Little Brother, page 99 by Cory Doctorow
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ious profile, we investigate further."
"Wait," Mom said. "How do you know how my son uses the Muni?"
"The Fast Pass," he said. "It tracks voyages."
"I see," Mom said, folding her arms. Folding her arms was a bad sign. It was bad enough she hadn't offered them a cup of tea -- in Mom-land, that was practically like making them shout through the mail-slot -- but once she folded her arms, it was not going to end well for them. At that moment, I wanted to go and buy her a big bunch of flowers.
"Marcus here declined to tell us why his movements had been what they were."
"Are you saying you think my son is a terrorist because of how he rides the bus?"
"Terrorists aren't the only bad guys we catch this way," Zit said. "Drug dealers. Gang kids. Even shoplifters smart enough to hit a different neighborhood with every run."
"You think my son is a drug dealer?"
"We're not saying that --" Zit began. Mom clapped her hands at him to shut him up.
"Marcus, please pass me your backpack."
I did.
Mom unzipped it and looked through it, turning her back to us first.
"Officers, I can now affirm that there are no narcotics, explosives, or shoplifted gewgaws in my son's bag. I think we're done here. I would like your badge numbers before you go, please."
Booger sneered at her. "Lady, the ACLU is suing three hundred cops on the SFPD, you're going to have to get in line."
#
Mom made me a cup of tea and then chewed me out for eating dinner when I knew that she'd been making falafel. Dad came home while we were still at the table and Mom and I took turns telling him the story. He shook his head.
"Lillian, they were just doing their jobs." He was still wearing the blue blazer and khakis he wore on the days that he was consulting in Silicon Valley. "The world isn't the same place it was last week."
Mom set down her teacup. "Drew, you're being ridiculous. Your son is not a terrorist. His use of the public transit system is not