Pink Slip Prophet (11 page)

“Why are you still here!” she screamed. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Get out!” She pushed him and he teetered on his toes searching for balance before finding it again.

“Just because you’re a liar and a cheater doesn’t mean I am going to abandon my home or my children,” Ian said.

“They’re not your children!” She tried to push him again but Ian redirected her hands away from him.

“I’ve raised them, in this home. You can stay but you’re going to carry your own weight, just like everyone else. Or you can leave.” Ian looked at her. She was sexy when she was angry and he felt a pang of lust rise up in him. But she couldn’t be trusted. She was poison. He had to keep up his guard.

“This is my home! I made it!”

“With lies,” he interjected. “You know what, I want this settled now. You either get yourself under control and get onto the right path or you can just get out now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

“Then tell me your goal. Tell me what you’ll be working on,” Ian said.

“Nothing! I don’t have to! Your robots will do my housework and I will do whatever I please because I am your wife and half of your income is mine. Half of your assets, too.” She turned, pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and walked to the living room.

Ian watched her walk. She was heavier now but the animal spirit that he longed to dominate was still there under the flab. It was in the movement of the hips. No, it was the upper body, too. The proportion of legs to buttocks played some role. He set aside his rage. She wanted him to lose control. Then she would have the upper hand. That path led to the first twenty years of their relationship, where Ian did what he was told, where he was manipulated and fattened for the slaughter. The conflict was coming, but Ian would select the right time for it.

***

“Dad, I need your help. Can I still call you Dad? Mom told me.” Michael stood behind Ian in Ian’s office. He looked around. “You’re really putting it to good use.”

Ian turned around and contemplated Michael. He was twenty-one now: fully an adult. His life was already a disaster. Ian planned to fix that. He pushed a fold-up chair in Michael’s direction and the young man sat down.

“Look, Michael. I raised you. I invested in you. I was there when you were born. I took you to the emergency clinic when you came down with that weird disease when you were three. I taught you to ride a bike. I taught you how to read and tie your shoelaces.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak and Ian silenced him with a shake of his head.

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re my son,” Ian said.

Michael put his hand over his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that, Dad, because I need money, and a lot of it.”

Ian’s eyes rolled back before he could stop himself.

Michael laughed, then sank into his chair a little. An ashamed frown crossed his face. “I’m a disappointment. I know that.”

Ian looked at the floor. “I don’t know if I would put it quite that way.”

Michael stared at him blankly.

“I know your girlfriend is pregnant,” Ian said. “Is her family—”

Candy walked in. She held a fresh bottle of vodka in one hand. “He’s got more than one girlfriend, you know.” She laughed. Her eyes were half-closed and she swayed.

Michael stared down at the floor. “Mom…” he whispered.

“Like mother, like son,” Candy said with a noticeable slur.

“His girlfriend is pregnant,” Ian said. “It happens. We’re handling it. Why don’t you go do something else, Candy.”

“Which one did he tell you about?” Candy giggled, then burped.

“Mom, please! Let Dad and I handle this.” Michael glared at his mother and jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Please!”

Ian contemplated him. He looked at Candy and tried to figure out what was happening. She always supported him. Now they were fighting.

Michael stood up. “Mom, get out!” He grabbed his mother by the arm and pulled her toward the kitchen.

Candy ripped her arm away and lost control of the open vodka bottle. It arced in Ian’s direction. He reached for it. It was heavy, almost full, a fresh bottle. Transparent liquid leaked out of the top and hit the floor behind it. It fell too fast. The bottle hit the floor and vodka sprayed onto Ian’s pants, his lap, chest, face and onto his keyboard and screen. The mostly-empty bottle bounced off of the wall and rolled back towards her.

“What the hell!” Ian yelled. He stood up and tried to clean himself off but his pants were soaked through. The floor puddled with vodka. Even his sneakers squeaked and squelched.

“Damnit!” Michael said. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Candy leaned forward, covered her mouth then burst out laughing. Her body swayed backwards and forwards with glee. “Good thing you made that robot,” she said.

“Maria, cleanup, please.” Ian looked around the room and sighed. “This room is going to stink of cheap alcohol for weeks now,” Ian said. He grunted in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Michael said.

