Brutus leaned up against the wall of the building, finishing off his cigarette. He was restless. He knew what was coming. He looked to his right just as a street vent released a thick mask of fog over the side walk and watched as the man he knew as Sands materialized out of it, a walk that was as casual as it was dangerous.
Brutus straightened up. Sands had his hands in his jacket pockets and a cigarette in the corner of his lips. He stopped in front of Brutus, lifting a hand and drawing a long drag, exhaling before speaking. "Cyprus around?"
"Yes sir." Brutus answered. Cyprus had called down five minutes before Sands had shown up and told Brutus to expect him around, and warned him, that the man would be in a very dangerous mood, he was not to provoke Sands and was to send him straight up.
"Mind tellin' me where he is?" Sands asked calmly, taking another drag. Brutus smiled. "I can do better then that, man, I can take ya up to him."
Sands nodded his approval. "Lead on."
Brutus nodded and turned, going back down the walk a few steps and unlocking a door there. He pulled it open, taking a key card out of his pocket and running it through the swipe right inside the door. It cleared and a second door, leading to a flight of stairs going up, opened up. "Go right on up, man. He's waitin' for ya." Brutus directed.
Sands headed up the stairs with out a word, climbing them silently. He pushed open the door at the top and entered a back room of Cyprus' offices above the club. He heard footsteps coming his way and stepped back into the shadows of the door way. He knew it was Cyprus.
Cyprus entered the room slowly. "Wassup man?" He asked casually.
"Need a back up weapon." Sands answered, coming out of the shadows slowly.
"What happened to the shit I loaded you with?" Cyprus asked, hoping he was masking the truth, of knowing, from his voice.
"Had to leave in a hurry, I'll get it later." Sands said nonchalantly.
"Man, I don't..."
Sands turned on his heels and started back down the stairs at those words. He wouldn't waste his time. He'd have to make do with the desert eagles he had.
"Yo man! Sandman! Wait up!" Cyprus hurried after him and caught his arm half way down the stairs.
Sands gave him the coldest look Cyprus had seen on his face in a long time, but said nothing. Cyprus judged he'd have half a minute, if he didn't let go of Sands' arm. "Here me out man, just a moment." Cyprus breathed, letting go of Sands' arm.
"I know what happened, your associate," Cyprus grimaced, felt the man before him shift and knew that pointed to the worst. "Contacted me over it...Now, man, you can NOT go back there... you can't. There's gonna be blues all over the place, Interpol too. You can't go back there."
"Such a diluted fantasy world ya live in, Cyprus. Let me know if any real estate goes up, I might like to buy a house." Sands snapped back, pulling out away from Cyprus and heading down the stairs anyway.
"Man, drop the bullshit and think! You'll just make things worse!" Cyprus snapped.
Sands turned around with out a word and came back up the stairs, grabbing Cyprus about the collar and shoved him back up the rest of the way, slamming the door behind him. He shoved Cyprus back against the work table that was in the middle of the room and stalked towards him.
"Now then, lets have a little chat, old friend." Sands said in that soft dangerous tone that was his worse.
"Sands, man, let's not get over our heads..." Cyprus started to get up, but Sands pinned him to the table again, and there was a nasty looking sliver of glass in his hand. Cyprus wanted to ask where he'd gotten it, but he shut his mouth period.
"Who told you?" Sands asked casually, leaning on Cyprus.
"Does it matter?" Cyprus asked softly, eyeing the sliver of glass.
"Well," Drawled Sands, "To me, no? To you...well do you like your balls where they are, or should I tuck them in your lapel pocket?"
Cyprus swallowed. "Man, there's no need to get personal over this..." He snapped his mouth shut as Sands brought the sliver of glass down on his groin. He felt the tip pushing through the material of his jeans. "Sands, whoa man!"
"There's gonna be some dissectin' done if some one doesn't start talking properly." Sands said in a sing song tone.
"Sarah, Sarah Darcy!" Cyprus blurted out.
Sands slammed the shard of glass on the work the table and turned away from Cyprus, heading for the door. "Was that so hard, Cyprus? Ya always have to do it the hard way..."
Cyprus pulled away from the table. "You're fuckin' psycho, ya know that!" He snapped at Sands.
Sands opened the door and barked a laugh. "All these years and you're just now figurin' that out? Some one give this guy a tootsie pop!" He slammed the door behind him and headed down the stairs.
He gave Brutus a salute as he headed down the street from the club. Brutus grimaced but let the man go, not about to tangle with him. For the most part, Sands ignored him. He saw no reason in giving Brutus a hard time and he figured he'd probably still have to recruit the man's size at some point in this game.
He headed off in the direction of the apartment building, staying to himself in the shadows, letting his emotions control him for now. However, they were a dreadful mixture that Sands was sure he was going to have to shoot some one just to start feeling better, and his choices right now were narrowing.
"Fucking Darcy, always meddling..."
You could shoot her...
Sands groaned. Go. The. Fuck. Away.
Good Lord, boy'o, we've been through this a hundred different ways. I AIN'T LEAVING...
Then just shut the fuck up!
Slick, you're just about as full of bullshit as some others we know. I'll shut up, when I want to shut up.
I swear to God, one of these fuckin' days I'm going to tear you out of my head myself!
The voice just laughed, long and hard and cold. Sands shuddered, locking the voice back in it's mental cage for awhile, knowing sooner or later, it'd find the key again. He kicked viciously at a bottle on the side walk, sending it spiraling into the street and turned the corner.
