Thicker Than Blood | Page 6

The car computer was calculating the odds that any
combination of bush covered reflectors, CB radio traffic, and radar
signals meant a speed trap. He enjoyed taunting the turns with his old
Chevy. Hearing the engine revolve as he drifted around the turns drew
him away from his day job and its worries. Having built this car really
did it for him. It was the feeling of a job well done that made the grease
and sweat worth it. His horizontal and mental drift were interrupted by
the double beep of his cell phone's ringer. Joe straightened the wheel
while reaching for his phone. He muted the radio. He pinned the phone
between his head and ear. The phone shifted Joe's clarks so he had to
watch the road around the edge of his glasses.
"Hello, I'm driving." "Okay, here's the deal. We are going over
Amman's house. Lucy's going to meet us over there." It was Mark. "Uh,
okay." Joe wasn't listening. Joe saw a blue blotch flicker in his lens, his
driving knee twitched as he hit the brake with his other foot. "You
mean your crazy cousin?" Joe sounded a little worried. "He's not
crazy." The sound of Mark's voice faded out of range as Joe let the
phone drop to the seat. Joe released the brake as he drove by a shiny
black car parked on the roadside. "Mark hold on, cop," Joe yelled

through his teeth. He tried to look casual driving his loud multicolor
muscle car. Joe yelled at the phone on the seat. "Mark what the hell are
you hanging out with that guy for? You know Homeland Security has
gotta be watching him. I don't really feel like being watched. I'll get
busted for something." He followed the gently curving road out of the
black car's sight, as if he were a hundred and three years old. He
reached down for the phone and lifted it back to his ear. Mark was still
talking. It seemed to Joe, Mark must have been talking the whole time.
"Just because he is a physicist from Iran doesn't mean he's a bad guy.
He showed me this great little computer he's been writing programs for
and..." Joe cut Mark off, "Mark, wooa. I have no idea what you said.
Hold on, hold on, tell me when I get there. 98th, right?" "Yes," Mark
said. He sounded a little hurt that Joe missed his rant. "Alright I'll see
you." A loud bang came from outside the car. Joe was tossed forward
and back. The steering wheel lurched, and he straightened it. A second
bang sounded as the Camaro's rear end passed over the gaping pothole.
It launched him off his seat a second time. Looking in the rearview
mirror, Joe saw the monster. It was four feet wide and at least one foot
deep. His heart was pounding, and Mark was yelling something. He
glanced in the rear view mirror to check for damage. None seemed
obvious. "Holy crap!" he exclaimed to Mark. "That was a pothole!"
"Are you alright? I heard that here." "When are they going to fix the
frigging roads?" Joe growled. "I'll get off, see you later," Mark said.
"Okay later," he pushed the button on the phone and lowered it to his
seat. His heart was still racing. He almost smashed his head on the
steering wheel. That was too close, he thought. He felt embarrassed and
angry; embarrassed that Mark heard the fear of injury in his voice, and
angry that the condition of New York was deteriorating. He un-muted
the radio and heard "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen. The
perfect music for my car, he thought. Same era, same attitude. He shed
his fear and accelerated again. He began to dream of his latest robotic
creation, looking for ways to shave its weight down. He thought about
drilling three four-inch holes in an over-engineered torso support. I
could compensate with a triangular cross brace, he thought. It would
work, but it would be ugly. Would it clear the hip servo? Click. Maybe
not. Click. The click was not part of his daydream. He recognized a

familiar fear, the wasted time and money repairing his old car. Damn it!,
he thought, I must have damaged the car. Click, click, BANG! The car
lurched to the passengers side. The steering wheel was no longer
responding. He heard the sound of scraping metal and screeching tires.
He stomped the brake pedal. The steering wheel fought back as the
remaining tie rod end tried to convey his counter steering. A strange
calm came over him as he tried to compensate for the random action of
the loose front tire. The Camaro swung sideways with a horrible
screeching noise that only all four tires