Viper

The Dog Pound

WARNING : STRONG LANGUAGE. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.

While these events where taking place, Alex had been reminiscing about the events of the attack. His forearm had been broken by Clyde and he was sporting a shiner on his right eye. His War Dogs had declared victory that one of their transgressors to their empire had been made an example out off. David had been taken to the hospital and the extent of his injuries had been reported back to them.

"That's what punk ass bitches get. They get sent to the morgue!" said Q-ball upon hearing the news.

"Who got sent to the morgue?" inquired ironically Alex knowing full well or the answer.

"No doubt that punk-ass you blasted!" repeated Q-ball.

"Oh you know that for a fact? You got word? You found his rotting carcass, cold on the steel table? You see the body yourself?" Alex said, his angry temperament raising.

"No but I'm sure he'll turn up," said Q-ball trying to dig himself out of the quickly opening hole he felt sinking into.

"You sure now? Why are you so sure?" Alex said as he rose from his chair overlooking the many monitors of his security system.

"Cuz I saw you blast that mofo away. All clip on him. Didn't miss a single one," said Q- ball in awe of the marksmanship of his fearless leader.

"You know what I saw? I saw that 'mo-fo' take a fucken boulder to the back of the head and just get up, and stare at me like nothing. I saw that motherfucker turn an execution into an ass kicking of five grown men who ran with their tails between their legs. I saw him throw you motherfuckers around, and him putting his hands on me! But you know what I didn't see? I haven't seen his lifeless eyes rolling on the back of his head. That's what I want to see!" Yelled out Alex as he tossed a table with hundreds of dollars' worth of whiskey and cut glass decanter and glasses across the room. Q-ball and the rest of the healing War Dogs standing at attention, readying to get chewed out.

"Now I have my best pusher in hiding from the Donut Patrol, with new cargo getting ready to roll," Said Alex referring to T.J.'s situation.

"Shit! We can't be fucking up like this! We need to be blowing this shit up, not screwing it up," he continued, angrily gesturing and his massive frame and face tensing up with violence.

"We need to get answers. Where did they go? Why hasn't that Samaritan showed up?" said Alex referring to Clyde, in an unnerving composure that suddenly made the room feel bigger than it was. His movements methodical, almost retrospective as he walked the room not once looking at the tensed up men hanging through his every word.

"We need to get these answers. We need to tie all the loose ends. WE don't leave shit undone. We handle our business and do whatever needs to be done to see things done right," said Alex emphatically to all of his War Dogs.

"We really wanna be running around wasting time of these fools? It's just two clowns who got dealt with. What are they gonna do? We have the 3'rd street ruffians and the Slugs to worry about," tried to reason Q-ball referring to the group's two main rivals.

"These two 'fools' made my fucking hit squad look like a bunch of pussys! What do you think the ruffians and the slugs are going to do once they know we got start ups on our turf stepping up on us and we can't put them down?" said Alex.

"We are trying to expand this empire. What you think these other units are just gonna let us walk in and set up shop? Whatever new turf we want, we gotta take and keep it! This shit aint for boys. This is man's work. You gotta grab your balls and handle shit right! Some nigga is front'ng to take your prize, then you gotta put 'em down right there and then!" preached on Alex.

"We handle business. You know that," said Q-ball insulted at the implication.

"Then handle it right! I'm trying to get you niggas paid like kings! I'm trying to get you quarter acres homes on the hills, rolling deep on Italian speed and Detroit muscle! We are working long hours and putting hazard level risk to set up direct with people that will get us there. But we need to show them that we can deliver on the goods. You gonna tell me that you bout let one, two, or ten bitches keep you from getting your hard earned pay!?" Alex continued stirring up his dogs into a frenzy, like a handler enticing his hungry killers with raw steak.

"Nope. Not about to let no bitches keep me from my check!" said Q-ball swaying from side to side, like a fighter readying to enter the ring for a fight.

"You? You gonna let anybody keep you from getting paid?" asked Alex of another one of his dogs.

"Guy better be ready to die if he's gonna stand in my way!' said the dog getting caught up in the pep talk.

"Any of you gonna leave your pension up to chance in hopes that shit just gonna go right and hope things work out your way?" asked Alex of the lot of them.

"Hell nawh! I'm not working for free. I expect to get paid!" echoed the members of the group, voicing their expectations for their efforts.

"None of you wanna be driving around on a fucking civic and shit!" said their ring leader.

"Hell no! You guys wanna have the good shit right?"

"You wanna have the good shit right?" he asked one of his dogs.

"Yeah I want the good shit," replied the dog grinning, licking his lips, as if her were able to taste the goods and services coming his way.

"I'm trying to get you checks that bosses make. You don't want to be answering to no limp ass niggas that don't do shit! We take all the risk here, do all the work. We want to keep the big dick part of the profits!" said Alex.

"Fuck yeah! I want my share of the profits!" said the dogs.

"Yeah that shit sounds hell-a-good. But for that shit to happen, we gotta be more vicious, more ruthless, and willing to go harder and longer than anyone out there. Make no mistake about it gentlemen. Peoples are gonna die out there for you to get what you are due. It has to happen. It's either gonna be you or the nigga holding your stash. Follow me and I'll take you to the top of the hill. But it's dangerous at the top. Everyone will have you on their sight and come for your head to take all your hard work and claim it for themselves. You got the huevos (balls) to fight them off and put them down, I'll show you the riches you are looking for!" Alex said, laying down his ultimatum.

"I'm in. To the end. It's us or them. I'll follow you to the riches or the grave," said each of the dogs re-enforcing their devotion to the group and their objectives.

Their emotions peaking on the thought of the threshold between the ecstasy of success and the agony of ultimate defeat. They cheered and drank with each other, venerating the renewal of the bond in the pack. They would follow each-other unto death or success.

As they did, Alex sought Q-ball, his right hand man to confide in him.

"I want those answers. No loose ends," said Alex as both looked fiercely into each other's eyes and shook hands.

Just then, one of the other dogs called out to Alex, "Looks like we have visitors."

Officer Roberts and Officer Garcia had pulled up and were making their way to the front door.

"Great just what I need," thought Alex.

"Hummer, go see what the officers of the law want," Alex asked of one of his dogs, presumably the one with the least amount of visual damage.

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