All in the Family Read Online Free Page A

show Frank a thing or two. He would take the belt to him like their father used to. Herman’s mind raced now almost panicked.
    He looked at the old, chipping white paint on the basement door. Maybe his place was a shit-hole, but it was his shit-hole. He turned the worn, once brass colored handle. The hinges cried as the door swung inward. He held out a hand to motion after you , and Frank looked at him as if he would have no other way. After Frank passed, he made faces and beat the air with his fists, wishing he could use them on the thick skull in front of him.
    Once in the basement, Frank continued his oral degradation. “This place smells absolutely horrid. Don’t you ever clean up, look at all this junk on the floor and the ... dear God, how long have the walls been leaking?”
    “A while,” Herman replied, looking at the far corner where a small pool of stagnant water had collected.
    “Ridiculous, you should have called someone; for your own sake, called me.”
    Herman stared at the back of his head in the dim light. He wanted, badly, to just smack his brother, just one good time, really let him have it.
    “This place smells of rot and decay. Your floor is going to rot out from under you.”
    “What difference does that make? You’re just going to buy it out from under me anyway, turn it into Frank’s Funhouse.” Herman was furious now. A rage had built inside of him the way animosity grows between nations, between brothers. That age old rage like that which had grown between Cain and Abel, the kind of rage that reverts the civil society to that primal instinct, kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. That was the rage that now boiled his blood, made it hot like fire. His veins burned and he felt powerful. His senses heightened, taking in all that the room had to offer, sound, scent and sight.
    Then he saw it. He could use it; his mind worked up the images. On the workbench, it glinted in the light even through all the dirt and grime. It called to him.
    The short-handled, eight pound sledge.
    * * * *
    The man behind her pumped harder and harder, forcing heavy breaths and moans from her. Well, she more forced the moans herself, but it seemed to satisfy him. Sweat poured profusely from them now; the temperature in the room had risen several degrees.
    The images on the screen did nothing for her, but he kept turning his head to watch them and then back to her ass as he fondled it, groping and squeezing her soft, milky flesh in his palms. In the distance, the sounds of the other couple achieving orgasm broke through the thin paneling that divided rooms.
    “Are you close?” He panted, nearly breathless. That was when she realized that all of this was about to be for naught, and that he would come and leave her still in need. She plunged her hand below, shoving her skirt out of the way.
    “Hold out a minute, baby,” she said and then moaned as her fingers found her button.
    * * * *
    Herman had the sledge in hand now; he silently flipped it from side to side, admiring its worth. Though dingy, it still seemed to sparkle. He remembered the day he purchased it. He needed it to drive some stakes into the ground in the backyard as yard edging. It had been used for many things since then, even on Ralph, the old cocker spaniel that had to be put down. Herman owned no gun; he held to the belief that guns were for cowards.
    His brother continued his spiel, but Herman had lost interest. Now he had found something that might alleviate his suffering, bring to an end this bitter rivalry between brothers, and fulfill this hatred that he held for his twin. Had it really come to this, to murder? How could it be? He knew, that yes, it had come to this. One could only take so much abuse before one snaps. Herman had been walking that tightrope for years.
    He took another look at his brother; perhaps another peek would ease his mind and calm his nerves. His gaunt frame, his slick, black hair; and his annoying voice, still spilling