CHIRP-CHIRP!
It’s the sound of an electronic alert from a parked car just up the street. A luxury L20 electric coupe, the latest Chinese import. I spot Lamont looking baffled in the driver’s seat as I run up alongside the car and tap on the half-open window.
“Hey!” I say. “You’ve been alive for two hours and now you’re stealing cars?”
“We’ll just borrow it,” says Lamont. “Just show me how to work…” I can see him struggling for the right words “…the goddamned thing!”
He looks over the dashboard and shakes his head.
“Where’s the tach?” he asks. “The fuel gauge? The speedometer?”
He’s staring at the black plastic control screen and I realize that he has no idea what it’s for. I open the driver’s-side door.
“Lamont,” I say. “Maybe we should do this tomorrow.”
“No!” he shouts. “Now!”
I decide not to argue with him. Truth is, I can’t wait to get out of this neighborhood myself.
I nudge him on the shoulder. “Shove over.”
I toss my scooter into the rear compartment. Lamont slides over to the passenger’s side. I’ve seen cars like this, but I’ve never touched one. Never sat in one. Never driven one. Never driven at all, in fact. Cars are for rich people, not for poor kids like me.
But how hard can it be?
I press the red power button on the console and the car starts to hum. The screen lights up. The icons kind of make sense.
“Where to?” I ask.
“North,” says Lamont. “Fifth Avenue. Number…” He pauses and rubs his head, trying to remember.
“Never mind the number,” I say. “The addresses have all changed anyway.”
“Just go!” says Lamont. “Please!”
I tap the icon for forward. As I move away from the curb, I sideswipe a traffic-control stanchion. The car’s side panel crunches like popcorn.
“Sorry about that,” I mumble. “Not too familiar with this model…” I quickly re-tap the touch screen and switch to auto run. The ride smooths out when the car locks into the lane sensors.
I look over at Lamont. “Don’t worry,” I tell him. “If your house is still there, we’ll find it.”
Within ten seconds, the car is up to fifty on First Avenue. I see Lamont bracing his feet against the floor panel and pressing himself into the seat back. I look down at the screen and barely miss a guy carrying a stack of salvage wood.
At the Fourteenth Street intersection, I see a crew of pavers ahead. I think they expect me to slow down. When I don’t, they jump out of the way, dropping their tools in the middle of the street. I run over the tip of a shovel and the handle flips up. Crash! So much for the driver’s-side headlight.
“Good lord!” shouts Lamont. “Where did you learn to drive?”
“Self-taught,” I say. I lean out my window and let the wind whip my hair away from my face.
This beats the hell out of a scooter any day.