No Better Friend

I was standing in the service pit beneath the antique Ford Mustang, unscrewing its leaky oil plug, when a quavering whine announced the arrival of an electric car. I could tell from the sound that one of its drive motors was about to fail.

By choice I didn’t service many electrics. My garage specialized in older gas-engine vehicles, especially pre-turn-of-the-millennium classic models. But I made a few rare exceptions for special customers. Such as the one who had just arrived.

The plug loosened and oil flowed into the pan. After that, I swapped the Mustang’s worn-out plug with one I’d created on my 3D printer. That done, I climbed out of the pit into the bright April afternoon where Cedric, Miss Suzie’s eight-year-old electric smart car, sat waiting for me.

As I approached Cedric’s gleaming coppery body, wiping my hands on a rag, the rear driver-side window slid down.

I ducked my head to peer inside. “Afternoon, Miss Suzie.”

“Good afternoon, Manuel.” Miss Suzie sat in the middle of the rear bench seat, peering at me through thick glasses that didn’t quite come up to her white arching eyebrows. The thin finger of one frail hand marked her place in the closed book resting on her lap.

“Is there a problem with the driver’s seat?” I glanced up front where the seatbelt was buckled across the empty seat.

“Not at all.” Miss Suzie waved a dismissive hand. “I decided it would be more comfortable in the back since Cedric takes care of all the driving anyway. Isn’t that so, Cedric?” Her fluttering hand patted the back of the driver’s seat.

“Yes, Miss Suzie.” Cedric answered through his dashboard speaker.

“Last I heard, the law says you still needed a driver behind the wheel.” I stuffed the rag in the back pocket of my coveralls.

“Nonsense.” Miss Suzie adjusted her glasses. “I’m blind as an amblyopsidae without my glasses, which are only good for reading, and anyway I’m far too slow to do any good behind the wheel.”

“Well, I hope the police don’t catch you.”

“Oh, they already have.” The ghost of a smile flickered across Miss Suzie’s mouth. “Officer Hudson just stopped us on our way here, not 15 minutes ago.”

“Did he give you a ticket?” I tried to imagine how that scene would have played out.

“Heavens, no!” Miss Suzie lowered her eyebrows. “I asked Jeremy what his mother would say when she learned he was bullying an 87-year-old woman who had taught him how to read in second grade, and he gave me a warning.”

“How long will they let you get off with warnings?” I didn’t even try to hide my grin.

“It’s the fifth one I’ve collected this week,” Miss Suzie sat back in the back seat and looked pleased with herself.

I laughed and shook my head. “So what brings you here today, Miss Suzie? I thought I heard some motor noise when you drove in.”

“You certainly did.” Miss Suzie waved a hand toward the front seat. “I’ll let Cedric tell you all about it.”

“What’s the problem, Cedric?” I turned my attention to his dashboard screen.

“It’s my front right wheel drive motor, Mr. Vargas.” Cedric’s voice made me think of an eager high school student as he spoke through his speaker. “It’s overheating, and I believe the coolant pump is at fault.”

“Well, let’s check it out.” I circled to the hood. “And call me Manny.”

“Very well, Manny.” Cedric released the hood.

Miss Suzie’s lips formed a moue, and I knew that the moment they drove out of the garage, she would instruct Cedric to call me Mr. Vargas again. This was a game we’d been playing ever since she first brought Cedric to my garage soon after she bought him. Miss Suzie didn’t call me Mr. Vargas because, as she explained it, once a teacher spent an entire year instructing a seven-year-old student not to pick his nose, their relationship was fixed for life.

Cedric, as usual, was correct. I replaced the faulty pump in a few minutes and sent them on their way.

* * *

It was several weeks later that our state passed its version of the Autonomous Vehicle Act and people began sending their self-driving smart cars on errands without any passengers at all.

One day I met Cedric parked in the pickup lane of the local supermarket. While a bag bot loaded groceries into his trunk, I pulled up in my 1969 Dodge Charger, across from where he was stopped, and rolled down my window. One look confirmed his back seat was empty.

