Warning: For language and hints of male-male and for future violence and Sands/El slash.
I need to apologies now for my lack of knowledge on Mexican Geography. I'm trying to be as accurate as I can, but please forgive me if I've stuffed it up completely. If anyone knows of a good website, please tell me; I have crappy ones.
Also, to help with the setting of this, OUATiM was shot in Culiacan (I think) and Sands' aim is to get as far away from their as physically possible for the moment- so he'll be jumping around a bit until he sets them up properly.
Stockholm Syndrome
Chapter Two:
El stood in vague shock and disorientation outside the back of the bar.
"You armed?"
"I told you, not since-"
An irritated sound escaped Sands, "Alright. I have spares. But since you're dumb enough not to carry one, I get to have some fun." He grinned and trained the gun on El, "Get in the car fucker. You're driving."
El wasn't phased by the gun; he knew there was no intention to kill behind it. "I can't drive."
For a split second the gun fell, but it was back in place quickly enough. This time his finger curled tightly on the trigger. "I don't think you really have a choice, El."
"I do not have my license," he smiled slightly, "And I am not, let us say, the best drive."
Sands stood in shock, face blank. "You have got to be kidding. You have to be freakin' kidding me! You don't drive? And I suppose your mother drives you around. Tell me El, does she clothe and feed you too? Wipe your ass for you?"
"My mother is dead."
Sands smiled and stuck his gun in his pants, handle showing, "Yeah? Mine too. Killed her all by myself." There was child-like pride in his voice that greatly disturbed El and he wasn't sure if Sands was lying or not. With Sands, you never knew, and he found his anger for the disrespect towards his mother subside.
"You..."
"Yeah, that's right. But that can save for a rainy day. Right now, you need to get in the car and drive us to Guanajuato."
"Guanajuato?!"
"Place of Frogs I believe it's translated to. We need to go over the hill and far, far away."
El snarled, "I told you, I can't-"
Sands seemed to have finally given up his patience and slammed his fist on the car, "Jesus El, you can drive a little though," he didn't wait for answer, "You can start it up and drive it straight and turn it left and stop it and maybe even reverse it. And that's all we need to get out of here. No flashy car dives or wheelies or exhilarating speed- which would be very cool, mind you- but just some basic driving skills."
El gritted his teeth at being mocked, "Why don't you drive then?"
This time, when Sands trained the gun on El, he clicked the safety off, "I suggest you drive or I'll blow out both your knee caps and you can drive in excruciating pain. That's if I don't decide to leave you here dying from blood loss first. Comprende?"
"Sì," El got hesitantly in the car, Sand walking around and getting in the other side. Missing, to El's great amusement, the car floor with his foot and stumbling. His laughter was muted by the swift aim of Sands' gun when Sands finally climbed in.
The gun never moved away.
-SxE-SxE-SxE-
They stopped at the first hotel in Tepic after nearly five long hours in the car.
They did not make for good road companions.
Where El liked to talk to drive away the bare minutes, Sands did not; save the odd question or two. Sands did not like long conversations. Nor did he like long silences. You could never tell what a person was thinking. Constant talking, though, served just as bad as silence. For the talking was only babble which hid was the person was truly thinking. No, what Sands found worked best was a random question which alarmed the companion every half-hour or so.
El also liked the radio on. He found music calmed him down considerably and if Sands did not want to talk then the radio made for a (better, El mused) companion. But of course, Sands promptly turned it off and the second El turned it back on Sands had rammed the butt of the gun into the radio; effectively breaking it.
El liked to drum his fingers on the steering wheel to a silent tune. Sands said it annoyed him, but the sound of breaking fingers did not. So El stopped.
El liked to whistle softly. Sands said a whistle made a great shape for the barrel of a gun to sit neatly in.
El liked to hum. Sands didn't care for it.
El liked to play car games like I spy.
This time Sands pulled the trigger. Missing El's head by only a few inches and shattering the left window.
The only thing they agreed on was not talking of their personal life. What had or hadn't happened during those ten months, give or take, when they hadn't seen each other. It was the only rule El liked.
So it really was a relief when they stopped at the first hotel.
Sands chucked his wallet to El, "Be a dear and rent out a room, second floor if you can."
"I am not your slave," he snarled.
"No? Then why ya getting out of the car El?"
El heard his laughter all the way to the reception desk.
-SxE-SxE-SxE-
The wait for El was unbelievably excruciating. There were so many flaws in this scheme of Sands', so many errors that he had tried and tried again to work out but had still remained. So much could go wrong and the only thing that would prevent this was trust.
The word alone made Sands shudder.
He didn't think he could ever trust anyone, not with his home life and prior life style, but then Ajedrez, that beautiful bitch, had entered his little world and he knew things that he never thought he would.
