Chapter 8
Authors Note: JOHNNY DEPP WON FOR BEST ACTOR AT THE SCREEN ACTORS GUILD AWARD SHOW LAST NIGHT! YEAH!!! BRING ON THE OSCARS!!!!
"They want me where?" Sands raised an eyebrow. The movement hurt him, but it was an ingrained mannerism that he was incapable of stopping.
"Left ward hospital wing," Sable replied, "I know, I know, but it's on Dawes' watch."
"And of course since he said it," Sands smirked and made a gesture with his hand.
Sands hated hospitals. He disliked everything about them from the smell to the noises. The white walls weren't a problem to him anymore, but the sheer perfection of the place put him on the edge. Hospitals reeked of death and despair, people who begging for life and another chance.
He never wanted to be categorized with any of those things and he'd be damned before he stepped foot into the hospital wing of anywhere. He heard recorded organ music as they passed a miniature church, people went there to pray and barter for loved ones lives. Sickening, all of it.
Sable had a gun strapped inside the sleeve of her shirt, better to be safe than sorry. She didn't know exactly how to ask him if he needed help. If she asked bluntly he would refuse and if she took his arm he would hate her and do something irrational.
Sands wasn't waiting for her to make the decision. Once they were through the doors he paused to get the mental map of the CIA office in his mind and then followed what he remembered.
Sable kept in step with him easily, marveling that he knew exactly where to stop for the elevator and then where the button was. She shouldn't have expected any less, Sands had a photographic memory and could recite cases they'd worked on ten years ago if he chose to.
The darkness was only a minor irritation now, getting used to the way everything felt different took most of his time. Even his guns were different, he could feel every scar and mark that were on them. Like now, stepping into the elevator he could sense the electrical currents and the warmth from the control pad.
It was as if his skin was overly sensitized to let him 'see' things without actually seeing them. His hearing, too, was a lot better. He could hear the wires and the cords that the elevator was being pulled with, the cables whirred as another floor was passed.
It was how he knew four seconds ahead of time that the elevator was going to stop. Dawes wasn't their boss so he had no real right in telling Sands what to do. Arnoldo was the man who could, sometimes, and that's whom he was going to find. Sable was still with him and a part of him was glad for her presence. A darker side wanted her to leave and let him handle things on his own.
Oh, what did he care anyway, she would do what she wanted no matter what his preferences.
"So I take it we're going to find Arnoldo instead?"
"Course. He'll tell me exactly what he thinks and I won't have to worry about being screwed over from-"
"Dawes," Sable said quickly before Sands finished that sentence.
"Exactly," Sands smirked purposefully misinterpreting her warning.
"I thought I told you to go to the hospital wing, why aren't you there? Now?" Dawes snapped raking Sands with a look of contempt.
Dressed all in black with the ridiculous shades on the man looked like a walking horror. Couldn't he ever just follow the rules for once? Instead, Sands made sure to do the opposite of what was expected and insult them throughout the entirety of his missions. Had it not been for Arnoldo, he would have made sure both Sands and Sable were terminated from the CIA permanently.
"Because, as you never fail to mention, Arnoldo is the one we report to. Not you. So, if you'll excuse me, we'll be leaving now," Sable didn't back down from Dawes' cold blue gaze.
"We've already heard of your little endeavor in Mexico. Don't hope that you'll last too much longer here.''
"That's the thing. If you don't hope for anything, you'll never be disappointed." Sands side-stepped and with only a seconds hesitation he walked down the hall towards where he knew Arnoldo's office was located.
Had it not been for Sable's restraining hand, Sands would have ran straight into Arnoldo whom was standing at the door. Dawes' eyes narrowed but he didn't say anything, he just regarded Arnoldo calmly judging him to see what the decision was. Sands mentally cursed himself, he needed to get control of things before something like that happened again. He had sensed Arnoldo there, he just hadn't had enough time to stop walking.
"I'll take it from here," Arnoldo announced. Dawes' cheek clenched in his irritation, but he turned away and briskly walked down the hall regardless.
"What the hell have the two of you been doing in Mexico," he snapped once they'd sat down at the table. "Reports from all over the damn country have the CIA pegged for leading a revolution. Sands?"
"I was just-"
"Restoring the balance? Didn't you do that enough in Switzerland? I thought we'd all learned from that!" Arnoldo interrupted.
"But this time it actually worked, and I had the situation under control for most of the time I was there."
"It's the 'most of the time' that worries me, Sands. You know that I give you free rein on missions, I trust in your malleability, but leading a fucking revolution! You were sent in to protect the president, not get him killed!"
"I had a man on the job." Sands leaned back in the chair, "You've heard of El, have you not?"
"As in The? The man with the guitar case full of guns, who disappeared off the charts a few years ago? Yeah I've heard of him, supposedly a damn fine gunman."
