SINS OF THE FATHER
By
MW Huffman
Sins of the Father©2013 by MW HUFFMAN
All Rights Reserved
A WaJe Proudction
This is a work of fiction. All characters were from the mind of the author and are intended to resemble no living or deceased person. Locations may have been moved to facilitate the story line. However France is a real country.
I Would like to thank Amazon for allowing new and undiscovered authors a chance to publish their books. Without them, many of us would never have an opportunity to get our works into the hands of the public. Thank you Amazon.
To Susan, my wife. Thank you for all of your help and the countless notes and pictures you took so I could write this when we got back home. You were absolutely right, you cannot describe the places accurately until you have actually experienced them.
Thank you to everyone who buys my books. I hope you enjoy them. Like any artist, without the support of the public, our works mean little. A heartfelt thank you.
MW Huffman
OTHER BOOKS BY MW HUFFMAN
SciFi
THE BRINK
CLOSE PROXIMITY
BLACKSTAR
CHIMERA
WORLDS END
SUN BURST
MYSTERIES & THRILLERS & CATACLYSMIC EVENTS
Angie Bartoni Case File #1 - The Alphabet Murders
Angie Bartoni Case File #2 - Frost Bite
Angie Bartoni Case File #3 - Dead Aim
Angie Bartoni Case File #4 - What Goes Around
Angie Bartoni Case File #5 - Nothing to Lose
Angie Bartoni Case File #6 - Shadow Man
The Logan Files - Blond Deception
The Logan Files - Innocence and Avarice
The Logan Files - The Deal Breaker
Norris Files - Silver2
Norris Files – Insurrection
Sins of the Fathers
TRILOGIES
The Second Civil War–BOOK I-A Nation Divided
The Second Civil War–Book II-A Nation at War
The Second Civil War–Book III–A Nation Healing
THE END–BOOK I of The Event Series
THE BEGINNING–BOOK II of The Event Series
THE REVELATION–BOOK III of The Event Series
WESTERNS
The Unfinished
CHAPTER ONE
“Alan, telephone.”
“I’m busy. Tell them I’ll call them back later. Make sure you get the number.”
“You need to come down and take the call,” his sister yelled.
“Damn it Cindy, I’m up to my eyeballs in insulation. I can’t just drop everything and hop out of here. I have fiberglass all over me,” Alan yelled back.
He didn’t want to be doing this in the first place but his sister had asked him to put another layer of fiberglass insulation in the attic. Her husband should be doing it but he was pretty much a worthless bum. The attic was dark and cramped. Only one naked light bulb tried to illuminate the space. It was failing miserably. On top of that, he was doing the job for the second time. He had laid the wrong side down and didn’t realize it until he was practically finished.
Even with the respirator he had on, he managed to get some of the dust up his nose and in his mouth making him cough non-stop.
“Alan.”
“Ah crap. Hang on,” he said, taking his gloves off and tossing them through the opening. He crawled on his knees to the hole and slowly lowered himself down, making sure his feet were on the ladder.
“I’m sorry but it is a Mr. Bigalow. He said it was terribly urgent .”
“Bigalow?” Alan said frowning.
The name rang a bell but he couldn’t remember exactly who he was or why he would be calling.
“Mr. Bigalow? Alan Lang, what can I do for you?.”
“I am so sorry to bother you but I thought you should know right away. Your father had a heart attack while over at my house. I’m sorry to say, he passed away. By the time the ambulance got here it was too late.”
Alan couldn’t say he was too surprised. His dad's health had been going downhill ever since he went on a missionary trip two years ago. He had gone with his church to help build homes for the poor in Guatemala. Alan had tried talking him out of it but as usual his father did as he pleased. Within a few days he had developed pneumonia and never fully recovered.
“Mr. Lang?”
“Yes? Sorry. I was just lost in thought for a moment.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. Johnny was a good man and a good friend. I will miss him.”
“Well, thank you Mr. Bigalow. I assume they took his body to the morgue?”
“That is my understanding.”
“Alright then. I appreciate your calling.”
“It’s dad isn’t it?” Cindy said when he hung up.
“Heart attack.”
“We knew it was coming. It was just a matter of when. I had better arrange to take some time off. You are going to need help with the arrangements,” she said.
“You seem to be taking this well,” Alan said.
“Falling apart won’t do any good. I’ve taken care of him a lot more than you have. I have been expecting this.”
“Sis, I was in the military. What did you expect? I couldn’t just leave and come home to help take care of him,” Alan said defensively.
“No one is accusing you of anything but while you were off playing war, I was here with Pop watching him slowly die.”
“Playing war?”
“Look Alan, the last thing we need is to argue right now. There is too much we need to do. Why don’t you go to the morgue and I’ll start getting the other arrangements made. At least he has a plot beside momma so that’s one thing taken care of,” she told him.