“Oh, the good son, now, huh?” Candy said. She eyed the vodka puddles longingly.

Maria pushed past them and began mopping.

“Oh, Daddy, Daddy. I need money, money,” Candy said.

Ian felt a cold despair come over him. He sat down and slumped into the chair.
How did this family get like this?
He knew the answer. It was Larry. Larry screwed it up for him more than once. This was Larry’s influence, the logical outcome of Larry’s approach to life.

“So which one are you asking him to help you with?” Candy asked Michael. She suppressed a giggle.

“Mom, shut the hell up!” Michael whispered.

Which one?
Ian looked at them. “What does she mean, ‘Which one’?” he asked.

Maria finished vacuuming the mess. She was mopping now, the final cleanup stage before Ian would get back his clean, vodka-free floor. The stench, however, was just getting started.

Michael looked at the floor.

“Tell him!” Candy said. “He’ll love this.”

Michael turned his back to Ian and ran his hand through his hair. He flipped back around and opened his mouth. But nothing came out.

“He got his girlfriend pregnant,” Candy said. She sat down against the wall opposite his desk.

“I know that already! Is that what this is about?” Ian asked.

“And her sister.”

“What?” Ian asked.

“And their mom,” Candy said with a snicker before she passed out.

Maria finished mopping. “Will that be all for now, Mr. Blake?”

His eyes glazed. “I certainly hope so.”

***

“I’m only ten!”

“You could try. I mean, it’s your idea. I got you the computer you wanted. You have all the tools,” Ian said. He and Jack sat by themselves at the autorest around the corner from home. Jack had a half-eaten bacon cheeseburger in front of him and Ian’s plate of assorted sushi was untouched.

The frustration was visible on the boy’s face. “I have no idea how to program Maria to be a self-improvement counselor. I just got the computer a week ago, I have the new school and I just started learning to program.” He threw up his hands and pushed his food away.

“Come on, eat. It’s your favorite,” said Ian. “I guess you’re right. It’s asking too much.”

“Are you saying I can’t do it?”

“Of course not. Why don’t we work on it together?” Ian shrugged. He picked up his chopsticks and grabbed the first piece of sushi.

The boy winced.

“What? It’s just fish and rice.”

“But it’s not cooked. It’s raw!” He made a face and pretended to vomit.

Ian gulped down the soft, pink fish. “It’s good! How’s your—”

Jack’s eyes got big. They were focused on something behind Ian.

A hand landed on Ian’s shoulder. It was heavy and it was wet. The chair next to Ian’s screeched out of its resting spot and Larry’s heavy frame crashed into it.

Larry’s face was flushed and moist. His eyes were far away. And he smelled of cheap beer. “Hey old buddy,” he said to Ian, “remember that time in college when I got arrested and you bailed me out?”

Ian pulled his sushi tray as far away from the drunk man as he could without it falling off the table. He stuffed one, then another piece of sushi into his mouth.

“I got drunk, hit that whore broad and then we ran from the cops. Remember that?”

“Uh, Larry?” Jack smiled at him.

Larry swiveled his head to look at Jack. “Hey there, little fella, I didn’t quite—”

“I’m having lunch with my Dad…”

Larry let his hand fall hard onto Jack’s shoulder. “That’s just great.” He turned back to Ian.

Ian continued chewing, his hand over his mouth.

“I’m going to get a refill,” Jack said. He got up and headed to the drink dispensers, then turned back.

“You know, Ian, you’re just a good friend.” Larry patted him on the back a little too hard. “A good friend, yeah.”

A chunk of sushi went the wrong way and Ian choked. He exhaled hard but the chunk fell deeper. His gag reflex hit. He turned his head and spewed sushi and rice chunks onto the floor next to him.

“Since we’re good friends and all, I really need a favor from you, buddy.” He faced forward and his eyes glazed over in the distance. “Remember when I introduced you to Candy and you got laid for the first time? That was something, huh? All thanks to me, of course, good old Larry.” He pointed his thumbs at himself.

Ian struggled for breath. He slapped himself on the back but it wasn’t hard enough. He rasped as tiny wisps of breath entered his lungs. He turned to Larry and waved his hands in front of him.

