All in the Family (2 page)

Tommy was counting his loot when he bumped into Robert Doyle. Robert Doyle, the self proclaimed leader of the pack of wolves. The wolves included Robert, Timothy and Samuel. They were the boys who rode Bobby about being a fag and also picked on Tommy for being fat.

“Hello, Fat-Ass!” Robert said with a grimy smile.

Tommy frowned and quickly stuffed his wad of money into his pocket.

“Come now; let’s see what you have there.” Robert plunged his hand into Tommy’s pocket and pulled the wad of bills free.

“My, God!” Samuel was behind Robert. “There’s my gamin’ money.”

Robert turned and smirked, “Yours?” He gently put the money into his own pocket. “Much obliged, Fat-Ass.”

“Leave him alone!” Bobby had just arrived from his locker, his arms full of books.

“Oh, look, the fag has come to save Fat-Ass!” Robert laughed quite the evil sound, Samuel mocked it.

“I’m not a fag, and he’s only fat because his parents don’t make him play outside.” Bobby turned red faced.

Robert shoved past Bobby and Tommy, laughing and mocking Bobby’s words. “See you around, fag.”

Bobby wanted to spit. He wanted to do more than spit, but he wanted to spit right in Robert’s face. He wanted to throw down his books, save for one, and use that one against the back of Robert’s head. The feeling of rage caused him to shake. He calmed, sniffed and walked silently to class.

* * * *

It was nearing noon now; Herman lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Loretta had left earlier in that morning, said she was going shopping. With what money, Herman knew not. His daughter Jessica had left long before he woke. Senior year of high school was going to be quite the year for her, at least Herman thought so.

He groaned as he rolled himself out of bed.
The job is killing me,
he thought. Literally, it seemed to be.

Downstairs, the coffee pot gurgled as the water percolated. The toaster popped, and a piece of half toasted bread popped up. He pressed the button again, and the machine made an awful buzzing. He pressed it again and the bread went down. The metal ribbons inside heated up and turned a glowing red.

The coffee maker had finished its gurgling song. Herman put his ceramic cup, portraying the logo of the mortuary, next to the pot. His attention was on the newspaper. The headline reading:
Local Man Dies, Wife Inherits Entire Estate! What’s Next For Her?

He poured the coffee, without half looking at the cup. The murky liquid spilled slightly onto the countertop, it ran around the edge of his cup, pooled and then ran to the edge and dripped down onto the floor. Herman did not notice.

The scent of burning toast filled the air as the toaster popped again. This time, the bread came up a charred, blackened, nearly deformed ghost of its former self. Without looking, Herman grabbed the toast and tossed it onto a small glass plate. He then sat the plate on the table and moved with his cup in one hand and paper in the other to his chair.

He lifted the toast to his lips, still without looking down, and bit down through the crunchy charred bread. The taste of burned bread annoyed his taste buds. He spat the chewed mass of bread onto the plate, taking a drink of coffee to wash away the flavor. The coffee tasted much too strong and thick.

He dumped the coffee into the sink, it splashed against the bottom of the wash basin, wet coffee grounds clumping and spreading around the bottom. Irritated, he dropped the glass into the sink. All the years of making coffee never once had he messed it up; never once had he added too much coffee grounds, never once had he burned his toast. This was just not his day.

Then he heard it, the sound he had been dreading since the night before, the doorbell. He abandoned his current task, dried his hands and went to answer the door.

He stood before the door, not wanting to answer, not wanting to open the door and see his brother standing there. Herman stood before the door, staring, nerves causing his ulcer to flare. He felt it burn and knew that what was coming could not be in his favor.

“Hello, Herman,” his brother said.

“Hello, Bob,” Herman said, meeting his gaze and then casually looking away.

His brother held up a hand. “Please, this is strictly a business visit, today, call me Frank.”

“Okay, Frank,” Herman said. Herman would have rolled his eyes if he was that kind of man. His brother’s birth name was Francis Robert, but Herman had always called him Bob. He did not see why this should change now. “Would you like to come in?”

Frank stepped inside and removed his hat. His slicked back, black hair lay against his skull. He shook it free and let it fall; he had the look more of an old time gangster than a real businessman, but people believed him and trusted him with their money and that’s all that mattered. Truly what was there not to trust? He had built a million dollar business from other people’s garbage. An absolute pleasure to be around, he could be quite the charmer, but shrewd and cruel when it came to the dollar. His magnetic personality would appeal to even the most secluded recluse, and then he would take their life’s savings fund for his own.

Herman could never really stand to be around Frank, though he was always a family favorite; Herman always secretly despised his brother. It was a quiet hate, he never even shared his feelings with his own wife, but lately it was becoming harder to hide the secret sibling rivalry.

“What kind of business is it that you have come here with?”

Frank glanced around casually at the house, his eyes absorbing the warmth of the home, or the lack thereof. He stroked his chin a moment as if in deep thought, and then he spoke.

“As you may well know, our parents left us a great deal of money. Father always wanted us to go into business together and make something of ourselves, but you chose to continue along the beaten path of both Dad and Grandpa before him. I, however, took the path less traveled. I invested my money. My money made me money. You see how that works?” Frank waited for Herman to answer, he gave no reply. “Anyway, I’ll quit beating the old horse and get to the point. I’m here to inform you that you are being bought out.”

“Bought out?” Herman’s expression turned to one of confusion.

“Yes, bought out; a take-over. I’m buying the mortuary, and I’m going to give it a complete makeover. You can’t really suggest that you make good money doing that. If another funeral home comes into town, you’ll be done for. You’ll never be able to compete with their rates, and let’s just face facts, the building is shit.”

