12

"Good job, Elieis!" Sam said, "At least now we know exactly what we're looking for."

Elieis was relieved that he was able to remember the detail. "You think this is it, then? This cord of hair? There is nothing more..?"

Dean put the washcloth aside, his nosebleed had stopped. "Well, judging from what we know here. You saw the contents, Eli...unless there was some other gross little memento, the hair is what we're after."

"No. I am sure there was nothing else...nothing from his body, anyway. So we must go into San Raphael, then. All we have to do is find where he sold it and retrieve it. But how shall we do this?"

Dean's priority was to keep the public away from the church while the saint still ran amuck. That meant that they had to split up again, and they would need a speaker of Spanish with them. "Javier...how about it, you mind playing the guard role again? Eli can go into town with us, and when we have the cross, we'll get back here and burn it, and this should be done. But we need to keep any curious gawkers away, and I think you have more of an air of authority right now than your brother does. They're liable to tar and feather Eli if they see the state of everything right now."

Javier nodded grimly. "Yes, I'll stay behind. But hurry up; those parishoners, they are going to come. I'm surprised no one has been around yet. I still don't know what the bloody hell to tell them when they see this mess. And god forbid they want to enter the church while he is angered!"

Dean rose, grabbing the keys to the Impala. "Just convince them to keep their distance, Javier. However you need to. In the meantime, we'll track this thing down. And everybody stays in touch, agreed?"

Javier nodded. "Yes. Good luck."

The trio separated once again. Dean had asked Sam if he wanted to remain behind, it was obvious that he was still suffering the ache of his fracture, and the cast was cumbersome, to say the least. But he had refused, feeling he could be of more use searching with the others than hampering Javier.

Javier was relieved that he'd chosen to go with the others. He had decided on a course of action now, one that wanted no witnesses. He bade them a terse goodbye, and watched the car disappear in a cloud of swirling dust. He knew that Eli would have much to answer for if it became known that the tower had been destroyed as a result of his rash actions. And with two dead people, he was in even more danger from the police than he was from his parish. Senora Salazar already knew that San Mateo had been disturbed, and she was hardly the type to keep it to herself. People would be coming soon, to see what had happened, and Eli's future was in jeopardy. Javier didn't approve of Eli's chosen path, but he saw what it meant to his younger brother. And the only way to preserve any chance that he could go on as priest here, was to destroy what remained of that accursed church. The nun and the caretaker would be mourned as victims of the tragedy, and there would be no difficult questions to answer. There was only one way to hide the reality, only one way to ensure that they all stayed out of that building. He knew Elieis would never think to do what was now necessary, it was up to big brother Javier to step in and save his neck.

He had to do it, he had to burn it down.

Dean drove with a reckless speed. He was eager to get this whole mess solved, and the sooner they could intercept the cross, the sooner he could get back to the warm and welcoming sand of the beach. He was in a dour and black mood, his side ached relentlessly and the time spent behind the wheel in the stifling heat of the car only exacerbated it. He wished they didn't have to go back to the odious Senora, but they needed any leads she could offer. Within a short period of time they found themselves parked again in front of the filthy Salazar hovel.

Sam remained behind. "Dean, if you pimp me out again, I swear I'll take the car and leave you here with her!" he growled as they left.

They found her humming to herself, lying on a dirty couch. She was halfway through a bottle of something, and she squinted and grinned when they approached. "Such an honour!" she slurred, wobbling up to sit. "Another visit from the good priest. Did you bring my lovely friend?"

"No, Senora." Elieis lied. "Just us today. Dear lady; we come with a grave request. Please, can you tell us where Lino takes his things to sell? Is it in San Raphael?"

"Lino!" she spat. "He has not come home, probably laying with his whores, while I keep house for him. Well, he can rot in hell, the filthy pig!"

Dean hoped she wasn't too far along on that bottle. She stunk like she'd bathed in it. Eli tried again. "Senora, we must know this, please; where does Lino go to sell things? I promise, there will be no trouble for you and him."

She cackled at that. "Little Padre, you'll have to do better than that. What have you brought me this time?"

Eli looked to Dean in alarm. All he had was the shirt on his back, he had nothing to offer her. Dean wasn't about to hand over his own meager savings to the hag, not unless it was absolutely necessary. He saw that her tequila was closer to empty than full. "There's a full bottle of whiskey in the trunk, tell her we'll trade that."

Eli translated.

She thought for a moment. "Store-bought? No home-made poison..?"

Elieis nodded.

She smiled a wide and gummy smile. "Good. Go get it." She grabbed Dean's hand. "Not you, you stay here..."

When Elieis returned with the bottle, he found Dean on the porch, spitting and wiping his mouth furiously. Senora Salazar hooted with laughter in the house. Eli winced. "I owe you again, don't I?"

"Oh you better freaking believe it!"

The bottle met with her approval and she told them the name of the man Lino dealt with. As soon as they had what they needed, they retreated to the safety of the car and Dean left a roaring pall of dust in his wake. Sam looked at Dean's expression of sheer revulsion and hooted in triumph. Dean glowered; he was nowhere near being able to laugh about it yet. They called Javier, gave him the update, and headed out to San Raphael.

