Things you, the Reader, should know:
Sands pops in for a couple of chapters, but this -isn't- a Sands story. (Are we clear on that point?)

Thanks are due Robert Rodriguez - we all know he's the real genius here - a bunch of bananas to Kerttu for inspiration, and a bottle of tequila to Mojave Dragonfly for beta'ing (any mistakes are my own blonde fault), and a slice of carrot cake to the Plot Bunny with a Spanish accent who started whispering in my ear a while back.

This story is a follow-up of sorts to Clockwork Mexico. Even while I was still writing its predecessor, I knew the truth about the kid in the limo, and that the sequel would start with the Gomez brothers questioning the old lady. Lisiado came in later, after schmoozing with Kerttu about...well, that would give too much away! This begins the night after the raid on the Gomez hacienda in Culiacan. (The opening scene here occurs at the same time that El and Kate are out dancing.) It isn't necessary to have read the previous story, but I assure you, if you do, you'll have a much better idea of what's really going on than my protagonist here does.

Enjoyreview.


Taking Care of Business

Prologue:

Twelve years ago.

As soon as the dark stranger had departed, Dolores crouched in the dust, cradling her lover's body. Blood still trickled from the terrible wounds the man's guns had inflicted upon him, warm and sticky on her hands. His linen shirt, pristine moments ago, was crimson, the stains spreading. Scarlet bubbles formed on his chest.

She was only a plaything to him, she knew that, but he meant the world to her. He was not always kind, but she responded to his air of command, to the vitality he exuded. His intimate smiles melted her heart. Even like this, robbed of his power, of his very life's blood, she marveled at his strong features. Tears trickled down her face, one of them landing on the his cheek. His lips parted, trembled. Dolores felt a wild hope. Could it be that he still lived, that he might survive to be her own true love?

Purposefully, she rose and found one of the vehicles that had a key in it. She would take him to Papa, to safety, she would make him well, she would make him hers.


1. / New Business

Lisiado wishes they'd hold this interview out on the terrace, so he could smoke - though he knows that's bad for his damaged lungs. The old woman would be less anxious. But no, this is serious business to the Gomez brothers, so of course, they want to confer in their father's office, which for so many years was off-limits to them.

"Tell us what happened, Philomena," demands the senior brother. "Who did this? Who killed our brother?"

The old woman twists a handkerchief in her arthritic hands. "I don't know, Señor Ernesto. There were two of them that I saw, a man and a woman."

"Two people? You expect me to believe that two people killed Eduardo and dozens of our workers? Father will be livid when he hears of this!"

Yes, thinks Lisiado, his father-in-law will be furious at the news of a second strike at their Culiacan base. It took six months to clean up after the first raid, and now not only has that progress been cancelled, but he's lost his middle son as well. A father himself, Lisiado feels sympathy for the patriarch, although he really won't miss Eduardo.

"Calm yourself, Ernesto. She said that she saw two people. There may have been a dozen that she didn't see." The youngest brother rests a hand on Philomena's shoulder. "Tia, did you get a close look at them?"

"He said to me, 'We are here to hurt bad people, not grandmothers'," the elderly woman quavers. "Bad people! What does a man like that think he is?"

"Did you see the man, Philomena?"

"Si, Señor Esteban. He was very tall. Not young, not old, clean shaven...I would know him again."

"And the woman?" Ernesto Gomez interrupts. "What about her?"

"I saw that it was a woman, and her hair was light..." Philomena shakes her head. "I only had a glimpse before he shut me in the pantry."

A fair-haired woman? Lisiado is reminded of the fax from Eduardo he'd intercepted on the previous day. He had a woman prisoner, who he'd thought was CIA. He'd faxed a copy of her passport, but the picture was a blurred smudge. Only the name and personal information had come through clearly, and the man called Lisiado knows well that names mean nothing.

