and examining the consequences of being involved in a collision.” He slapped the hood of the car. “What we have here is the most common sedan on the highway, the type each of you has probably owned and driven sometime in your lives.”
Danny saw some of the older adults nodding.
“This also happens to be the type of vehicle most commonly involved in an accident.” He clapped his hands. “So for this demonstration, we require a crash test dummy.”
The instructor scanned the faces before him. “You,” he said, pointing to Jill. “You’d make a good dummy.” He chuckled. “Of course, none of you are that bright, or you wouldn’t be here. You’re all dummies, really. But for our purposes today, you, young miss, will serve as our official tester.”
“No I won’t.”
“Strip,” he ordered.
Jill looked back at him defiantly, making no effort to comply.
“The point of this exercise is to show the effects of a typical easily avoidable collision on the human body. Rather than take your clothes off afterward to examine the results of our demonstration, it will be easier if you are already naked. Take off your clothes.”
“No!” Danny shouted. “Pick someone else!”
The man looked at him. “You, perhaps?”
Jill was already unbuttoning her jumpsuit. “I’ll do it.”
Danny turned away, sickened. Most of the others, he noticed, were watching her, especially the men and boys. One old man in particular was looking at her so intently and with such a pervy look on his face that Danny wanted to kick him in the balls.
There were between fifteen and twenty people in their group, and on the far opposite side of the track, he saw another group of about the same size.
How many people were in this camp?
He turned back toward the car, and immediately wished he hadn’t. His sister, now completely naked, was getting into the driver’s seat, and he happened to catch sight of her at a particularly inopportune moment as she swung her left leg in.
The instructor was picking her jumpsuit and underwear off the ground. “I want you to drive through this little town, all the way around and stop right here again. Can you do that?”
“Of—” she began, but before she could answer, he slammed her door shut.
“Drive carefully now.” The instructor giggled.
Scowling, Jill strapped herself in. Putting on her turn signal, she pulled slowly away from the curb. She began to accelerate—
And was hit hard from the passenger side by a red pickup truck speeding out of a driveway. Her car spun around until it was facing backward, and the pickup truck took off down the track.
“Come on!” the instructor said excitedly. “Let’s check it out!”
They ran toward the caved-in car, its broken windshield obscured by a massive amount of steam that was issuing from the radiator. Both front doors had flown open, and the group made a beeline for the driver’s side, Danny and the instructor in the lead.
Jill was slumped against the steering wheel. Her right leg seemed to be folded in on itself and was twisted in such an unnatural way that it had to be broken. Blood was streaming from a gigantic gash on her outer left thigh. Blood was also dripping down the side of her face, and Jill moaned groggily as her head lolled in their direction. Her eyes met Danny’s, and he saw in them fear, confusion and tremendous pain.
“She’s bleeding!” he yelled. “Call an ambulance!”
The instructor was still holding Jill’s clothes, and he wadded up her underwear and pressed it against the leg wound. “She’ll be fine.” He turned toward the gathered group. “Note that she was wearing her shoulder harness but—uh oh!—the air bags did not deploy.” The man shrugged. “It happens.” He leaned in a little further. “Oh,” he said, with mock sympathy. “She pissed herself.” Straightening, he faced the gathering. “This is why you must always go to the bathroom before getting into a vehicle. It’s a very valuable lesson, and one I hope you all take to heart. In an accident, the victim often loses control of bladder or bowels. So unless you want the EMTs who are responding to your crash to have to clean up your urine or feces when they should be focusing on your injuries, I suggest that you heed this extremely important advice.”
The instructor pointed down the track. “Now on to the second focus of our little demonstration: what about the driver of that pickup? The one who caused this unfortunate accident? As I’m sure you all know, this would be classified a hit-and-run. And unless that man has a license specifically allowing him to engage in such an act, he needs to be punished. Did anyone get a plate number?”
“She’s still bleeding!” Danny yelled, pointing at his sister. “We need to get some help!”
The instructor waved him off. “She’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think she’ll be fine,” the pervy old man opined.
“She’ll be taken care of. Don’t worry about it. Now did anyone see the license number of that truck?”
There were head shakes all around.
“If you had, or she had—” He pointed at Jill, who was now unconscious. “—you might have been able to do something about it.” He reached into his right back pocket, pulled out his wallet and opened it up, taking out his driver’s license. “See on my license here? There’s a little ‘P’ by the edge? Take out your own licenses, and see if any of you have one. I’ll wait.”
“I do,” a young black woman said.
“Me, too.” The pervy old man.
Several people, it turned out, had such a marking on their licenses. Danny, his eyes still on his sister, did not bother to check. He wanted to rush over to her, but the instructor was standing in his way, and he was afraid to challenge the man.
“What that ‘P’ means,” the instructor told them, “is that you are authorized to administer punishment in the event of an accident such as this. Say you saw the truck again and recognized it. You would be perfectly within your rights to ram it with your vehicle or run over the man. If you felt that this would damage your vehicle and end up increasing your insurance rates, there is also a provision allowing you to dispatch the offender in a different manner, a manner of your choosing. Uh oh, here he comes again!”
