Poison Oak

DADDY

FUCK! BOOM BOOM BOOM! Ishmale shot his military grade shotgun into the air in the field behind his family house. He started hitting his head in frustration and you could see the veins popping out of his head.

Get a fuckin' handle on it! Ish's right hand man and younger brother Damien wasn't with the antics.

What the fuck do you mean, this stupid muthafucka think he can get over on me? Ishmale said pointing a finger at himself before turning back to his sport. BOOM! Another flying target was shot down.

Look I will handle it... you relax, small things to giants. Damien said as he aimed his shotgun at another target. BOOM! His accent wasn't as noticeable as his brothers because he had come to America way before his brother decided to move here, due to their parents divorcing. He was a little smaller than his older brother, standing at six feet and two hundred pounds, but he was just as deadly. Their parents had made sure of it, instilling in them that this business wasn't made for weak men or weak women for that matter. They may have grown up in two different environments, but both their parents were savages and therefore so were they.

No, Ishmale said as he focused his eyes above the shotgun as he awaited his target. The target flew in the air and another bullet left the chamber... BOOM!

I'll handle this one myself. He said to his brother with menacing eyes before unloading his shotgun and heading back towards the house.

Damien rubbed his hands together and smiled a little. It had been a while since Ish did any of the dirty work and he was proud to know that his brother was still a killer.

Ishmale walked into the large dark orange house through the backsliding doors as his brother followed. There was an older Arabian woman seated at a large oval, victorian dining room set, counting stacks of money that covered every square inch of the table.

I've got 1.5 million so far, she said as the two men entered the house.

Alright just keep counting, Ishmale said in an irritable voice as he rubbed his thick black curly beard. And recount it again, somebody's life depends on it. His large frame didn't ease his indignant demeanor. He was a big man with a height of six foot six weighing in at two-hundred and sixty pounds of pure muscle. When he was angry his shoulders hunched over to reveal his large biceps and broad shoulders, as it did in this moment.

The older lady rolled her eyes and went back to puffing on her cigar when Ishmale suddenly snatched it from her grip as he was walking past.

You don't have time to smoke right now. He threw the cigar forcefully across the room in frustration. He proceeded to bend down and invaded the heavyset woman's space, he was so close that she could feel his hot breath rolling down her cheek.

You are my money counter, you have one job! Don't fuck it up! He slammed his large fist on top of the table and she jumped a little.

She was no stranger to his anger or this game, but hell hath no fury when Ishmale was fucked over. Not even God himself would be safe from his rage, and if he was to lose his shit now would be the time. One of the clients, that he recruited, shorted them almost a million dollars and the errand boy he sent to make the trade should have never left without making sure it was all there, but he would be dealt with later. For now, they would recount the money out of good faith but if it came up short again, and it would, the next step would be deadly.

Damien gave his brother some space for a minute, before joining him on the back porch where Ishmale was now smoking a cigar sized blunt stuffed with the finest Columbian weed. They had run into shiesty clients before and those clients were now six feet under. He knew why Ishmale was enraged, nobody fucks them over, but he also sensed a hint of fear and desperation.