“Okay. I’ll take care of the identification. I don’t know if it’s even needed but it couldn’t hurt anything. I’ll find out the details about his release while I’m there.”
“Good. I’ll call Goodwin’s Funeral Home. When you get done, come back and we can all eat together and make the other plans.”
“I would rather just call. Bob will be here, drunk most likely, and I just don’t want to deal with that,” Alan said.
His sister didn’t say anything. What could she say? He was probably right. She knew the time was coming when she would simply leave him. Every day pushed her a little closer. She had been a beautiful young woman just four years ago, now she looked ten years older than her age. Every month seemed to drag her down farther. She knew she couldn’t keep going like this much longer.
Alan kissed her on the cheek and said goodbye. She watched as he pulled out of the driveway. She wished she could just get in the car and pull out without ever looking back. She sighed heavily and went to call the funeral home.
***
Alan felt sorry for his sister to some extent but part of this was her own fault. She should never have married him until he had a job. Bob talked a good story but in reality he was a freeloader. Cindy had worked her butt off while he sat at home and watched television and surfed the Web. He was too lazy to even have dinner ready and would expect her to feed him as soon as she got home.
Instead of being ashamed, Bob actually bragged about it to his friends. Other losers like him. Two years ago he started spending more time at the bars. He would come home drunk, often late at night. Why Cindy put up with it was beyond him. Fed up, one night Alan had waited for him to come out of a bar. He pulled a ski mask over his head and as Bob started to get in the car he systematically beat the hell out of him. He hoped that it would cause him to stop going to bars but a month later he was back at it.
A short time later he had dropped by their house and saw t
hat Cindy had bruise marks on her throat. Alan went ballistic. Bob was taller than Alan but was mostly flab and mouth. Alan was just back from a mission in Afghanistan. He was muscle and anger.
He was waiting for Bob and when he stepped through the door Alan grabbed him and choked him until he almost passed out.
“You ever lay a hand on my sister again, I will kill you. You are a total worthless puke. You hurt one hair on her head and it will be the last thing you ever do on this earth. Got it?” he had said softly in Bob's ear.
Evidently Bob took it seriously. He was still an ass ninety percent of the time but he never put a hand on Cindy again.
Alan never talked about what he did in the military to anyone. When someone would ask he would just brush it off saying he worked in personnel. It was far from the truth.
CHAPTER TWO
Alan had to ask where to go and was directed to a parking lot around the back of the city morgue. He followed the signs and found a check-in window. His first thought was the scene from Men in Black where the alien goes to get the cat. He half expected some guy with a fly swatter to come answer the bell.
Instead a nice young lady came to the window.
“Hi, my name is Alan Lang. I believe they brought my father in a while ago.”
“Johnny Lang?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry for your loss. Yes, he is here. Let me make a quick call. Please, have a seat; it will just be a moment,” she told him and picked up the phone.
Alan took a chair and looked at the magazines. Nothing like reading a three year old Sports Illustrated to see who the best team in football was going to be. He wondered if they had ever gotten it right.
“Mr. Lang,” the young lady said.
“Yes?”
“Someone will be here shortly to take you down to the observation room. While you are waiting I need you to fill out this form and I will need a picture ID,” she said, handing him a clipboard.
What? A picture ID? Did they think he was here to steal a body? What the hell could they possible want with a picture ID? Had it become a problem with people looking at dead bodies for fun? It seemed totally stupid but he didn’t say anything. He just handed it over.
He filled out the paper and gave it back to the girl and she returned his driver’s license. It was another five minutes before an older man came shuffling down the hall. Geez, Alan thought, he looks like he should be in the morgue, not working here.
“You Mr. Lang?”
He had to hold his tongue once again. No one else was in the place so by process of elimination he had to Mr. Lang didn’t he? He was starting to feel like he had just dropped into Moron City.
“That would be me,” he answered instead.
“You want to follow me? I’ll take you to where you can ID the body,” he said shuffling back down the hall.
Alan had a hard time going slow enough to not overtake the guy. He led Alan to a window that had a curtain over it. The man pushed a button on a box on the tile wall.
“Ready?” a voice said.
“Are you read Mr. Lang?”
“I am.”
“Okay, he is ready.”
The curtain parted and Johnny Lang lay on a table with a white sheet pulled up to his chin. It was his dad. It seemed strange. His father had always seemed larger than life and now he was just a shell of himself.
“It’s him.”
“Would you mind saying his name for the record and spelling it as well?” the voice asked.
“It’s Johnny P Lang. J..o..h..n..n..y. L..a..n..g.”
“Thank you,” the voice said and the curtain closed again.
Just like that. It was all over. His father was dead and life didn’t miss a beat. He didn’t wait for the old man to show him out; he simply turned and walked back the way he had come. Outside he stopped and took a deep breath.
**
He drove over to his father’s house and let himself in. He hadn’t been there once during the last four years but it hadn’t changed much. A new flat screen television that seemed out of place with the rest of the furnishings was positioned on a card table.
