Pink Slip Prophet by George Donnelly Read Free Book Online

is a democratic household, Dad,” said Michael. “We’re occupying it, therefore we have a voice. And we’re using it.” He shrugged. “I know your capitalist pig asshole point—”
    “Michael, shut up,” said Candy. “He is still your father.”
    Michael threw up his hands. He opened his mouth to speak but choked off the sound.
    “Why don’t you three go somewhere else, if I bother you that much?” Ian asked. “Go live on a farm out near Amish country, like I did when I was your age.”
    “Where are we going to go, Daddy?” Stacy asked. Her voice reached a high pitch, cracked and almost didn’t return. “Who do we know? What do we have? We have no family, no cousins, no money and no Amish farm.” She sobbed.
    Michael put his arm around her and she pushed him away. “Fuck off,” she whispered.
    “Who are you going to throw out next? Jack? Is that the kind of family this is?” Ian asked.
    “It’s a democratic household!” Michael yelled. “Respect our will!”
    “If it’s so democratic, how come I didn’t get a vote?”
    “You can either leave,” Candy said in a low voice, “or we can go live with Larry.”
    Rage boiled up within Ian. His nerves tingled and his head twitched. “How dare you, after all I have done for you.”
    Candy turned away.
    Stacy ran to him, pressed her head briefly against his chest and then shuffled to her room.
    “What’s important is that he’s leaving. I’ll take charge—” Michael started.
    Candy slapped him. “I’m in charge of this home and this ends now.”
    Michael’s face showed the inner struggle between hate and hurt. He put his index finger in her face. “Violence is not helpful. I’m on your side.” He went to the window and looked out, his back turned to his parents.
    “Get some things and get out,” Candy whispered.
    “Just because of the job?” Ian asked her.
    “It’s complicated.”
    Ian shook his head. “Jack comes with me.”
    “He needs his mother.” She pushed him back into the wall, knocking the computer screen off the desk. “Get out! Get out!” she screamed.
    ***
    The elevator dinged and Ian stepped out into the chilly bare cement hallway. He turned right and walked down the narrow path. He carried a change of clothes and the workstation in a backpack. In a box, he had a mug, some instant ramen bowls, near-coffee and an electric pot.
    He walked through the boiler room door and immediately stepped on someone.
    “Close that door!” a familiar voice yelled.
    “That you, Hector?” Ian asked the dark room.
    “Who that?” Hector asked.
    “Ian. From 2304.”
    “You, too?”
    Ian was silent. Why are there people in the boiler room?
    “We’re full up, man. Got sick people and everything,” Hector said.
    Ian found the light switch, flicked it and a dozen men groaned at once.
    “Turn that light off!” said one.
    “Trying to sleep here,” said another.
    Ian glimpsed another one snoring. There wasn’t much space around the central boiler unit - a great black cauldron - but it was filled from wall to wall with sleeping men in their underwear. He knew these men. He’d seen them around. They were his neighbors.
    “You can not—” Hector appeared next to him, flipped off the light and stepped outside, pushing Ian along ahead of him.
    Ian looked at him, disbelieving.
    “Find somewhere else,” Hector said. “No more room here.” He turned to re-enter.
    Ian grabbed his shoulder. “Did they lose their apartments?”
    “You didn’t see us here.” Hector closed the door gently behind him.
    Ian stood in the hallway puzzling it out. It made no sense. A dozen men wall-to-wall in that hot box. They couldn’t all have been thrown out by their wives, too. Or could they?
    Ian walked to the other side of the basement, through narrow and poorly-lit cement corridors to the storage boxes. He found number 2304. As a four-bedroom apartment, their storage box was considerably larger than the others, many of which weren’t more than