Flameout

By Richard Quarry

In mid-21st century America, you're either on one side of the desk or the other. The Social Services Department desk, that is. Helping others to help themselves.

Like beleaguered caseworker Cary Gilford tells a shifty client whining around about how his family's about to get thrown onto the street without a rent increase: help yourself, Mr. Ruggero. Next, please.

What, does Mr. Ruggero really think Gilford's going to go begging to the Administration hat in hand? They'll transfer him to the dread Unit 9 before you can say, it is to laugh.

On the other hand, sometimes a man's got to do what a man's got to do. So to save his own soul, or maybe just see where it's got to these past few years, Gilford decides he'll get Mr. Ruggero his rent increase after all.

Of course everything has its price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Quarry
• Release date: May 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201778958

Book preview

FLAMEOUT

Richard QUARRY

Copyright © 2022 by Richard QUARRY

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

Contents

Flame-Out

About the Author

Geneslide

Flame-Out

"Te-dum, Te-dum, Te-dum," wailed the phone in Unit 9, designed to sound like a police car from a British TV show because the bleeding hearts insisted that conventional rings were getting ignored too often.

I’m not in, six caseworkers said reflexively as Vera took the call.

Yes? Oh, that’s too bad. He’ll be sorry to hear that. Yes, I will. Thank you. Click. Cary?

At the back of the office Cary Gilford turned from a blue screen crammed with tiny white numbers. What?

That was Joanie from Waste Control. She said that one of your clients, Mr. Adams, submitted himself for euthanasia this morning. They’ll be forwarding the Final Disposition for the case record.

Such a shame, said June, the case aid, knitting piously. Such a nice old man.

Gilford put his hands over his eyes and sighed heavily.

I’m sorry, consoled Vera.

Damn! Gilford slammed a hand down onto the desk, scattering a plethora of paper notes he wrote to himself and shredded at least twice a day because he didn’t want their contents preserved in electronic form for those prying snoops from the Human Rights Department.

Fifteen months I put off seeing that old bastard, he complained bitterly. "I figure, he can’t possibly last much longer. Then two weeks ago I finally break down and make the field visit. In South Laurelhurst! Fifteen minutes listening about him and his stupid Surplus Food allotment. And this is how he thanks me. Totters on over to Waste Control and flames out. He couldn’t do it before I made the visit?"

Cary! cried June. And you call yourself a caseworker.

The other caseworkers made commiserating noises. It was shame, all right. South Laurelhurst, too.

There’s a month wait on a 1052, Gilford fumed. "All the time I sat there listening to all the things you can do with bread, sugar, and peanut butter, he knew he was headed for Waste Control. He was just cackling up his snot-ridden sleeve at me. Oh well, that brings me down to, ah, two hundred and seventy-three cases. Vera, how many do I have Pending?"

The unit secretary punched up the list. Thirty-six. Oh dear. Some of them have been waiting for three months, Cary.

Well they couldn’t need help very badly then, could they? If they’re still alive. Tell you what. The first Pending that calls in sobbing — not just moaning now, Vera — I’ll go and open the case. But only an Aid to Dependent Children or maybe a Disabled if they’re not too grotesque. No Underemployeds. And no OAA’s for a while either. Shifty old farts.

He shook his head. Old Mr. Adams had sure yanked his crank.