"He was pretty good, kind of a livewire, that one. But he was a 'Son of Mexico' and I figured that protection of the president was more up his alley. I'm not too good in the protection thing," Sands grinned, "Besides, president's happy, the people are happy with the president, and the CIA gets most of the credit so we're happy with Mexico. The only one I'm not sure of is El, who, in fact, never seemed happy about anything."
"Any casualties?"
"Just minor. Mexico's a swell place."
"Bullshit," Arnoldo looked up sharply at Sable. She turned her head and held up her hands not having anything to add. It wasn't for her to say, if Sands wanted to tell him that was his decision.
Arnoldo had known from the moment Sands walked in that something was wrong. Sands usually sauntered in with a happy-go-lucky smile on his face before proceeding to tell him of all the new havoc they could wreak.
It got better with every new mission, just as he thought that things couldn't get any worse. . . the death toll and casualty count rose. Sands just couldn't kill someone, no, he had to bring the man's third cousin twice removed down with him.
He noticed how Sands had gripped the edges of the chair and touched the seat before he sat down. He'd known them twenty-two years and 'minor' was never a word that came up.
"Just two casualties, then." Sands pushed the sunglasses further up on his face, "Kind of a problem though."
"Well?" Arnoldo crossed his arms in front of him on the desk, "What were they? What do we have to clean up now?"
"It's already been taken care of, thanks to Sable there," Sands made a motion to the door. It was very unlike him, Arnoldo knew from watching the agent, Sands movements were always very precise, to the point. "It was kind of a bad day for me. Hang on to your lunch, boss." Sands pulled off the sunglasses and Arnoldo stared into empty eye-sockets.
Sable gave Arnoldo a load of credit, not even a flicker of the eyes betrayed his thoughts. He just cleared his throat and cursed once.
"You knew?" he asked Sable.
"I did," she replied, "there were other injuries but they've all but healed by now."
"Who," he addressed Sands this time.
"Barillo and the cartels, he had a daughter. Not much of a story to tell, this is the end result." Sands put the glasses back on again, "so am I any use to you now?"
"Have you ever considered retirement? Twenty-two years is a long time. . ."
"A real agent never retires. He just takes it a little easier, and we're not just ordinary agents. What you mean is, do I want a nice little cot somewhere on the fifteenth floor with fucking nurses asking me what I feel."
"Well, Sands," Arnoldo was blunt and deeply honest as always, "there's not much use for a blind gunman. I know that you could. . ."
"He's just as good as he ever was," Sable interrupted seeing Sands' hand jump. Pulling a gun on Arnoldo wouldn't be a good idea. "Maybe better. Billy Chambers made an appearance and Sands took him and his men out single- handedly."
"Oh he did, did he? And where, pray tell, were you?"
"Buying dinner. Cozy little Spanish place three miles from the hotel, when I got back the men were dead and Billy was taken care of."
"The FBI fucked it up again. Heh-heh, can't wait to tell Harold. But you say he's as good as ever?"
"Yeah. To take him out of the business would make no sense at all. Can you see Sands sitting comfortably at home," she raised a brow.
Arnoldo was struck by how similar her look was to Sands. Both were cynical, sarcastic, willing to do anything to get a job done. They hadn't killed one another yet, both had a habit of dispatching people assigned to work for them.
"Good point. I'm partnering him with you then. Think of it as a trial version, I know that neither of you want a partner and I understand that you're probably mad as hell at the prospect. When Dawes finds out. . . he's not exactly a fan of either of you to start with. Let's not give him cause to take his animosity any further."
Arnoldo was thinking through all the possible pros and cons of his decision. Sable was definitely the more level-headed of the two. Sands was more ruthless and practical, but he had a bizarre way of handling things.
Sable met his gaze, and though Arnoldo expected one of them to object, not one complaint was made. Man and woman together in Mexico for a few days, he wondered if there was possible potential for the two of them.
How hadn't he seen it before himself? Sable and Sands complimented one another well, Sable wouldn't push Sands and in return Sands would know the limit to cross with Sable. It would, at least, be interesting to see how things turned out. The two of them would either co-exist well together or kill one another.
"I still want you to report to the hospital branch, just for a few tests. I want a full report of how much damage was done to your eyes."
"They drilled them out, I can't see anything, and there's no way I ever will again. File that. Fuck the tests, I didn't eat any hazardous material in Mexico, and I hardly consider tequila. . ."
"Sands. Hospital, now. It's only for a few days. Three days tops. You have the insurance, we need the reports. If there were any way around it... but company policy, you understand."
"Fuck policy," Sands paused hearing the finality in Arnoldo's silence, "one or two days, no more."
"Two days, but two doctor's meetings," Arnoldo bartered.
"Two days, and two doctors," Sands agreed purposefully twisting the words around, "left alive."
"Done," Arnoldo was glad he'd gotten Sands assurance, he wouldn't need to outfit the doctors with any bullet-proof vests. Sands word was law, he wouldn't go against it unless he were to be pushed. Arnoldo changed his mind about the vests. "I'll be in tomorrow."