Herman stood, mouth agape, speechless. He took several steps back and sat down in his chair, nearly tripping over the matching ottoman.

“How could you do this?” He finally asked.

“How do I do a lot of things? Money talks, bro. You know this, as well as I do.” Frank moved toward the sofa and made himself at home.

“Yeah, life is good.” Frank’s voice floated, so light and airy now.

Herman sat, emotions going haywire, his mind racing, innumerable thoughts firing at once.
How will my family survive now? What will I do for work?
Then his thoughts turned sour.
Who does this bastard think he is? Why should he get to choose who makes it and who doesn’t?

“My goodness, Herman, I’ve been here all of ten minutes and you have yet to offer me something to drink.”

How about some Jim Jones Kool-Aid? “Would you care for something to drink?” Herman asked as politely as he could muster.

“No thanks.” Frank smirked and looked smug.

That tore into Herman even more. The arrogance of his brother; he acted as if he could walk all over anyone.

“Would you care to give me a tour?”

“A tour for what? You’ve seen my house before.”

“I’d like to at least see the place I’m about to buy.” Frank continued to smile.

* * * *

It was lunchtime, now, at Wellington Middle School. Bobby sat at his usual lunch table, alone. Tommy would be making his trip to the table soon, but first, he had to make his usual rounds. Tommy always rounded the lunchroom, begging for leftovers, any food that someone was going to leave behind.

Tommy waddled toward the table, his tray full of food, stacked like Jenga, his daily balancing act. One day he could make a professional restaurant server. He sat down and removed two plastic wrapped snack cakes from his pockets. To add it all up; he had two entrées, Salisbury steak with onion gravy, a double serving of mashed potatoes with gravy, a single mound of stuffing, three milk cartons–one chocolate and his two snack cakes.

Bobby shook his head.

Tommy stopped. “What?”

Bobby swallowed his food. “Nothing.”

Tommy sat down and began immediately shoveling food into his salivating mouth. His mouth sloshed and made slopping sounds. It would gross out anyone else, but Bobby had grown accustomed to the weird eating habits of his friend, hearing it and seeing it. It was nothing new to him.

Bobby, too, ate quickly, but without the sound effects. He then opened his folder and pulled out a horror comic book. His mother always disagreed, but his father felt that no harm could come from reading a book.

When the bell rang, Tommy was still gobbling food, wolfing it down as if he may never eat again.

On the way back to the classroom, Bobby had inadvertently run into Robert.

“Well, well, well,” Robert started, “if it isn’t the fag. Where’s your chubby lover at?”

Bobby tried to ignore the boy and walk around him, but another one of Robert’s thugs stepped in, blocking the way. The taller boy shook his head, Bobby stepped back.

“I’m just going to class.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to go to class.”

“Then what do you want?”

Robert smiled a sneering smile. “I want some naked pictures of that hot sister of yours.”

“Maybe you should talk to Tommy,” Bobby muttered under his breath.

“What was that, fag?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Just then, a teacher walked by and Robert patted Bobby on the shoulder, then drew him close and whispered in his ear. “I heard you boy.”

As they were walking away, Robert called back, “I might just have to talk to that fat friend of yours.”

Chapter Two

She looked at the lacy undergarments the hangers held, lightly fingering the fabric of each one. This was her favorite store, but then again any store that sold lingerie was her favorite store. Loretta Adams loved lingerie. This was no secret to her husband and a few other husbands in town.

She seductively ran her long slender fingers over the blue fabric of another piece; her long, sharp nails gently caressing the fabric, her eyes playing games with the man across the room. He saw her, his eyes played games back. She loved flirting in public.

The man stood pretending to admire a slinky number himself, but he continually looked up to catch her gaze. Apparently he was single, at least for the moment.

Catching his gaze again, she shifted her eyes to the rear of the store. He glanced that way. A door stood closed at the back. A big red sign read:
Over 18 Only.

Loretta stepped through the door quickly and quietly, the woman at the counter barely paying her any attention.

Behind the door, it was a pervert’s paradise. Dildos lined the far wall; black, blue, skin tone, all different colors, sizes and shapes. Along the wall beside the counter, lubricants and bottles of all sorts stood and hung from the wall. She glided across the room to the dildo display.

She admired an oversized double headed dong, wanting to touch it when the man walked through the door catching her attention. She heard the door close, then a citrus sweet smell wafted her way; she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent. He smelled delicious, sweet, and she liked it.

She turned, and he stood right behind her, his dark, well styled hair looked soft, his blue eyes undressed her. She glanced over, the woman at the counter still turned toward the front of the store and reading a Hustler paid them no attention.

“Looks awful big, you think you could handle that alone?” he asked, looking down at the package in her hands.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” she replied, a bold, brazen move.

The man inched closer, even his breath smelled sweet. Lust in his eyes, he pressed closer. Her breasts touched his chest now, her erect nipples straining against the silky fabric of her dress.

He motioned with a nod of his head toward another door. This door read:
Adult Theater
. Behind this door, one could view an assortment of pay-per-view adult flicks. They had movies for the pervert in everyone. Above all, every viewing room was private.

She looked back at him and deep into his eyes, caught like a doe in the intense beam of oncoming headlights. She suddenly felt a tingle between her legs and then felt the moistness. She could nearly achieve orgasm by just looking at him. The past three months without sexual gratification from her husband only spurred her on.

She took his hand and led him delicately toward the door. The mere touch of her soft skin on his caused an immediate reaction. He could feel his penis stiffen slightly, beginning to push hard against his cotton briefs.