Amped by Daniel H. Wilson Read Free Book Online

want to be on the run from the cops.”
    I could stop running now, minimize the damage. I didn’t push Samantha Blex. Let them arrest me and I can set the record straight. It’s the sane thing to do. But I can’t forget the edge of panic in my father’s voice. Naked, ugly fear was on his face, the kind you never show willingly—the kind that’s contagious.
    I turn to Cortez.
    “You heard amps are going to steal your job? Well, guess what? I couldn’t drive your truck if I wanted to,” I say. “No amp could steal your job after today.”
    “How come?”
    “I can’t take the blame for a wreck. Legally. In the eyes of the law I don’t exist. You’d be better off having a three-year-old drive this thing.”
    Cortez snorts again, his deep-set bluish-gray eyes scanning the featureless, blazing road ahead. I can’t read his expression. Can’t tell if it’s good or bad. But discrimination is legal now, and from what I’ve seen the regular people are getting the hang of it real fast. If this guy sends me back to Pittsburgh, it’s all over.
    “That’s messed up,” he says finally. “They’re saying you’re not even a person.”
    “It’s what they’re saying. I can’t get picked up by the cops. I don’t have any rights. They can do whatever they want to me.
Will
do.”
    The emergency alert squawks again. A tinny voice from the dash speaks: “Come in, Cortez. Come in.”
    Eyebrows up, Cortez paws a button on the dash and responds. “This Cortez.”
    “Cort. It’s Jason. I’m doing the BOLO follow-up. Fleetscan indicates you took on a passenger in Nashville. Can you confirm?”
    Cortez frowns at me. “Yeah.”
    “Okay, can you let me get cab video?”
    Cortez blinks, as if he’s just woken up. He takes one hand off the steering wheel and scratches his unkempt beard. A light begins to blink on the dashboard, and his chubby hand flutters back to its roost almost unconsciously.
    “Jason … it’s my cousin. Giving him a ride to Tulsa to see his momma.”
    “That’s nice, Cortez. Now let me get cab vid.”
    “Nah,” says Cortez.
    “Dammit, Cort. Are you smoking weed in there again?”
    “Man, get out of here with that. Check my environmental.”
    “Then give me video.”
    “Do I come to your work and stare at you?”
    “I’m trying to do my job here, Cortez. I don’t have time for this shit. If you don’t grant me vidrights, I’m engaging the override and flagging you for law enforcement inspection. Now, are you going to do it or not?”
    “This is bullshit. It’s called
privacy,
Jason—” responds Cortez, and then the whole dashboard flashes red. The doors
thunk
as they lock themselves. We start losing speed.
    “Must be kidding,” mutters Cortez, leaning on the steering wheel. He glances at me and shrugs, shakes his head. The gravel shoulder crunches under the truck tires. My stomach drops.
    “Uh, hold up,” I say, leaning toward the dash. I’m doing my sad best to sound like I could be Cortez’s cousin. “Cortez shaved his head, all right? It’s nasty. All shiny and shit. Head looks like a bowling ball with cuts all over it. Said he’d get fired before he lets you see it.”
    Thin laughter tinkles out of the dashboard. “What?” asks the voice. “Seriously?”
    Cortez smiles at me, nods. “Barber in Nashville messed me up,” he says. “Came at me like a ax murderer. I had to shave it all off. Laugh if you want, but you not gonna be seeing my mug for about two weeks.”
    The laughter slowly dies away. There is a long pause. Static.
    “So, that’s your cousin?” asks the voice.
    “Yeah,” says Cortez.
    “He sounds white.”
    “What’d you say? Oh, we done,” says Cortez. “Done, done, done.” And he punches the cutoff button.
    The truck crawls over the gravel shoulder, slowing until itfinally stops. Blistering cold air rasps across my face and the dash burns bright red in my eyes. We sit together in silence for thirty seconds.
    “Cops come,” says Cortez in