“It’s time I cashed in that chip, Ian. I need your help.” He turned and focused his drunk eyes and wobbling head on the dying man. “Can you loan me five-hundred thousand dollars?”

Jack ran up to the table and set his drink refill down. “What’s wrong?”

Ian indicated his back then opened his mouth and pointed into it.

“Are you—” Jack ran around behind him and slapped him on the back again and again. It did no good.

“It’s seed money, Ian,” Larry said. “It’s a guaranteed investment. I just need the capital.”

Ian smacked the table and brought his fists into his abdomen again and again.
Heimlich. Somebody. Heimlich.
But Larry droned on and the boy was gone.
This is it.
The thought mixed with his panic and his urgent need to breathe. The room went dark.

Something cold came around his abdomen and jerked him backward like an earthquake. The sushi flew out of his mouth and cool air graced his lungs again. He fell to his knees and drunk deep of the vital gas.

Larry turned to him. “So, can I— Hey, what are you doing on the floor? Anyway, so when can I expect the…”

Ian stood up and put his finger in Larry’s face. “Did you not notice that I was dying here?”

A contemptuous frown crossed Larry’s face. “What are you talking about? Are you in or what?”

“You claim to be my friend but you couldn’t stop talking about yourself for a second to help me?”

“Screw you, Ian. If it’s not one thing with you, it’s another. Always whining and complaining. Just like your idiot wife and family.”

“How dare you?”

“And this stupid kid right here,” Larry said, pointing at Jack. “Just like you. But he won’t have anybody like me as a friend to set him right—”

Ian’s rage reached its breaking point. He pulled his clenched fist back and buried it in Larry’s gut. Then he put it into Larry’s nose. Then into Larry’s mouth.

Ian stretched his neck. He grabbed Jack’s hand. “Let’s get out of here, kiddo.”

Ian opened his eyes. Everything felt so peaceful. He stretched his feet and felt the smooth coolness of the sheets against them. It was quiet.

He sat up in bed. Candy wasn’t there. Her side of the bed lay undisturbed. That was nothing new but the lack of outside noise was.

Or was it Sunday. That might explain it. He checked his nightstand clock, the latest model and a Larry leftover. It was just a thick, black film suspended on a three-point frame. Tuesday, 7:44 AM.

He went to the window. There was no movement in the alley below. He headed to the living room for a wider perspective.

In the living room, Stacy, Michael and Candy lay sleeping in their chairs. Each chair had moulded itself into the proper form to support the sleeping position each had chosen, or more correctly, had fallen into. All three wore VR goggles.

“All-nighters? Again?” he mumbled. They didn’t hear him, of course. The goggles included earbuds tailored for the individual ear canals of each user. The system, controlled from the cloud, was piping custom-generated sounds that were scientifically designed to stimulate not just sleep but active cerebral regeneration. At least, that’s what the manual said.

Ian reached the living room picture window and from his perch on the twenty-third floor surveyed several streets of non-activity. There were no people loitering in or transiting the great courtyard. There were no cars on the street. Nor on the next street over. The park was barren.

Ian walked into the kitchen where Maria was silently recharging. “Maria, are the machines in revolt? Have you decided to throw off your chains? No mods but plenty of blasters?” Ian chuckled.

Maria’s eyes flickered. “There is nothing unusual in the news, Mr. Blake. All is well.”

Ian shrugged and made for his office. There was Jack, asleep at the desk. It was another all-nighter for him, too.
I was too hard on him and now look at the boy. What eleven-year-old spends all night hacking away on a computer science project?

A large, winged creature zipped past Ian’s ear. The vibration gave him the chills and he involuntarily jerked his shoulders up. He was about to call Maria to kill it when it appeared a foot from his face.

It had four long, emerald green wings. It had one large eye: a camera. It surfed the air and Ian spied a long, arcing wire coming from its tail.

“What is your goal for today?” the bug asked him in a friendly voice.

Jack’s project!
He marveled at it. “For one, I intend to congratulate my son on your invention.”

“Account successfully opened for Ian F. Blake. First goal added. You will be reminded of this goal later today.” The tiny robot zipped away.