SCARED – A Novel. Chapter 3.03 – Gun

Continuing the serialization of an original novel I’ve written entitled SCARED.

Well, today should prove entertaining … a trip to the police station, then a foray to the gun shop to buy my wife a gun. Life doesn’t get much more interesting than that!
“Hey, Dad.” The French doors to the front hallway opened, and Marty stepped into the room.
He was dressed as any college freshman would be: jeans, shirt tail out, running shoes, his hair a mess.
“Any coffee left?”
“Half a pot. How’d you sleep?”
He paused on his way to the coffee pot to scratch Fred’s ears. “Okay.”
I lit a cigarette in defiance. “Did you hear that guy last night?”
Marty pushed back his thick mane of hair and looked at me with a mischievous smile. “Gettin’ brave, aren’t we?”
“I smoked a couple last night, and Mom jumped on me this morning.”
“I can imagine.” He crossed to pour himself a cup of coffee. “What guy?”
“Then you didn’t hear him?”
Marty shook his head as he stirred his brew.
“Some guy walking down the road, shouting to the top of his lungs, ‘Fuck you. I will survive this.’”
Marty flopped onto the sofa and patted the cushion for Fred to join him. “Probably got dumped by his girlfriend.”
“That was my thought.”
“Yeah,” agreed Marty as he rubbed the dog’s big head.
I stubbed out my cigarette and got to my feet. “Well, I’ve got to get going.”
Marty looked over his coffee mug at me. “Where’re you goin’?”
“Errands,” I lied.
“You could cook me breakfast … like any good father.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right. You owe me two already.”
“We could make it three.” He smiled hopefully.
I shook my head and smiled. “No way … this weekend you make up the other two, and then we’ll deal.”
Marty stretched and yawned. “So you’re going to to send your kid off to school without a hot breakfast.”
“Looks that way.” I grabbed my keys from the kitchen island and crossed to the French doors.
“What time are your classes over?”
“I should be home by then so I’ll see you when you get home.”
“If I don’t die of starvation.”
“Try having lunch. That’ll help.”
Marty waved his hand at me as he reached for his coffee mug. “Go away.”
“See you later.” I closed the door behind me and stepped out onto the terrace. The air was crisp and clean … typical of our country mornings. Above me, the maples were showing the first effects of fall, their leaves beginning to curl and slowly change color. The dew dripped from the lower foliage ran in rivulets down the Oldsmobile’s white, convertible top.

NEXT: SCARED continues.

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