“Hello, Cedric,” I called.

“Hello, Mr. Vargas.” This time Cedric spoke through his external speaker.

“Call me Manny.” I inspected his gleaming chassis. “I see Miss Suzie sent you out alone today.”

“Yes, Manny.” Cedric spoke without missing a beat. “Miss Suzie was too tired to come out with me this morning.”

“I hope she’s taking care of herself.” I glanced at his hood. “How is the new coolant pump working?”

“It is working very well, Manny.”

“Glad to hear that.” I nodded, pleased. “Tell Miss Suzie I send my best wishes.”

“I will tell Miss Suzie, Manny.”

Smiling to myself, I drove away.

Now and then over the next few months I met Miss Suzie and Cedric on the road. I waved. She nodded, or sometimes raised a fluttering hand to wave back. A few times Miss Suzie rode in Cedric to my garage to get his motors and pumps serviced, but these rides grew fewer and farther between. As the months passed, Miss Suzie appeared feebler. More often I’d see Cedric driving around town on his own. On those occasions he always called me Mr. Vargas. Then I’d instruct him to call me Manny, pass on my regards to Miss Suzie, and drive off, chuckling.

I needed all the chuckles I could get, because about this time, I was finding it harder and harder to buy gasoline. Even as a garage owner it was getting next to impossible to arrange deliveries. And when gas was available, I had to price it beyond the reach of most car owners just to break even. One after another they were forced to switch to newer electric, hybrid, and alternative fuel models under various government-sponsored carrot and stick programs.

Only a few of us refused to give into the pressures and bribes. Our local classic car association was fighting among itself whether or not to allow a change to alcohol and gasoline fuel mixes. Even more sacrilegious, some were proposing conversion to electric motors re-engineered to fit in our old chassis. Tempers were short, wallets were emptying, and gasoline engines were falling by the wayside amidst loud curses and heartache. A lot of both were aimed my way.

My own resistance, mostly from sentiment, was crumbling. I’d never give up my Dodge Charger, but what would I do when gasoline was unavailable at any cost? Sooner or later electrics would phase out gas guzzlers. Professionally, I had to be ready to take on these customers if I wanted my garage to survive.

It was during these upheavals that Cedric rolled into my service lot one late fall morning, looking dusty.

“Hello, Cedric.” I ran a finger along his front left fender and frowned as it came away covered in grime. He looked as if he hadn’t been cleaned since the last time I saw him and Miss Suzie at the car wash two weeks ago. “What brings you here today?”

“Hello, Manny,” he said. “My power systems appear to be functioning below optimal levels.”

“Well, let’s take a look.” I waited for him to pop the hood.

It didn’t take me long to find and fix the problem.

“There’s corrosion on one of your power leads,” I cleaned and replaced the lead. “You should get them looked at every time you go in for a wash.” I re-examined his dust covered chassis. “It looks like you’re due for one now.”

“Yes, Manny.” Cedric sounded precise and serious as always. “I will report this to Miss Suzie.”

“Okay, then.” I uploaded my bill, and Cedric pinged a payment from Miss Suzie’s account before he drove off.

Then a 1967 Volkswagen bug coughed and sputtered into my lot. It was clearly the victim of a fuel mixture mishap, and I immediately forgot all about Cedric and Miss Suzie.

Three weeks later I was driving home with a still warm pizza, looking forward to a quiet evening with my girlfriend Rachel, when the bloop of a siren made me check my mirror. I veered to the side of the road. A police car sped past and made a hard right at the next corner.

Starting up again, I drove past the intersection, and glanced right to see if I could spot what the fuss was about. Halfway down the block, four police cars and one fire truck, their lights all flashing, were scattered outside a small yellow two story house. The various first responders stood safely behind their vehicles, staring toward the house.

I was about to continue on home before my pizza got cold when a gleam of shiny copper caught my eye. I slammed on my brakes and made a sharp right turn onto the cross street.