He strolled through the house just sort of looking everything over. He decided that there was nothing he wanted so he would let his sister have whatever she desired and they would sell or auction off the rest. Pop’s car wasn’t worth much and he doubted the house was either. He would have to get it appraised once they got everything out of it.
He decided it might be a good time to see how much junk was stashed in the attic. He remembered as a young boy, sneaking up in the attic and exploring. It was always jam packed with really neat stuff. His father would usually blister his butt if he found him up there so he had to be especially sneaky.
He pulled down the stairs and it made the same creaking noise he remembered as a kid. He carefully made his way up the landing and felt for the light. He found the string and turned on the dim bulb. Keeping bent over, he picked his way carefully through the many years’ worth of accumulations. Well, he thought, from one attic to another in less than a day. Strange how it worked out. He hadn’t been in an attic for six years and now he had been in two in less than twenty-four hours.
What to do with all this...junk, was the only word that came to mind. Maybe the best thing was to have an auction house come and look at it and give him an idea if it was worth anything. He was just starting down the ladder when he heard the front door open.
“Hello,” he yelled out.
“It’s me,” Cindy yelled back.
“In the garage,” he told her.
She walked in just as he was letting the attic ladder go back in place.
“Looking for buried treasure?”
“I wish. All I see is junk. I wonder why he kept all that stuff just shoved up there? Some of it belonged to gramps,” he said, referring to their grandfather.
“I know. I talked to him about it several times but you know dad.”
“You never know when you’re going to need something,” they said in unison and laughed. They had heard that a thousand times while they were growing up.
“What do you think we should do?”
“I was thinking. You take whatever you want and then we will call an auction house and have them get rid of the rest. After that we can either fix the place up and rent it or just flat out sell it.”
“I don’t want anything from here,” Cindy said.
“Hey, there is a pretty new television in the front room. You can take that so Bob can sit on his ass and have you wait on him some more,” he said bitterly.
“Oh stop it Alan. He isn’t much of a husband but I married him so I have to live with it,” Cindy said.
“I admire your fortitude but not your reasoning. Throw the bum out. You would be a ton better off.”
“I would probably have to pay alimony.”
“Wrong. Not in this state. What might happen is he may have to actually get a job.”
“Look, let’s move on. When are they releasing the body?”
He gave her a blank look.
“Alan?”
“I forgot to ask.”
Cindy just shook her head, “I swear. All you had to do was identify dad and find out when we could have the funeral.”
“I was traumatized.”
“You were brain dead Alan.”
“That too.”
“Well I talked to the mortuary and they will get all the information and give us some possible dates.”
“See, I knew that,” he said
“Really?”
“You bet. I read it someplace. I have a mind like a steel trap.”
“Well Mr. Steel Trap, what is my middle name?”
“Cindy Carter.”
“My middle name.”
“Uh, wait. I know it. Alice? Ann?”
“You are a dunderhead Alan but I love you anyway. Are you about ready?”
“You want to take the television? I can throw it in the car.”
“What? And give Bob another reason to never get off his butt. I don’t think so,” she said.
CHAPTER THREE
It was a cold, windy day. The sky was threatening sleet or snow, Alan thought as he pulled his coat collar up around his neck. His sister was holding his hand as they walked up to the gravesite and picked up a hand full of dirt. Alan looked down at the casket and then let the dirt slip from his hand.
Back in the car she sat up front with him and Bob sat in the back seat. He looked like a bum. He hadn’t shaved and his tie looked more like a square knot.
“When are we going to eat?” he asked from the back seat.
“We’re headed to Aunt Lilly’s house. She is taking care of the food,” Cindy told him.
“I’m starving. I need to get something. How far is it to your Aunt's house?”
“Twenty minutes or so.”
“Can’t we stop and get something on the way?”
“People will be showing up and waiting for us to arrive.”
“So? Let them wait.”
“No problem Bob,” Alan said, pulling into a McDonald's, “You go get something and you can eat it in the car.”
“Why not go through the drive-thru?”
“Look at the cars stacked up. You can get it faster inside.”
“Crap,” he said and got out.
Once he was inside, Alan put the car in reverse and backed out. He drove off leaving Bob in Mickey D’s.
“You can’t just drive off Alan. Turn around and go back and get him.”
“No. I’m not going back.”
“Come on Alan. This isn’t funny.”
“I didn’t intend for it to be.”
“How will he get to Aunt Lilly’s?”
“He won’t and I’m just fine with that. He can just have a cab come and pick him up and take him home.”
“Alan, this is just wrong.”
“Yes it is,” was all he said.
**
As Alan suspected, Bob never showed up. The house was overflowing with people expressing their sympathy and of course stuffing down food. He was glad Bob wasn’t here, he would have probably just pulled a chair up to the counter and started eating.
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