Javier put the phone in the truck and set about his task. He unlocked and opened the shed. The stink gagged him, he stepped back and let it air out for a moment, then held his breath and dragged the shrouded body of Sister Crotilde out. He prayed she's stay horizontal this time, as he dragged her to the church and hauled her over the rubble and through the doorway.. He hopped back out before the saint could take aim at him, and went in search of fuel. The shed held a half-filled gas can, he took it out and found a few empty wine bottles, filling each part way. He needed something to use as wicks, and the only thing handy was the sheet wrapped around the nun. He loosened her bindings and ripped away a section of cloth, trying to keep from seeing what was revealed as he tore it into strips and stuffed one into each bottle. With a silent and superstitious prayer for forgiveness, he walked the perimeter, lighting each one and tossing them through the ruined windows. When he was satisfied that it was alight, he returned to where Crotilde lay. She needed some encouragement to burn, he emptied the rest of the gas over her form, and was about to light it when his feet were abruptly yanked out from under him and he landed hard on the stones. He yelled in shocked horror. The nun's skinny grey arm, freed now from its binding, shot out and wrapped like vice around his ankle. He swore and kicked at it in frantic terror, but it was like iron, and he screamed, clawing at the rubble, fighting the pull. It was hopeless, it dragged him through the doorway as the church began to burn.

The shabby but busy little metropolis of San Raphael sprawled out in front of them. Eli hopped out to ask directions, and in short order they were parked near the market centre. The trio got out, and they made their way to the shop to which they were directed. There was no sign to be seen, but through the yellow, fly-specked glass they could see various used goods displayed.. It seemed to fit what they were looking for. Dean wished he could handle it alone; this was clearly the rougher side of town, but with no Spanish, he needed Elieis. They ducked into the dark, smoke-filled place, and Dean sized up the enormously fat proprietor sweating behind a counter. He didn't like the look of him. He held Eli back by his arm for a moment.

"Elieis, don't say anything unless you're translating for me, you got that?"

Eli nodded impatiently, and greeted the man in Spanish.

"Tell him we're looking for a gift-a silver cross for our mother-"

Eli spoke rapidly to the man. Dean could only trust that he'd said what he'd been told. The man grunted and turned around, pulling a wooden box out of the dusty shelves behind him. He shook it out onto the counter, and a dozen silver crosses slid across the tiles. Eli shuffled them around, seeing none that fit his memory, and certainly none on a plaited hair cord. He turned to Dean and shook his head miserably.

"Ask him if he has any new stock to show us."

Elieis did so, and the man eyed him with sour suspicion. But he knew these were not police trying to trick him into selling stolen goods; at least one of them was American, and besides, everyone knew who was policia and who wasn't. He reached under the counter and retrieved a paper bag, which he emptied for their view. There were a number of things in the collection, but only one of any interest.

There it was, the blessed missing relic, lying amongst the baubles, its tether intact. Eli shouted in triumph, grabbing it and showing it to them. He spoke excitedly in Spanish.

Dean heard several words he'd warned Elieis not to reveal. -f~ck, he's spilling the beans!- He elbowed the young priest in the ribs, but it was too late, the man snatched the cross back.

"This cross...it is a very valuable thing..." he smiled. "Not just a cheap piece of tin, like the others. An antique, worth a lot of money."

Dean shot a blistering glare at Eli, who stammered that it was stolen, it belonged to the church, and they had the right to take it. The man's grin widened and he held the cross firmly in his sweating hand. "Oh well, then...I had no idea. Of course you can have it back."

Eli relaxed visibly.

"...for $1000." The man smiled, but his small pig-eyes gleamed with greed.

Elieis sputtered in shock, and he lost it. He flew across the counter and grabbed the jiggling throat with both hands, growling a stream of Spanish that sounded anything but ecclesiastical. The man stumbled back in a panic, yelling "POLICIA!" Ladron! Bandido!" over and over. The cross flew from his grasp and jingled metallically against the tiled floor.

Dean swore, grabbed Eli's shirt and and hauled him back as the man wheezed and flailed, and shouted louder. Dean glanced around in alarm, he could see through the window that people were pointing at the shop and a pair of uniformed men was running toward the entrance. He pushed Elieis roughly away from the counter, shouting, "Sam! Take him and get the hell out of here, back door! NOW!"

Sam gripped Elieis and dragged him out, exiting into a narrow alley. He abandoned his crutches and stumped his way painfully with the young priest in his firm grip until he found a place to duck behind. He was livid, he shook him angrily. "What the hell were you doing? " he hissed. "We were that close, Eli! Now we're stuck here, and Dean's in god knows what shit right now!"

Eli stammered, shocked by his own violent reaction and realizing now just what he'd done. He'd lost the cross, again, and worse; he'd also placed his friend in considerable jeopardy. He had sharp and unpleasant memories from his younger days...the brutality was on both sides of the law here. His mouth went dry as he felt a panic rise.

Two uniformed officers stalked through the door. Dean held his hands out in a gesture of compliance. The fat lout behind the counter continued his yelling, pointing at Dean and gesturing wildly. He had no idea what he was telling them, but he knew it wasn't flattering. All he could do was shake his head vehemently and shout No to counteract it. The man kept up his volley of rapid fire speech as Dean struggled to deny it. The police were advancing on him, demanding responses from him to questions he couldn't understand. He backed away, holding his hands out, shouting that he didn't speak Spanish over their voices repeatedly, to no avail. The man kept up his shrieking barrage of accusations, the policemen were growing angry, and both had drawn their clubs. Dean had to make a quick decision, he knew there was no way to talk his way out of it and he bolted for the door.

He didn't have a hope in hell of reaching it in his state. They flattened him in the street as he cleared the threshold, and as he struggled and protested, they beat him until he was subdued. He lay panting in the dust, covering his head with his arms, and trying hard to keep from puking with the pain. He raised his head and offered one last attempt to explain. He was silenced by one of the policemen, who drew back and kicked him until he lay still.

Sam was hampered by the damned cast. He sent Elieis out to peek around the building, in hope that Dean was still there. He returned looking stricken.

"They had him on the ground, in hand-cuffs. I saw them drag him into the car. Sam, he wasn't moving..."