Chapter Six

Body and Soul

El pulled himself to a more comfortable position on the floor, watching Sands lean his head back against the wall. He wondered how long Sands would be coherent.

"What did they do to you?" El asked quietly.

"Who?" Sands replied. He got to his feet and walked to the bed, moving confidently, as if he had his sight. He lay down on his back, with his arms behind his head.

"What happened to your eyes?"

"That was Barillo."

El was ashamed of the wave of relief that swept through him. Delgado had not done this, so El did not have to assume it was in store for him.

He wondered if Sands knew El had killed Barillo. Clearly that day had not gone the way Sands had planned. El had some satisfaction in his own part of that. He had refused to be used. "I guess you fucked up," he said.

"Fuck you."

Quietly, Maria took El's unbandaged hand and began her ministrations.

"What are you doing here?" El asked.

"I," Sands paused, "am," he paused again, "helping Julio Delgado get rich."

"You? You are his new muscle? You're blind."

"Brilliant observation, El. I am not the muscle; I am the brains. You will be the muscle."

"I will never work for a cartel."

"You will work for a cartel, doing whatever dirty work they have for you, or they will slowly dismember the Romeros." Sands almost sang the words. "They are not the nicest of guys."

Maria made a small sound.

"But you are helping them."

"Also," Sands continued, "they will condition you with torture, until they know exactly what kind of pain to threaten you with." He reached up and drew small circles on the wall with a forefinger. "They already know you don't like electricity."

El winced. His every nerve twinged at the mere reminder. Had his torturers actually wanted something from him, he would have given them anything to make the shocks stop. He felt sick.

"Electricity …" Sands's voice trailed off. "Zzzp. Zzzp." He continued to draw circles on the wall.

Maria, finished with El's other hand, stood and approached the bed.

El tensed.

"What?" asked Sands, still in a bored voice. The man must have quite good hearing.

"May I see your eyes?" Maria asked.

"What? No. Fuck off."

"Why not?"

El braced for violence. If Sands hurt her …

"Oh, all right. If that's what gets you off."

Since he continued to draw on the wall, Maria reached down, herself, and removed the glasses. She stared, barely breathing.

"If I were you, El …" Sands paused as if he had lost his train of thought.

"Yes?" El prompted.

"I would let them think you really hate the beatings." The man's chest rose and fell rapidly. He was almost panting. El wondered what he was feeling.

"You told them to use pain on me," El said.

Sands stopped tracing circles. "How do they look?" he asked.

Maria looked at El for help. Either she didn't know what to say or her English wasn't extensive enough for the description.

El answered. "You look like death. Your eye sockets belong on a skull, but the holes are not black, they are red."

"Do they hurt?" Maria asked.

"Not at the moment," Sands answered. "As for the pain, El," he paused for a long time, "you wouldn't have stood a chance with the pleasure."

Maria put Sands's glasses on his chest and returned to El.

"They hooked you," El said.

Sands folded the sunglasses and set them on the floor. "I was an easy catch." Beneath the bored tone and the slightly slurring words, El heard a trace of self-loathing.

El shifted again, cursing the man for taking the bed. He needed support for his torso.

Maria rose, snatched Sands's pillow from beneath his head, and gave it to El.

Sands's head fell back, but he had no reaction.

"Why isn't Lorenzo with us?" Maria asked El, in Spanish.

"We are hostages for each other," El told her. "They won't ever put the three of us together."

"Got it in one," sang Sands from the bed.

El made a mental note that the man's understanding of Spanish was pretty good.

"Maria, if you see Lorenzo, tell him … tell him I will get us out of this. He must stay alert and ready."

The girl nodded.

"El," called Sands. "El Mariachi," he sang.

El had an odd feeling that what the man was about to say was important.

"What do you want?"

"Whatever you do, escape plans, crazy, stupid plots, whatever …"

"Yes?"

The man said nothing for a long time. El would have tried to read his expression if he could have borne to look at the agent's ruined face.

When he spoke, Sands's voice was almost a whisper. "Don't tell me. Don't trust me. Make no mistake, Delgado owns me, body and soul."

"Soul and body," he sang. "Soul and body."