This is a small sample of "Obituary" which explores the Father-Son relationship, as well as reveals a little bit more about how Dr. Jones feels about Dr. Cage. To read the actuall story, you'll need to visit my author page then open "Obituary." Please post all your comments and criticsims there, and then when you get done there's a nice little juicy teaser for my next foray into the Jones's universe!

Oh, when you open Obit and don't see this exact text, don't freak. The intro is somewhat long-winded and this morsel is taken from when Indiana and Co. come into the narritive.

Indy ignored his father.

“Junior.”

He concentrated on counting the sand on his saddle.

“Junior.”

Come on, Dad, it won’t kill you.

“Junior.”

You said it once.

“Junior”

Oh ho, getting mad now, are we?

“Indiana?” That was Sallah.

“Yes?” Indiana turned around, his eyes bright and a big smile on his face.

Sallah shifted in the saddle. “I think your father is trying to get your attention.”

He turned to his father, mock innocence painted across his face. “I’m sorry, Dad, did you say my name?”

Henry closed his eyes and counted to twenty in Latin before he said anything. “How much further?”

Indiana rolled his shoulders and did some quick calculations in his head. “Hell if I know.”

Marcus groaned. His horse had refused to carry him and he was switching riding behind the other three men every couple of miles. His behind had never hurt so bad. “Are you sure?”

Indiana was about to explain that really he had no idea how long it would take to get back to the city, but he was silenced by the “snick” of a hundred rifles having their safety clicked off. Each rifle was being held by a man, or possibly woman despite that being highly unlikely, in sand colored robes and face masks. Only one of them had any sort of color on him, in the form of a deep purple scarf tied around his waist. Indy guessed that this was the leader of the group.

“Dismount, strangers,” ordered the man in thick English. Their small group obeyed, Marcus sliding off the horse with no grace at all and landing on his sore behind with a muffled thump. Indy helped him up, warily keeping an eye on the man who’d spoken. “Disarm yourselves.” Indy removed his whip and his gun and tossed them in front of the leader’s horse. He made a short barking command in their dialect and four men stepped forward and led their horses away, while another gathered up Indiana’s belongings.

“Wait a moment…” Marcus had begun to protest, but staring down the barrel of a rifle silences most people. Despite his feeble attempt, the leader still snapped his attention to the scholar.

“You have an argument, old man?” He urged his horse forward until he was almost on top of a very terrified Marcus Brody.

Henry spoke up for his friend, earning a scowl from his son. “Yes we have an argument! In the past twenty four hours we’ve been shot at by Nazis, had to rescue Marcus here from the belly of a tank, Junior fell off a cliff, and we all almost died! And now, at the end of our ordeal, you have the audacity to come and take our horses so that we can’t get back home!” Henry was practically spitting and Indy actually had to put a hand on his father’s shoulder to restrain him.

“Dad, I really don’t think that was a good idea.” Indiana couldn’t believe the stupidity of his father.

“This man is your son?” The leader directed this at Henry, his tone unreadable.

“Junior?” Henry pointed at his son. “Yes, he is. Saved my life not ten hours ago, actually.” Henry was trying not to beam, much to Indy’s embarrassment.