"Get Marisol," commands Ernesto with barely a glance at his father's advisor. He expects obedience, and Lisiado complies, but he won't make anything easier for Ernesto than he has to. Since Nestor's incarceration, his elder sons have been keeping information from him, so he feels no remorse about returning the favor, as with the fax this one still hasn't seen.

"The poor, poor girl," Philomena moans as Lisiado moves toward the door. "To see her poor father like that-! He was lying in the road, Señor Ernesto, with one of my good knives sticking out of him. It was terrible!" That doesn't sound like CIA; possibly rivals who had seized their prisoner during the raid?

Lisiado limps to the kitchen where the girl sits watching his wife chop vegetables. Marisol wears one of Dolores's old dresses, which gives her the look of a child playing dress up. "Come along," he says to her. "Your uncle wants to talk to you."

She follows him into the office and goes to stand in front of Ernesto's desk. "They killed Papa," she says, her voice shaking. "He put me into the limo and said he would make them follow him so I could get away safely. And Tomas started to drive away, and then the car stopped, and somebody opened the door, and it was her."

"What did she look like, Marisol?" asks Esteban.

"She was a devil! I thought she was going to shoot me with her gun, but Papa drove past and they went after him, and, and--"

"What did she look like?" prods Esteban. "You must have seen something besides her gun."

The teenager chews her lip. "Blonde hair, short and fluffy. Mean-looking. And it really was a great big gun!"

"You said 'they' went after him," growls Ernesto. "Did you see the man at all?"

Marisol frowns in concentration. "No. A man. Wearing a black jacket, and--" She shakes her head. "I just saw it was a man. He followed the woman to the garage, and they took Papa's silver car and drove off in it."

"And you didn't see anyone else?"

"No. But - there was another car! It was a jeep, it followed them after Papa. I didn't see how many people were in it, though. What are we going to do?" Marisol Fuentes-Gomez demands. "They killed Papa! She killed him! I know she did!"

Ernesto Gomez holds up a hand for silence. "The matter must be investigated. If nothing else, we must recover our business records from the hacienda and see to it that poor Eduardo is properly laid to rest. Esteban, return to Culiacan and bring our brother home. Recover everything you can from the hacienda. See what you can find out about these interlopers."

With their father Nestor currently in prison, Ernesto is the acting head of their family's empire, and Lisiado knows he is not above consolidating his position. "Take Lisiado and Philomena with you." Ah, thinks Lisiado impassively, he is right. Send the other heir to the throne into harm's way with only a housekeeper and a lame old man for protection. Chalk it up to 'duty to the family interests'.

"What about me?" asks Marisol. "I'd know her! I'd know her anywhere!"

"No, you're safer here," Ernesto is dismissive.

"I don't care! She killed Papa!" Lisiado watches, bored, as the girl whines and predictably, gets her way. Ernesto has to make it look convincing, and he does. The middle brother's offspring won't survive him long if Tio Ernesto has his way.

When Marisol and Philomena have gone, Ernesto begins instructing Lisiado on buttoning up the complex at Culiacan. Ernesto has been curt with him before this evening, but tonight his tone is especially offensive. Lisiado stands there silently, listening to his orders. How dare this punk talk to him this way? As if Lisiado is some young fool who's never taken care of business before, instead of being ten years his senior and once at the head of an operation that rivaled Nestor's in its day. I've crapped bigger than you, boy, he thinks, his jaw clenched. His chest feels tight, and he knows if this continues for much longer, he'll start to wheeze from stress.

Eduardo may be dead, but Ernesto isn't the head of the family yet. It's obvious that he wants it - he's sitting here in his father's chair at his father's desk in his father's private office - and you can see him trying it on for size. Lisiado, who has spent more time in this room than both the surviving brothers combined, wishes he was sitting at the table by the window playing backgammon with Nestor, rather than trying to appease his power-hungry son.

Lisiado could tell the young fool how easy it is to take power and how much more difficult it is to hold it, but he'll learn. Lisiado will do his very best to see to it.