When I pulled to a stop behind the police cars and got out, a cop tried to wave me off. I ignored him. I only had eyes for Cedric, who was rolling back and forth across the front lawn of the yellow house. It looked like he was trying to stop the police from approaching the front door.

“Manny, you need to leave.” The cop stepped in front of me, blocking the way.

I tore my gaze from Cedric to look at him. It was Jerry Hudson, a guy I’d known since kindergarten.

“Jerry, what’s going on?” I watched in disbelief as Cedric did a U-turn and rolled back across the lawn, his tires leaving deep, muddy dents in the grass.

“What’s it look like?” Jerry glared at Cedric. “The car must have blown a circuit. It won’t let us enter the house.” He glanced at another cop. This one was assembling a long, deadly looking rifle.

I looked between the rifle and Cedric as a knot tightened in my stomach.

“Jerry, please don’t tell me you’re planning to shoot a car,” I took a half step toward the cop with the rifle.

“We’ve got to get into the house.” Jerry stepped into my path, palms outward.

“Why?” But even as I asked, my brain caught up with events. “Is this Miss Suzie’s house?”

“Yes.” Jerry relaxed. “This all started out as a welfare check. No one has seen Miss Suzie for three weeks.”

The cop with the rifle signaled he was ready to shoot. Two other cops squatted next to him, pointing at Cedric as if deciding on the best place for a disabling shot.

“Now wait just a second.” I called to the three cops and dodged around Jerry. “Don’t shoot that car!”

“Manny!” Jerry tried to catch my arm. “This isn’t your business.”

I sidestepped, staying out of reach. “You’re darned right it’s my business,” I said. “I work on that car. Miss Suzie is one of my best customers.”

“Officer Hudson, keep the civilians out of the way,” called the oldest of the three cops.

“Doing it, Sarge.” Jerry seized my arm. “Dammit, Manny,” he hissed in my ear. “Knock it off!”

“But I can shut down the car,” I called out, “and if you hit the wrong spot, the battery can explode and start a fire.”

This was a complete lie. The car’s battery was so well armored you could spray it with .50-caliber machine gun rounds without cracking it.

But the cops obviously didn’t know this, because the one called Sarge raised a hand to abort the shot. The cop with the rifle gave me a sour look, but lowered his weapon.

“Hudson, do you know this guy?” Sarge stared hard at me, trying to decide if I was a problem or a possible solution.

“He’s Manny Vargas.” Jerry looked relieved he wouldn’t have to arrest me. “He’s a mechanic; owns a local garage.”

Sarge nodded once, his gray eyes hard. “Are you sure you can shut down this car?”

“Positive,” I lied, watching Cedric trundle across the lawn again, wondering what my mouth was doing. It was definitely ignoring my brain. That was for sure.

“That car nearly ran over one of my men.” Sarge added this unwanted bit of news as if it were a challenge.

“I don’t think it’s anti-collision programming would let it actually hit anyone.” I hoped this was true. “And besides, Cedric knows me.”

“Cedric?” Jerry scrunched his nose in puzzlement.

“That’s what Miss Suzie calls him.” I kept my eyes fixed on Cedric.

Sarge glared from me to Cedric, his jaw tightening. “Hell, give it a try. Just keep in mind it doesn’t want anyone going near that house.”

Slipping between the parked police cars, I sauntered to within a few steps of the muddy path Cedric had worn in the lawn. I tried to act more confident than I felt.

“Stop!” Cedric’s amplified voice boomed out of his external speaker. “You are trespassing on private property. Leave immediately or the police will be notified.”

I glanced back at the cops. Jerry shrugged, so I looked back at Cedric. His top half was shiny and clean, although mud now spattered his wheels and the lower parts of his body.

“Hello, Cedric.” I kept my voice as normal as I could manage. “I see you had a good wash since I last saw you.”

Cedric stopped moving. A second passed as his voice and facial recognition software identified me.

