Chapter Seven

Beauty and the Beast

It was a long night.

El dozed fitfully, waking himself with pain every time he moved. Maria gave him her lap for a pillow, so he could use the pillow under his ribs. A distant part of his mind was acutely aware that he was cradled on firm young female thighs, but the rest of him was in no condition to be any more than grateful. The mix of genes that had resulted in Lorenzo had given the world an unfortunately plain woman for his sister. The lap was nice, though.

He woke once again as someone stumbled against his outstretched leg.

"Dammit," Sands muttered, recovering his footing and continuing to the door. Was it morning? The room was windowless, and there was no clock. El had been dreaming about being blind and helpless.

He tested his swollen limbs and decided that his ribs were not broken. They didn't hurt enough for that.

Sands knocked on the door. "Martinez? You out there?"

"It's not time, yet," answered a different voice than the one earlier.

"I could use my coffee now," Sands said.

"You can always use your coffee. Later."

Sands leaned his forehead against the door. "How much later?" he asked plaintively. "Shall I start singing?"

He waited for a moment, listening. Then he tipped his head back, took a deep breath, and belted out, "Oooooklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain, where the waving wheat,"

"Stop!" El cried, struggling up from Maria's lap. "For Christ's sake, stop!" El despised American musicals, and Sands wasn't even singing on key.

". . . can sure smell sweet, where the wind comes right behind the rain!"

Someone pounded on the door from the outside. "All right," the man called. "All right!"

Sands stopped.

A muffled oath in Spanish, and the sound of chair legs scraping against stone. "You have half an hour. The Señora is here. Try to be presentable."

Maria stood and clicked on the light.

Sands's head jerked. He turned around, the ghastly holes staring into the room. "What is that?" he asked. "The light?"

"Sí," said Maria, gulping at the sight of his face again.

Sands leaned back against the door, and gave a mirthless chuckle. "So, do I look presentable?"

Neither El nor Maria replied, and Sands pushed off from the door, stepping deftly over El's outstretched leg, this time, and reaching the sink. A plastic safety razor and comb were on the basin, and Sands availed himself of both.

"How long have you been here?" Maria asked as she watched him try to pull the comb through his stringy hair.

"That bad, huh?" said Sands. He turned away from the sink and El flinched away from looking at his face.

Maria handed the man his sunglasses, touching his hand with them.

Sands pulled his hand back, startled, but then accepted them and put them on. "Better, Sugarlips?" he asked.

"Sí," said Maria in a small voice.

"Who is the Señora?" El asked, his voice raspy.

Sands bounced cheerfully across the room to the door, and waited there, like a dog expecting a treat.

"Delgado's mommy," he said.

Maria smoothed her skirt and tucked her blouse in.

El pulled himself to the sink, careful of his hands, ran cold water over his palm, and rubbed his face.

The door unlocked and a hand tossed in another plastic bag.

Sands caught it as if he could see, and promptly snorted the contents. The door closed again.

"Mmm, I just love the smell of coffee in the morning," Sands said.

El's stomach rumbled. He hoped there was some real breakfast to come.

Twenty minutes passed, during which time Sands grew increasingly talkative. El used the time to try to get his swollen joints mobile enough to at least walk. He listened to the agent ramble and wondered if the CIA had made any attempt to recover the man. Surely a talkative, cocaine-addicted agent was a serious liability to the agency. It occurred to him that Sands had probably made no attempt to attract rescue. The CIA quite possibly had no idea what had become of him.

"The coca plant can't grow in regions where the temperature drops below freezing," the man was saying. "Everyone knows that. Everyone has always known that. But the times they are a-changin'. Modern technology can do wonderful things."

Sands reached out a hand toward the bed and encountered Maria who was sitting on it. "There you are, Darlin'," he said. He caressed the side of her face, and played for a moment with her hair. "You're a beauty, aren't you Sweetheart?"

El watched warily.

Maria, the silly girl, blushed. "Señor," she said, uncertainly.

Sands turned his hand over in an oddly elegant gesture, and slid the back of it down her neck, over a breast, and to her waist.

Maria stiffened, but did not move. She could easily move away from him.

"Sands," he warned. El held out his hand, demanding that Maria come to him.

Sands straightened, letting his hand fall to his side. "I am still with stupid," he said.

To El's annoyance, Maria only stared at the man's glasses. She did not move away.

The jangling sound of the lock startled El, and then the door was opened. Three armed men, also wearing sunglasses, stood in the sunlit doorway.

"Time to go," said one of them.

A/N: Again, thanks all you lovely reviewers! You make writing this especially worthwhile.