He understood true compassion and kindness. Knew that touch and affection could feel good, was allowed to feel good for the right reasons; not just for a quick fuck or some form of control. He began to receive real love and thus give it.
He learnt to trust another human being completely, wholly and utterly. Trust them with his deepest fears and secrets and torments. Trust them with his great plans and little schemes. Trust them with his lifestyle and job; trust with his damn life even.
And then Ajedrez, the little rich bitch and fake had thrown it back in his face, turned everything upside down. Lost him the money, lost him the promotion, lost him his hard earned identity. Lost him his eyes. A fugitive in his own country almost, unwanted by every state of America; every human being.
Hell, Mexico would have thrown him out long ago, but he was the "Shadow Killer" here. (Sands smirked at the corny, yet pleasing, name) He was the man to be left alone and never crossed. He was respected; in fear, in money, in lust and even admiration (Granted, Sands grimaced, it was from a ten or twelve year old boy, but admiration nonetheless.) He killed with little reason yet astounding logic and he killed silently but noticeably. In fact, for the last few months, it had been Sands who had kept Mexico relatively clean of any major trouble.
And to think, he was the blind one.
Sands knee tapped rapidly up and down, "C'mon El baby, don't let me down."
If El had done a runner, he was screwed. If El had called the authorities, he was really screwed. If El had done a runner and managed to be captured then Sands would simply find El. Find him and kill him. And then himself. He had placed so much at stake for this one operation that he wouldn't forgive the bean fucker, or himself, for screwing up.
He reached five hundred and kicked the glove box.
"Fuck you El!"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sands exhaled and opened the car door. There was always the chance, the slight, slight, chance that El had already gone to their room and was just waiting for Sands. After all, El didn't know Sands couldn't see.
He didn't bother locking the door but only stood in total stillness and silence, letting his surrounding engulf his senses. He had been here before, eighteen months ago almost, and he could vaguely remember the layout. The reception was only a few hundred meters from the car park; but what direction had they parked in?
Head cocked to the side, Sands listened above the wind.
A door creaked on his right, wooden frame banging the wall with a thud and Sands hurled to face this. He could hear laughter coming from the same direction and behind a car pulling up. To his left, water sounded in large splashes; Sands frowned, a pool then. Dandy. A person approached him from behind and Sands inwardly flinched, turning casually around in acknowledgment. He smiled and nodded like he knew the other would and then waited a moment, counting the ten paces until he could no longer hear the man on the gravel.
That way to the front then.
It took the ten paces and another eight plus the detour he had taken when he had nearly been run over, to get to the reception building. All in all, Sands was rather proud of himself.
He didn't walk or act like a blind man. He refused to. Granted, some things were very hard and complicated and took a hell of a lot of patience and time he didn't know he had, but he got there eventually. Some things took routine to know so flawlessly, others took continuous practice until he eventually was able to decipher different places, sounds, voices, walks. His hearing was immaculate. Always had been; but more so now than ever.
And boy had it saved him.
He entered the building and walked forward, remembering the distance from counter bench to door wasn't very long. "Speak English?"
There was a moment's pause- in which Sands prayed someone was actually there- and then, "Sì Señor."
"Peachy." His left forearm came up to lie on the table, bent up at the elbow, chin resting on the palm, "Tell me, did you see a man come in here? A little taller than me, bigger, darker, dumber, boring..."
"Señor... I am sorry…"
Sands sighed, "He wears a leather jacket with a scorpion on the back. Has a thick accent. He come in here at all?"
"No sì"
Well at least you've ditched that obnoxious jacket El. "You sure? He carries a gun, maybe a guitar. He's a mariachi." A still silence followed his words
"Well have you seen any man that's come in here in the last half hour?"
"Sì."
Jingle fucking bells, is this guy for real. How hard is it to answer one si-
A grin spread across Sands face. Jingle all the way baby. "He jingles."
Jingle bells..
Jingle..
"Que?"
"Jingles. Jangles. Makes a lot of noise. Has chains. Sounds like a tambourine."
"Oh! Sì, Sì Senor. I have seen him. Not long ago. He booked a room for two nights and went up stairs. Tipped very well."
Tipped? Oh El, do you remember nothing? I don't tip unless I plan on getting it back.. "What room number."
"I cannot say Senor, it is aga-" A glint of metal and a soft click had him sweating, "room 117. Second floor. The elevator is to your left"
" Gracias. You've been oh-so helpful" He smiled cruelly and made for the elevator.
Perhaps El was not as stupid as Sands remembered.
