Chapter 9: An Argument

Chapter nine opens with Richard Sparne arguing with his parents, again. His growing agitation and anger are apparent.   He tells his parents that he is done with basketball,  and doing more important things with his life now.   He went to get his girlfriend, Bobby, with  the intention of being aggressive sexually. 

 Many Cones is a podcast novel based on true crime. The murders inspiring this crime fiction took place 30 miles from Chicago in Northwest Indiana, and captivated the area from the initial brutal crime scene all the way through and beyond discovery of a shockingly bizarre motive.

Richard Sparne was in the middle of his fourth argument of the week with his parents. He didn’t remember the reasons for the first three. This one was about him being out late every night. Not having dinner with them. Not doing homework. Plus, the idiot basketball coach had called. No Richard in the gym for a long time.


His father wanted to know what in the hell was going on. Richard was tempted to tell them about his good fortune, but he decided against it. They wouldn’t understand. Besides, he was getting a little pissed about their prying. 


They were all seated around the kitchen table. It was an older house, well built, and the room was quite large. The table was an old, reddish-brown mahogany relic. It had belonged to Richard’s maternal grandparents. As far back as Richard could remember, it has always been there. It sat four comfortable and could accommodate eight if the leaf was inserted.


As a child, Richard had tried to carve his initials into the tabletop, but the wood was too hard. Then anyway. He thought about getting a knife, carving, “Fuck you” into the wood and just walking out. He had no doubt about his ability to conquer that table now.


While his parents were talking, he realized he was staring through them, looking at his drab surroundings. As a youngster, he relished the aromas wafting from his mother’s creations on the big white thing that spit blue fire and made everything taste great. It was a fucking old stove. In fact, all of these things were old; refrigerator, dishwasher, cabinets. His parents.


Richard was jarred by his father’s open palm slapping the table. “Are you listening to us?”


“What?” Of course, I’m listening,” he rudely answered.


The father tempered his voice. “Why aren’t you shooting in the gym, anymore?”


The Kid replied, in a provocative tone, “For what?”


“I thought you were going to walk on, in college?”


Richard was shaking his head and said, “No. That’s over with. I have more important things to do. I was stupid to waste all my time.”


All emotion and animation drained from his father’s face. He seemed to get smaller. In an almost beaten, cracking voice he asked, “What more important things do you have to do?”


Richard pushed himself away from the table. As he was standing, he said, “You wouldn’t understand.”


He slid his chair back to the table.  Richard rested his hands on the dark, curved decorations at the top of the chair back. “I have to go. Don’t wait up for me.” He turned and walked out, confident that in a short time, he wouldn’t be coming back at all.


His parents sat at the table for another hour. Neither of them spoke.