“Hello, Manny.” His voice was as precise and serious as usual. “Yes, periodic washings and corrosion inspections have now been added to my self-maintenance schedule.”

“Self-maintenance, huh?” I scratched the back of my head. “When did that start?”

“At 6:27 p.m. on November second,” said Cedric, naming the date, about three weeks ago, when he had come in looking so grimy.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “And why did you begin this self-maintenance?”

“Miss Suzie instructed me to begin a program of self-monitoring and repair visits as needed to keep myself in good operating condition.”

“I see.” A lump began to form in my throat. “Did she give you any other instructions at that time?”

“Yes, Manny.” Cedric sounded earnest, as if pleased with his added responsibility. “Miss Suzie also instructed me to be sure no one came into the house.”

I glanced back at the cops. Sarge stood with his hands on his hips. The one with the rifle still held it ready. Jerry watched me and then glanced toward the front door of the house. I got the message.

“Cedric, are you aware that the police are here?”

“Yes, Manny.”

I took another tack. “Well, they’ve got to go into the house.”

“Miss Suzie gave me clear instructions to keep people out.” Cedric sounded calm, reasonable, and unmoved.

“Yes, but Cedric, when is the last time you spoke to Miss Suzie?”

“At 6:27 on the evening of November second.” Cedric’s reply was precise and instantaneous.

“Right.” I took a deep breath at the hollow sinking sensation in my chest. I glanced back at Sarge. He was looking even more impatient. “Cedric, are you in good operating condition?”

“Yes, Manny.” Cedric sounded unfazed by this change in subject.

“Could I examine your maintenance logs?”

“Of course, Manny.”

There was an audible click as he unlocked his driver door. I opened it and slid behind the wheel. On the screen I scanned through the logs. Everything looked fine.

“Cedric, when is the last time you did a full memory backup?” I hated what I was about to do.

“Four days ago, Manny.”

“I want you to do one right now,” I squeezed my hands into fists.

“Yes, Manny.”

I watched on the dashboard screen as Cedric backed himself up. The screen beeped when he was done.

“Now I want you to do a full system shutdown, delay ten seconds, and reboot. Okay, Cedric?”

“Very well, Manny.” Cedric agreed without hesitation.

The screen froze, except for a digital timer counting back from 10. I leaned over and felt under the dashboard for the power system circuit breaker. Where was it? The timer showed 8. I groped farther. 7. There! I put my finger on the breaker. 6. Why was I hesitating? 5. Darn it, I had to let the cops go inside the house. 4.

The timer was on 1 when, feeling like a traitor, I released the breaker. All the dashboard lights went out. The screen went dark.

With what felt like a huge rock stuck in my throat, I slid out from behind the wheel, eased Cedric’s door shut, and stood beside him. Then without a word, I waved the cops toward the house, my arm feeling twice as heavy as it should.

With a quick nod to me, Jerry and Sarge headed up the walk, climbed the porch steps, and entered the house.

Not knowing what else to do, I stayed where I was. Rachel texted, and I replied, texting that I would probably be very late, and maybe we should postpone our pizza and movie night until tomorrow. Then I waited. At last, the ambulance came without lights or siren. Next, the medical examiner showed up. They carried Miss Suzie out on a covered stretcher. No one was hurrying.

Jerry came out and trudged over to where I stood beside Cedric.

“We found her in bed,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she died in her sleep. The M.E. thinks, unofficially, that she’s been dead for about three weeks, probably of natural causes, but don’t quote him.”

“Thanks.” I shut my eyes, telling myself there was nothing I could have done. Knowing it was true. But somehow it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

“You may as well go home, Manny.” Sadness deepened the lines on Jerry’s face.

“What about Cedric?” I gestured at his still, silent form. “I can start him up again. Maybe take him back to the garage.”

Jerry was already shaking his head. “The car has to stay here until the family decides what to do with it.”

