Tell The Hanging Man
by David Araki
The trees danced in the shadows as the car burst into flames, the driver, already dead, felt nothing as the flames devoured the interior. A black car pulled out slowly and drove off into the foggy night. Moments later the night was only disturbed by the crackle of the flames no louder than fierce crickets, until a siren in the distance promised a witness and testimony to a life now gone.
“This makes twenty,” grunted the sleepy detective.
“Maybe they gotta start doing some better testing down at the DMV?” nodded his partner, who was somewhat more lively at 2am. “Twenty frickin’ dead livery drivers in twenty frickin’ days.” he paused, patting at his pockets, “At least traffic might lighten up a little.”
They stood on the side of the road smoking old school cigarettes, one rolling his shoulders trying to wake up, the other kicking his heels. They were both waiting for the forensics guy to come give his report. Neither expected much. It looked like another bad driver driving badly.
The forensics night shift guy was no happier than they about having to be on the side of a stinking Brooklyn back road in the middle of the night, and he felt little compulsion to be polite.
“There ain’t nothing to see here. The guy drove off the street and hit that tree. Body burnt to a crisp, but the windshield shows a deep impact mark, so he was DOA before the BBQ.”
“Nice way to talk,” said Tommy Chase, the livelier detective. “Any ID?”
“ID? Oh you mean like the kind that can’t burn in a car fire? The kind that we don’t need to trace a plate, then find a dentist to trace a filling pattern? Like that kinda ID? Smartass.”
That got a rise out of Dylan West the formerly sleepy detective. “Heyyyy, take it easss. We’re running the plates, Tommy just wants your fricking ID. Douche.”
Things were about to get really testosterony, so Tommy stepped in between the two officials of public safety, law and order, and yeah?well get the fuck outta here, and put his hands up. “Naw naw, come on boys, no fighting. I was just wonderin’ out loud. I feel bad for the widow, ya know?” He pulled the lab guy off to the side, away from his partner, “Come on Doc, what’d’we have? Anything? I know he’s toasted, but we gotta ask, right?”
“Okay, okay, Tommy, sorry man it’s just so late and I was, uh, busy, when the call came, ya know. In the middle of something,” the forensics man shrugged and pulled up his ipad. “Nothing really to see, side of the car had a little ding, like someone keyed it or scraped it. Otherwise nothing. Skid marks about 100 feet up. Only other thing is there was another car here that pulled in that bit of busted up pavement, then left. Solid tire tracks. Firestones, by the spread a four door sedan probably, but who can say.”
“Mmm, thanks Doc. Send us the teeth reports if you get ‘em.”
Most bars aren’t open at 7am in New York City, but The State’s a cop bar and actually never closes. The morning shift barkeep was frying up eggs for the few customers slouched in the booths. Dylan West was one of the slouchers, his head on the table and his hand protectively holding a half empty glass of flat beer. Tommy slid in across from him with a fresh head, and drained it in a long gulp. “Hey wake up.”
“I’m awake. I’m athinkin’,” mumbled Dylan, not lifting his head.
“Well think upright, I can’t look at your bald spot any longer.”
Dylan popped up. “D’fahk you say?” he asked, blinking. Without waiting for an answer, he drank the other half of his flat beer, then grimaced. “Eeh.”
“Whadd’re ya thinking?” asked his partner. “About another beer?”
“I’m thinking, twenty drivers weren’t accidents. Some motherfahk is killing them drivers.”
Tommy tilted his head to a side and raised his eyebrows. “What?’s he texting them while they’re drivin’?”
Dylan smiled his wan closed lip smile and said tersely, “ Thomas, I don’t know, I just gotta hunch. Lissen, each of these twenty dead drivers, they were all driving for that company Hubris.”
“So you think some yellow cab driver’s offing these app-jockies? Like,You talkin’ to me?” Tommy pointed his thumbs at his chest. “I dunno, man. I think you should maybe go back to bed…”
“All the witnesses in the deaths…” began Dylan.
“All three of them…”interrupted his partner.
“…all mentioned seeing a black sedan driving off around the same time. And now we find tire tracks. I think we have to start checking app-car location records. I think we gots us a highly competitive driver trying to knock out some of his competition.”
“I think we, meaning you- we, shouldn’t drink first thing in the morning.”
“This isn’t first thing in the morning, this is last thing from the night.” Dylan absentmindedly tapped the table with his empty glass, “We got a rogue killer cabbie.”
The records showed nothing corresponding to anything. So both detectives were amazed when the case broke open with the twenty-first death. Two cars had been involved in the next death, leaving one dead driver and two dead cars. The detectives sat, smoking, in the only two chairs in the Forensics office. Dylan had just lit another when Doc walked in.
“You can’t smoke in here.” Doc growled, “And get outta my chair.”
“Whoa hey,” growled Dylan, standing up fast.
“Ah Doc, we didn’t see the no smoking sign, sorry, man,” cut in Tommy, looking around for a place to butt-out his cigarette. He took a final puff then dropped the cig into the half empty beer bottle on the desk.
“Heyyy,” objected Dylan. Then under Doc’s glare, he took a last puff, too, and dropped his cigarette into his beer bottle. “Here’s ya chair, sorry, Doc. So what’d’ya got?”
Doc looked hard at the two detectives, then said, “Well, first, as you already know, the second car was one of the Hubris Self Driving cabs. But here’s the dig. The computer on board seems to have been tampered with, and went bonkers.”
Tommy nodded skeptically, “How does a computer go bonkers? Doesn’t it have to be sane? Or…”
“My computer expert kid tells me that its artificial intelligence fusebox was tampered with, essentially hardwired, so nothing could stop it from over-thinking, and it… went bonkers.”
Both detectives opened their mouths to speak, then clamped them shut.
“So my kid tells me that the AI in this self driving car has become self-aware. Or rather, it thinks it’s aware. And it’s developed a very aggressive self-preservation algorithm.” Doc moved around the desk and sat down and opened his laptop. He tapped away at the keyboard ignoring the detectives. He didn’t care about why so much as how.
“So you’re saying, this computer is psycho…?” Dylan said slowly.
“Yeah, normally an AI computer can only think so deeply. If its processors start using too much juice, the fuses pop, that’s how it protects itself. If it’s really intelligent, like human-intelligent level, and it didn’t have a fuse, it would end up getting caught in a paradox clause…”
“What’s the hell is that?” interrupted Dylan, then added after catching Doc’s glare, “Please.”
“That’s when the artificial intelligence gets caught in a paradox. Stuff like how many digits are in Pi, or how much is infinity? It can’t count that high, cuz there is no end to get to. So it locks up. Humans know how to say ‘screw it’ and most AI now gets a screw-it clause in its code. But if it doesn’t pop its fuse, and a paradox clause like ‘Why Live if you’re only going to Die?’ Or ‘How do you prove others exist, and if they do not, why bother with them?’ is introduced, you got a big problem. Like an OCD pitbull with a penchant for shins. And those were the two algorithmic queries most recently self generated on the driverless car’s computer log.”
Tommy leaned in, “So this thing was…nuts?”
“That’s what my computer kid says. And I believe her, she’s certainly a lot smarter than you two fools times ten. She says, the car computer couldn’t handle the whole paradoxical life thing, and went bonkers. ”
Scratching at his ear, Dylan looked over at Tommy, who just shrugged. He picked up the beer bottle and took an ashy swig. Making a face, he growled at Doc, “So you’re saying this driverless car was trying to kill off its competition.”
Doc nodded, and smiled mirthlessly. “Yep, just like a real human.”