SxE-SxE-SxE
Getting to the apartment was nowhere near as difficult as one would assume. Once on level two, Sands simply ran his hand over the first door and felt the cool touch of plated numbers of 105. Odd numbers to the left then. He had then felt the numbers of the second door and continued upwards, knowing the numbers would only grow larger.
He walked down the middle of the hall, in a casual gait, and mentally counted the doors. When he reached close enough, he came into contact with the wall and trailed a hand down the side until he reach the assumed doorknob. Two solid ones and a solid seven told Sands he had reached the correct door.
He could barely conceal his excitement.
Sands stood outside the door for sometime, listening as El moved around the room. He tried to imagine a sense of the room as El hit the bed close to the door, stomped the four paces to a table with draws and then the two and a half across to the left to a sliding door. After a moment, the sliding door opened again ( the sound of a flushing toilet fading in the background) and the bed creaked from El's weight. The switch of a television sounded immediately afterwards from the right, indicating it was opposite the bed.
A sketchy idea of the room, and not at all encouraging, but it was all he had to work with.
It's Showtime baby!
He counted in his head, drew his gun and with as much strength as he could gather, slammed his entire body into the door, forcing it open. "Honey! I'm home!"
"Madre de Dios!"
He trained the gun on the place El's voice had sounded from and smiled, head cocked, "Dinner ready?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"Me El? Oh-ho, that is rich. Who's the one who left me in the car all by my lonesome?"
On the bed spread, infuriated by being caught so off guard and unaware, and his anger towards Sands, El's fist clenched knuckle white. He snarled, "You are blaming me because you did not bother to follow me up?"
"No," he gritted, "I'm just merely pointing out the fact that as I was under the assumption you had done a fast one on me, I'm now entitled to kill you."
El laughed, "Then all of this," his spread his hand wide, "Would have been for nothing. Utterly pointless."
Sands smiled, "Very good El. Seems you do know how to keep alive. First you don't do a runner on me but actually book a room, and then you manage to verbally get yourself out of a life-death situation. Well done."
"Do not mock me."
"Wouldn't dream of it El." He turned a little, acting as if he was taking the room in full view, "Nice place you got here , though I suppose a nice big tipper like you deserves such a place."
"You did not say I couldn't tip."
"And it shows how very little you know me. I don't pay El, and I definitely don't tip. So I'll be getting that money back," He pulled the trigger back, "One way or another."
El ducked and covered his head as the headboard splintered, gun powder forcing his eyes to water. When his heart had slowed down, and he had gained his voice back again, he spoke in soft tones, "That is the second time you have tried to kill me. I'm beginning to wonder if your intention was to really save me at all."
Sands took a cautious step forward, then another, knee hitting the bed, "Get the bags from the car El, and then ask and see if Benjamin Barker has a message at the reception, will ya." It was not a question.
His legs swung reluctantly over the bed, "Benjamin Barker?"
"Not a big fan of musicals and legends? Shame that, I'm rather passionate about them but that's just between me and you of course. Now, Benjamin Barker was a naïve little barber who turned evil with anger and revenge. Slashed peoples throats, turned them into meat pies. Pretty cool guy actually, I think you'd like him."
El, whose hand had instinctively gone to his throat, mumbled, "He is not real…"
"Well he's dead now El, but he might have been real, might not have been. Who knows? But I can show you all the neat little tricks he did with his razor blade if you don't hurry the fuck up and get the bags and message. That message is very vital to us El, and I'd hate to be the man who doesn't deliver said message."
"How do you know I will come back?"
"Simple. Curiosity. You want to know who's trying to kill you and why; at least more specifically than what I've already given you. You want to know their motives for it and what will happen to your precious little town if they get what they want. And you want to know that if you help me take 'em down this one time, will it stop forever."
"And will it?"
Sands turned, his aura dark and almost wishful, "Just get the message El." His voice was so soft that El had to lean closer to hear it and the tone was remorseful that El knew something in that cold blooded, manipulative, callous killer had changed. That whatever power and corruption and enjoyment that once was, was now replaced with anguish and self loathing and fear.
Because of this, El knew he'd come back and wondered if Sands knew just exactly why he would, "What is it about?"
Sands kicked his boots of, and for the first time, El saw a genuine smile, "Did you ever get friendly with Barillo, El? 'Cause I made that mistake once, and my gods did it screw me over big time. So now it's my turn to screw him over, and if that message is of acceptance then, my little mariachi, we do us some balance restoring"
Thank you for the kind words. It really made me smile and I'm rapt there's some interest in this. Sorry for the delay too, but I hope the length of the chapter made up for it.
Again if anyone's as lost as I was, Sands and El go from Culiacan to Guanajuato, making a stop at Tepic (which is in Nayarit) as Culiacan to Guanajuato is over 9 hours long. . . Here's to hoping I'm somewhere close.