“What family?” I looked into Jerry’s eyes. Miss Suzie had never married. She had no husband. No kids. Except for the thousands who had passed through her second-grade classroom. Two of them stood here now, facing each other, remembering how alone in the world she was at the end.

“Did you know they had to force her to retire when she was 75?” I asked without knowing why.

“Yeah.” Jerry grimaced. “Maybe there are nephews or nieces.”

I scrunched my nose in doubt, reached out, and rested a hand on Cedric’s roof. He sat quietly on his four wheels, unpowered, unmoving, unaware. Then I got back in my own car, glad for its hand-cranked windows and stick shift, started it up, and drove home.

That night as I lay awake in bed, I told myself that Miss Suzie was very old, and that Cedric was just a car and no longer my concern. And thinking those two unsatisfying thoughts, I fell asleep.

The next day I drove past Miss Suzie’s house. Not for any particular reason, I told myself, just to check that everything was alright. Cedric was gone.

The tires of my Charger squealed as I drove into the police station and shuddered to a stop.

“What happened to Cedric?” I demanded as soon as I located Jerry.

“Who?”

“Miss Suzie’s car!”

“Oh, her lawyer took it.”

“How could you let some damn lawyer just waltz off with him?”

“Manny, he had the right paperwork. We had no reason to stop him.”

“Well, what’s his name?”

After some hemming and hawing, and warning me not to go stalker on him, Jerry gave me his name.

What was I doing? I asked myself this as I called the lawyer. I didn’t want or need an electric car. Definitely not an autonomous one. But this didn’t stop me from offering to buy it.

“I’m sorry sir,” said the woman at the law office, “but we cannot simply sell property under probate. The owner has made extensive arrangements for all her property, including her car.”

And that was all I got from her. I told myself to stop acting like a fool and forget about Cedric.

* * *

Thanksgiving was a week later, and Rachel brought me to her parents’ house three towns away. After that, December roared in with freezing temperatures and cold-weather car problems. Rachel was dropping hints that her parents would love to see us again for Hanukkah, and then we could still go to my parents’ house for Christmas, and wasn’t that convenient? And while I was contemplating this undeserved form of double jeopardy, I’d managed to put any thoughts about Miss Suzie and Cedric far back in a corner of my mind.

So I was surprised one day in the second week in December when Cedric, shining under a fresh coat of wax, rolled off the street and into my service lot with a man in the driver’s seat.

“Cedric!” A grin swept across my face.

“Hello, Manny,” said Cedric, coming to a stop. “It is good to see you.”

“You, too,” I said, admiring his gleaming exterior. “You’re looking pretty good.”

Cedric’s driver’s door opened.

“Are you Manuel Vargas?” asked the man getting out of Cedric’s front seat. He was skinny, with a long nose, and seemed a few years younger than me. He had the look of someone who made his living behind a desk in an office full of busy people, and wished very much that he was back there right now.

“Yes.” I tried to squash my rising and unwarranted irritation at this guy. Who was he? And why was he riding in Miss Suzie’s car?

But all I said was, “This used to be Miss Suzie’s car.”

“Yes. That’s the reason I’m here.” He shivered, despite his winter coat and hat. “Could we talk in your office?”

So we did. For about fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took him to tell me that Cedric was mine. Well, no, not exactly mine. I have custody of Cedric. Like an orphaned kid or a close friend’s puppy. For as long as I am “willing and able to maintain Cedric in good repair,” as the legal papers stated. After that, I suppose he will return to the custody of the Cedric Maintenance Foundation. Yes, really! This was the trust Miss Suzanne Kelvin set up two years ago to cover Cedric’s repair costs forever. Or at least for as long as Cedric and the Foundation last.

Miss Suzie loved her car. I get that. Some people love their Mustangs, or Chargers, or Volkswagens. She felt the same way about Cedric.

So now I have a self-driving smart car. Cedric seems quite happy to drive me around. And even though he isn’t a classic car, I’m happy to ride in him. At least most of the time. As long as he calls me Manny.