There's Beasts and Then There's Prey
summary: Dave's about to find out that if you fuck with one of the Dogs then you fuck with the whole pack.
word count: 2,569
Finding a bar in this city is like trying to get a ticket while driving on the Los Santos Freeway. Easy.
The tricky part is finding a bar that has more than one good light bulb in the whole joint and that doesn't smell too much like stale beer and piss.
Though they all call Los Santos their home, and have done so for numerous years, Michael's the most familiar with the city and its many creature comforts. He was the one to originally find their headquarters in an abandoned dog shelter and he was the one to find this bar a few months ago. It was one of the bars that had more of a relaxed air to it, more fitting for shooting the shit than the energized air of a club or the darker, uneasy atmosphere of one of the seedier bars they frequented to discuss business.
For about an hour the four of them trade talk over a few drinks before taking their conversation to the nearby vacant pool table.
A few rounds in and a guy that Joe can't remember the name of; Dave? Dan? Donny maybe? joins them. He states that he’s a decent player and he doesn’t have many people to call friends in the city at the moment. Dan seems chill enough, he’s not triggering any alarm bells in their heads, looks to be just some middle-aged dude out on the town for the night.
The pack has no problem playing nice with others, as long as they don’t start any shit with them.
They joke about the word ‘pack’, tossing it around flippantly and saying it's just used to follow their gimmick, but even though Joe has only been in with the Mad Dogs crew for a year now he really does feel like that’s what this group is. A pack. In all of his criminal history he's never had anyone he's trusted to have his back more than the three men surrounding the pool table.
Michael, their muscle and lead (read only) demolitions expert, tosses back the last of his beer before lining up his cue.
“This is the one boys, can feel it in my bones,” Michael says, all confidence in the stance he takes on.
He sends the cue ball rolling and breaks apart the rack of striped and solid colored balls, the clack of them hitting each other filling the air of their tucked away corner. The pool balls scatter across the green felt of the pool table, dispersed by the momentum of the cue ball. Although Michael sends them all rolling, not a single one makes it into one of the pockets bordering the table.
“Fuck,” Michael mutters under his breath.
“Not bad, not bad, but let me show you how it's really done,” Trevor says cheekily. The frontman and leader of their crew drapes his body over the pool table before smoothly lining up with his stick in a fluid motion. He takes a few seconds to relax before sending the cue ball in a way that gets two stripes to roll into the corner of the table, dropping into the pocket below one after the other. He ends up knocking two more balls into their pockets before he finally misses a shot, ending his turn.
“Show off,” Michael comments with a grin. Trevor just shrugs his shoulders with a smirk on his face that gets a chuckle out of Alfredo.
Alfredo has chosen to opt out of the game this time, which Joe counts as a win in itself seeing as their marksman is entirely too steady when it comes to his hands and his aim. Don’t get him wrong, Joe’s grateful for it when it comes to keeping people off their backs in a deal or keeping a steady eye on them from above, but he absolutely rinsed the rest of them in the last round they played. Joe's $100 bill is currently sitting comfy in the pocket of Fredo's jeans and he doubts he'll be getting that back. Should’ve known better, he should've thrown in a $20 instead.
Donny laughs easily at Trevor's coy gesture. “Good one, man.”
“So, you from around here Dave?” Michael asks as the other man lines up his shot.
Dave. So that's his name.
A solid blue ball rolls and banks off of the left side of the table before sinking into a corner pocket.
“Actually I’m from out of state. Just moved down here with the wife a couple weeks ago,” Dave replies.
“Oh yeah? What - you just saw all the shit that happens here on the news and decided to move here?” Michael asks jokingly.
Dave laughs in response and goes on to explain how they ended up moving here because of a transfer in his wife’s location for her job.
“I mean, it’s good that she got a promotion and all, we need the money, but I feel like she’s holding it over my head now. I’m the one who has to pick up the kids and cook dinner and all the shit she should be doing. And- and- she makes more money than me now. What the hell is up with that?”
Joe cuts his eyes towards Dave, noticing the eyebrows that Michael raises behind him as the man leans over the table to make his next shot.
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I've been doing a lot of reflection as of late, especially after this past class.
This past class was about the Torah and Tanakh in general, and the way the rabbi talked about the commandments (specifically the ten commandments) has made me really reflect on how I interpret them, specifically the fifth commandment, or honoring your mother and father.
This is a commandment I have wrestled with for a long time - in fact, it brought me away from g-d at multiple times. I was severely abused when I was incredibly young by my mother, and I used to feel insulted at the implication that I were to honor her while she got to live a better life. It was hypocritical, in my eyes.
But this rabbi surmised that this particular commandment was because parenthood is an act of creation, something that is like the g-d from which we come from. My realization is this: I don't think we're necessarily meant to take even these commandments literally.
I this particular commandment is more of a call to honor creation - creation is a gift, and like any gift, many people simply will not like it and will discard it. The person who abused me created me, but she did not honor creation. She didn't honor me, but I can still honor it.
I have started to honor creation much more. I'm too young, too unstable, not mature enough to be a father (though I fantasize about it), but I create all the time. I create relationships, I create with my hands through crochet. I create memories, I create my world. And I can honor who I am and where I came from that made me who I am. I've been learning one of the mother tongues of my family (Italian, since part of my family originates there) and it was judaism that inspired me to do this.
I don't think g-d wants me to honor my abuser. I think He wants me to remember the Holy action of creation. When I am a father, that act of creation will be Holy, and indeed, I am already joyful about the thought.
I have seen many people struggle with this particular commandment, but I think this perspective helps me personally. I don't think I ever have to forgive my abusers (plural), and I don't think I am commanded to simply because they happened to be family. I am commanded to recognize the holy, to elevate the mundane. In doing so, I will remember g-d. Through creation, I honor g-d and everything he has done for us, for me, and for our collective people.
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