C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation Read Online Free Page B

ask his dad something about when the oven might get fixed when the doorbell interrupted him. John turned and looked out the window over the sink. The last rays of the sun streamed through. Turning back, he motioned with his head to the door. “Would you get that, Jake?”
    “ Uh . . . sure,” Jake dropped his fork to his plate then rose to his feet. Once at the front door he turned the four deadbolts and pulled back the two chains. With a grunt, he opened the heavy oak door to find a short, gangly looking man in his mid forties. He had jet-black hair hanging down over his ears and was dressed in a cheap gray sports jacket with a Hawaiian theme tie, a pair of Wrangler jeans, and a scuffed pair of black cowboy boots. In his right hand he held a six-pack of some cheap, off brand beer Jake had never heard of. Three bottles were missing. It was one John's old work buddies, Marty White.
    “ Hey, Jack,” Marty said, smiling a mouthful of yellow teeth with an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Is your old man in?”
    “ Hey, Mr. White,” Jake said, not even bothering to correct the mispronunciation of his name. “Dad’s in the kitchen.”
    “ Cool,” Marty said, stepping past him. A whiff of stale cigarette smoke and cheap beer assaulted Jake's nose.
    “ Hey, hey, hey!” Marty yelled out, holding the half-empty six-pack over his head as if he’d just won the World Cup. He set the beer on the table then slapped John hard on the shoulder. “What’s up, Big John?”
    “ Hey, Marty,” John said, pushing out one of the black metal chairs with his foot. “How’d the interview go?”
    “ Ah shit you know,” Marty dropped into his seat then lit his cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter. “Bunch of commie, liberal bastards. They don’t want a real man! They want some pencil pushing bitch that will follow orders. By God, John, I tell you, this country is headed to hell in a hand basket. No one gives a shit about the working man anymore,” he took a drag from his cigarette then leaned back in his chair. "Don't they realize it was men like you and me that built this country? All we needed was a few rounds of ammunition and some good ole rock and roll! Now the whole thing is built on nothing but shitty rap music and nerds on computers.”
    “ Watch your language Marty,” John motioned toward Jake, who was still standing since Marty had taken his chair.
    “ Ah shit, kid, I’m sorry,” He pulled a bottle of beer from the pack and opened it on the edge of the table. In less than a minute, he had emptied the entire thing down his throat. He belched loudly then wiped his mouth with his tie. “Just been one of those days is all. How ‘bout you, Big John? Have any luck with Jester’s outfit?”
    John shook his head, “No, they said they weren’t hiring. Check back in six months,” John sighed. ”The same as Simmons, the same as J.W. Poe, hell the same as K--Mart! No one is hiring in this economy."
    “ Man you said it, brother,” Marty slammed his empty beer bottle down on the table. " Check back in six months! " he said in a high-pitched voice. "Might as well be six years! Don't they realize a man needs to feed his family? Well, I say the hell with ‘um, let’s go get drunk and shoot some pool! Whadaya say?”
    “ Sorry Marty," John shook his head no, "not tonight. Julia’s got the night shift again so someone's got to watch Jake.”
    Marty took another long drag off his cigarette, and then tapped the ashes into the empty beer bottle. “Ah shi . . . uh . . . shoot that’s right," he said cracking open another bottle. "Musta slipped my mind. But hell Jake can watch himself can't you, big guy? What are you now, fifteen? Sixteen?"
    Jake snickered. People often thought he was older than he was. In fact for as long as he could remember he'd always been the tallest in his class.
    John rolled his eyes then laughed. "Marty, he's only ten, and no he won't be staying alone."
    "Ten? Damn, boy,