Free Three Twisted Stories by Karin Slaughter Page B

a thousand times before. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like you hate me.”
    Charlie
did
hate him. He knew this now. He genuinely despised his brother. He didn’t want him around. He didn’t want to hear his voice or see his stupid grin or watch the way he chased all the women around the dealership like they were prime meat.
    But what would that say about Charlie—that he didn’t love his own brother? That he threw him out onto the street? People would think he was a monster.
    “You in there, buddy?”
    Charlie cleared his throat. He couldn’t speak his mind, but he had to say something. “I wish you wouldn’t treat people the way you do.”
    “How do I treat them?” Deacon pushed himself up from the chair. “What’s wrong with you?”
    “What’s wrong with
me
?” Charlie felt the words start to flow before he could stop them. “How about how you don’t treat me with respect?”
    “Don’t treat—”
    “You parked in my space last week.”
    “And?” Deacon shrugged, like he hadn’t been told a thousand times not to park in Charlie’s space. Like the fucking space didn’t have a
sign
on it that said Charlie’s name.
    “You took out my car two months ago. I didn’t give you permission. You left cigarettes overflowing in the ashtray. Who do you think had to clean that out?”
    “I told you I’d do it.”
    “When?” Charlie demanded. “You said you’d do it, but three days went by and I had to do it myself.”
    “Get a fucking porter.” Deacon threw his hands into the air. “What the fuck are you paying them for?”
    “That’s not the point and you know it. You made the mess. You should clean it up.”
    “Oh, fuck that, Charlie. It’s not about the mess.”
    “Of course it’s about the mess. I had to clean it up. Do you know how many things I could’ve been doing instead of cleaning up after you? Things that make money. Things that keep this business open. Things that keep your paycheck rolling in.”
    “Oh, that’s what this is about. You pay me, so you own me.”
    Charlie shook his head. Deacon always managed to turn it back around.
    “What else, brother? Bring it on. You obviously got a list somewhere of all the horrible shit I’ve done to you. Come on. Whip it out.”
    Charlie kept shaking his head. He
should
whip it out. Unplug his cock and balls and beat his brother in the head until blood came out of his ears.
    Deacon said, “I can’t believe you got your panties in a wad over a fucking hat I put on a chicken.”
    It seemed stupid when he said it, but Charlie countered, “It’s not the chicken, Deacon. Or the hat. It’s that I told you not to and you keep doing it. Why? Why do you keep doing it when you know that I don’t want you to?”
    “You’re just crazy-talking now.”
    “Crazy?” Charlie asked. “You know what’s crazy? That I work my ass to the bone and you, and every worthless piece of shit in our family, expect me to keep doing it while you sit around smoking dope and fucking around and chasing tail and going through money like it’s water. What about me, Deacon? When am I allowed to have fun? When in my fucking life am I ever going to be able to just sit back and let one of you useless, blood-sucking jackasses take care of
me
?”
    Deacon said nothing. They both listened to the echo of Charlie’s voice. He hadn’t spokenthese words to his brother. He’d screeched them like a jazz trombone.
    “Fuck this. And fuck you.” Deacon slapped the pencil cup off Charlie’s desk. Projectiles flew across the room. He slammed the door so hard the framed photographs banged against the wall.
    Charlie took a deep breath. He held it to the count of ten before letting it go. The office felt stifling. Deacon had sucked all of the energy out of the room. Charlie couldn’t be here anymore.
    Charlie stood up and collected all the pens off the floor. He arranged them back in the cup. He walked out of his office. He crossed the