Author: Hillary Lyon
Jenna slid into the first available self-driving taxi. She kept her cat-eye sunglasses on even though it was dim in the cab’s interior; the sunglasses complimented her tiger-stripe patterned coat, completing her look. She liked that, though some members of her gang said it shouted ‘cat burglar.’ That’s what she was, Jenna countered, so why not dress like a comic book villainess? Besides, civilians on the street we too hypnotized by the glowing screens of their phones to notice her.
She settled back in the comfy folds of the taxi’s back seat, mentally reviewing her next gig. It would be easy-peasy slinking through the hotel lobby, accessing the elevator. The occupant of room 913 would be out all evening as the guest of a much-hyped gala event ten blocks away. The hardest part of this job will be deciding what to take for myself, Janna mused, and what to share with the gang.
“Welcome,” the taxi’s concierge voice purred. “Please remove your sunglasses.”
“Why?” This is new, Jenna groused to herself. The taxi’s request unnerved her.
“Facial recognition scan. For our passenger records, as mandated by the recent federal regulation 568KOL23.”
Jenna scowled and removed her sunglasses. As the green light of the scan rolled down her face she flared her nostrils, squeezed her eyes closed, and pursed her lips. An unbecoming face she used to make for middle school year-book pictures. Now it was her attempt to foil the scan.
I have no criminal record on file, she reminded herself. This nothing but public safety theater.
“Where to?” the taxi asked. It would add this information to her file.
Jenna relaxed. “Hazelwood Hotel.”
The locks on the doors of the auto-taxi clicked as the vehicle pulled out into traffic.
“Excuse me,” Jenna said after noticing the street names. “You’re going the wrong way.” She was on a tight schedule, and this auto-taxi was going to muck up the works. “The Hazelwood is north on Wozniak Way, and we’re traveling south. Turn. Around.”
“Apologies,” the taxi replied, “but we have been re-routed to the police station on Singa Street.”
“Why?”
“Records show you have an over-due library book. Young adult fiction. The Alley Cat of the Catskills. 183 pages with color illustrations.”
Jenna scoffed. “I read that book the summer I was twelve. I returned it.”
“Records say otherwise.” The voice continued. “Accumulated late fees, penalties, and compounded interest means—”
“I know I turned it in,” Jenna talked over the taxi’s voice. “Decades ago.”
“You are Class E Felon.”
Jenna slumped back in the seat. Her thieving ways had started early, around the same time she’d learned she had a knack for talking her way out of any situation. Just put me in front of a human judge, she reassured herself, and I’ll be out in a jiffy.
Outside her window, it began to rain. The water would ruin her hairstyle, but she assumed it would just roll off her beloved tiger-stripe patterned coat. After all, she nicked this coat on one of her more lucrative heists. It was a high quality piece.
Arriving at the station, an android cop helped her out of the cab. On the way up the steps, he informed her she’d been assigned to Judge B3RX7. Without comment she walked on as the rain soaked her coat, bleeding the fashionable tiger-stripe pattern into a muddy mess. Like her life.