He'd walked a good four or five miles before slowing down. Up ahead he could still feel the heat from the burning building. Could hear the fire fighters, and the police. He could hear a crowd murmured around, talking between them. He sauntered towards one group, watching the city's protectors and servers trying to put out the fire. He shoved his hands in his pockets, swallowing hard.
"It's such a mess...I knew some of those people living there." One girl near by said in Russian.
"Its terrible..." The man next to her said.
Sands interrupted them in Russian. "Excuse me, sorry...um...they brought any one out?"
"Only in body bags." The man replied stiffly. Sands heard a sniffle from the girl and stepped back from the group. He lowered his eyes to the ground, but clinched his fists. Please tell me you got out of there, Cherry...
He heard footsteps behind him that stopped and heard the voice out of his past, speak softly, "Lets take a walk, son."
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Sands asked back with a touch of sarcasm.
"Consider me a ghost of Christmas Past, mate. Lets take a walk." Tom Carmichael said, plucking at Sands' sleeve. He turned and started walking back down the road, not even waiting for Sands. He knew the man would give in, because he'd want to know. All Carmichael had to do was wait for him.
Sands swore foully. Part of him was wanting to turn and sprint after Carmichael then and there. The other half, was all but forcing him to stay where he was. There would be no way in hell, Sands was going to play some one else's game. He'd learned that mistake the hard way.
He bared his teeth in a snarl of frustration, then turned and ran after Carmichael. Tom was waiting for him at the corner, leaning against the building there, lighting a cigarette.
"You're lookin' good, Slick." Carmichael said conversationally.
"Really? Haven't had time to check a mirror, but I would have thought I'd look a little more like I feel..." Sands replied.
'And that is?" Carmichael asked.
Sands took a step closer. "Tearin' some one's fucking heart out if I don't start gettin' some answers."
"The answers are in that head of yours, Slick." Carmichael answered, actually tapping Sands on the forehead before he could retreat.
Sands smacked the hand away and grabbed Carmichael's collar, dragging him around the corner. "I am sick and fucking tired of all these God damned games!" Sands hissed, slamming his one time mentor into the wall.
Carmichael sighed theatrically, looking heavenward. Then his hands were on Sands' wrists in a vice grip and he pulled the hands free, spinning Sands around and pulling his arms behind his back. Then Carmichael proceeded to slam Sands into the wall, face first. It wasn't hard enough to do any damage, but Sands couldn't exactly wiggle free.
"Tea Cup!" Carmichael spat in a demanding voice.
"Fuck you! I'm not... My wife and daughter were in that building!" Sands squirmed.
Carmichael shoved him again, into the wall and growled. "Tea Cup, Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. Say IT!"
Sands chuckled bitterly, turning his head from the grit on the wall and growled right back. "Tea Cup!"
"Tea cup and saucer, say it." Carmichael ordered calmly. He held Sands firmly in place as the younger man stopped struggling and his shoulders sagged.
Sands shook his head slightly, still musing bitterly at the old trick, but said softly. "Tea cup and bloody saucer."
Carmichael patted Sands on the chest and let him go. "Wasn't hard, now was it, Slick?"
"I hate you." Sands replied back, so serenely it would have un-nerved any one else.
Carmichael chuckled and wrapped an arm around Sands shoulders, leading him away from the wall. "Good."
"What's going on, Tom?" Sands demanded with an edge to his tone now.
"The shit's about t' hit the fan, kiddo, and you're right at the center of it." Carmichael shrugged. "It's not your fault, but you get to claim the blame."
"I don't want it." Sands muttered, lighting his own cigarette.
Carmichael took one that Sands offered after that and shrugged again. "I don't blame ya, Slick, but you've got a lot of trouble comin'. It's not your fault. And I'm not sure I know who's fault it is, but I've got a couple ideas."
"You send my brother after me?" Sands asked him.
"Thought it was about time they knew. Walk, kid." Carmichael nodded to the street and started walking. Sands stood a moment where he was. "Kid, lets go." Carmichael called over his shoulder.
"Okay, first off, I'm not a recruit any more. Second of all, I out rank you, and I always have!" Sands retorted.
"Major Sands, get a move on!" Carmichael hissed.
"I resent being spoken to like this!" Sands snapped, but started after Carmichael anyway. There was no need to try and play games with Carmichael, because if it was one thing Sands knew, it was that he'd lose. Carmichael TAUGHT him the game...Sands could never master him.
Carmichael began leading him towards a car, parked down the street.
"Am I really here to catch a mole?" Sands asked, falling into step next to the older assassin.
"Yes, no lies about that." Carmichael answered. "I brought ya some help too, but more on that later. Next question, cause I know ya gottem, Sheldon."
Sands grimaced, Carmichael had the annoying habbit of using his given name when ever the whimsy hit him. "Your startin' to sound like my mother." Sands replied harshly.
"The way I hear it, Slick, your momma wasn't HALF as nice as I am to you."
Sands paled, clinched his fist, but kept his mouth shut. A reply would only make him fall for Carmichael's trap. Instead, he said, "Who saved Dupre's ass in Mexico?"
"Easy, Monterio. Next?"
"Why isn't Monterio trying anything? And who's protecting HIM?"
"Easy, probably has orders to wait. And I don't know." Carmichael answered, as they arrived at the car. "I told you I brought you some help. Here he is." Carmichael said with a grin, before opening the back seat of his car.
Author's Note: Best part of this chapter was the tea cup scene. Which was given to me by both my fiance, and my psychology professor. The idea behind it is that Tea Cup and Saucer is so abusred to say, that when paniced you automatically have to focus on WHY you have to say them, rather then why you're paniced or upset.