....................six months later.....................
Sands panted under the merciless sun.
Where was that gum boy when you needed him?
He had blood flowing down his leg and sweat coming from every pore in his body. So; maybe he hadn't thought through his actions enough. Not only had he started a brawl and shot around three cartels, but then he had sat there, choosing to finish his tequila in a show of dominance and arrogance.
Of course around six more had burst in the door and he had been forced to eat the floor as they shot the place up. He took out two, then in the confusion ran for the door. But he had unfortunately copped some lead to his leg. Why always the leg?
He grit his teeth, they'd catch him up sooner or later. He needed to hide out somewhere...
............Sands............
He stumbled into the hotel room. Blood flowing freely from his leg. He couldn't go to a hospital... the cartel would be waiting for him. So he had come here, because there had been a radio playing in this room. He had heard it from the street.
It was not just any radio station. It was an American one. Which meant the person here spoke English. There weren't many who did and he was willing to bet that this was the hotel room of Rana.
He didn't know what she would do. She had said six months ago that if he came near her again, she would shoot him. But outside was dangerous for a blind criminal. And so far she was the only person he had met who didn't pity him, nor did she try to kill him on sight. This meant she was the only person he would attempt using.
He tripped over a lump in the carpet. Making his presence noted. He gave a scowl. She had done that on purpose...
Then his toes hit a pair of shoes and he went down. Flat on his face.
He rolled onto his back. Now to add to his condition, he had a blood nose. He felt around him for his gun. He had lost on his way down. Instead he found some kind of hat. He pulled off one glove, using his teeth. Then he felt over his find. It was a cap. There was embroidery on the front. He traced his hand over the words. NO FEAR. He gave a lopsided smile as a husky voice told him to drop it.
"Why would I do that?" he asked casually.
"Because I don't want blood on my cap" she replied in her strained voice.
Sands forced a ridiculous smile and crushed the cap to his chest. She sighed irritably.
"What do you want?"
"I was in the neighborhood and decided to just drop in for a chat..."
His answer was the click of a pistol being readied for fire.
Then she said something that threw him off. "You're bleeding all over the rug" she said in annoyance.
"So sorry for the inconvenience. Excuse me while I die on your rug. I'll only be five minutes" he replied dryly, his smile fading. The thing was he was not sure if he was being sarcastic or not.
"Fine! It wasn't that great a rug anyway" she muttered and went back into the room she had just come out of. Sands waited, then heard the faint tap of keys being pressed. He couldn't believe it! She was typing! While he lay bleeding all over her living room floor?
He had thought she was one of those, talk tough and help the hurt person type of people. But apparently not. She was who she came across as. He frowned, he had read her wrong and now he was going to die. He cursed softly as he felt his consciousness slipping. At least he died inside, and not on some torture table of the cartels...
.................Rana................
She looked out into the living room. He had lost consciousness. Good. Pain in the ass he was. She continued to type, then looked up at him again. She let out an explosive, highly frustrated sigh.
............Sands............
Sands was lying in a bed. The mattress was firm but soft. He was wearing a big shirt. That ran down to his knees. And his leg was bandaged. He ran his fingers gently over it. It throbbed only dully. This meant drugs. He gritted his teeth. He disliked how weak he had been. To have been drugged so easily. He decided he'd have to shoot her for this. Of course he had wanted help, but he had wanted to be awake to tell her what to do and show her that he had control. Instead she had waited until he passed out before moving to help him.
He growled, which hurt because his throat was dry. He felt around for his gun, but could not find it in his general vicinity. Had she disarmed him? He wanted to howl in anger. She had taken his clothes and guns, but it seemed that she had left his glasses next to his bed. At the moment he had a scarf tied around his eyes. It was prickly and rough on the sensitive skin around his sockets.
He could feel a soft light on his arm. Which meant morning. Cautiously he stretched out his arm and felt around. The edge of his bed, a table with nothing but his sunglasses and his arm brushed something hanging from his bed post. It was his holsters. Guns still in them. He grinned as he hefted them. She had left his guns, which meant she trusted him. This meant advantage on his behalf. He stepped out of bed, wincing slightly as he once again placed pressure on his thigh.
He took a step forwards and found a chair. And on the chair he found clothes. They had been washed, he could smell the soap powder. But they were his. He felt the badly mended hole in his pant leg... he had done it himself on a bus ride out of Culiacan. He felt slightly better. He continued familiarizing himself with his room. There was no noise in the apartment to suggest anyone else was home.
Then he found a door adjoined to his. It led to a bathroom. That was cramped, tiled and had hot water. He felt around, felt a towel, the shower, the lock on the door and decided to wash. So he put his clothes on the sink stand. Placed his glasses on top. Put the towel next to the shower. Turned it on, stripped and stepped in. The water was very hot, he turned the cold on a little bit. It was at the right temp. How he wished he could just stand facing up into the spray of water pouring onto him. But his eyes were still too sensitive for that. So he hunched his shoulders and felt the old tension flit away. He reached around for the soap and found something hanging off the taps. On closer inspection he realized they were goggles. He held them for a second, then hurled them at the wall opposite him. They rebounded slightly and landed at his feet. He stood there a second longer before stooping and retrieving them. He put them on in one quick angry motion and turned to the water. The goggles did protect his eyes (or lack thereof) and he felt the long missed sensation of water streaming down his face. His anger washed away with the water and finally he turned the shower off.
He dressed, but left his holster. (He did tuck a gun in his jeans). Then began exploring the short hallway outside.
He felt his way to the right, found the end of the wall and heard many things at the same time. Someone light was shuffling around, some appliances were on and he could hear his room mate drumming a tune on a table of sorts whenever she drew close. He moved towards the table, but his foot caught the same kink in the rug that had almost tripped him last time.
Sands stumbled to the kitchen counter. From what he could feel it was a long, bar like table that connected to the wall. Sitting down on a stool with no back, he listened as Rana moved around the kitchen. Her steps were irregular and tapped a beat as they moved. He realized she was dancing around the place. He scowled. As she moved past him he heard the muffled sound of music and guessed she was listening to a cd or the like with a portable player.
He let his head slump onto the table.
He jerked it up though as a plate was placed next to him.
"Breakfast?" she asked cheerily.
He regarded her from behind his sunglasses. "You're giving me breakfast?" he asked suspiciously.
"Si" she replied and he heard a smile in her voice.
He shook his head and found a fork in his hand. So he ate it, he was hungry and it had been hard to eat anything without cartel fuckers bursting in just as he had started to enjoy his meal.
It wasn't so bad, in fact he hardly tasted it as he swallowed without chewing. His body was weakened and he needed sustenance. He heard her waltz off as the kettle boiled.
"Coffee or tea?" she asked him over the whistling of the hot kettle and the music only she could hear.
"Tequila" he replied between mouth fulls.
She snorted and went over to the fridge. Sands ignored this and continued eating; listening hard to the music she was moving to.
Well, look behind the eyes
It's a hallowed, hollow anesthetized
"Save my own ass, screw these guys"
Smoke and mirror lock down
He lost it for a second and then she moved the earphones off her ears so that she could hear him, letting the music out and clearer.
...We blamed it on the other guy
Sure, all men are created equal.
Here's the church, here's the steeple
Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
"What flavor?" she asked.
"Lime" he replied and was then able to hear the music again.
Count your blessings.
We're sick of being jerked around
We all fall down.....
Then the fridge door closed and he heard a bottle being placed next to him. There was a fshh sound as a can was opened.
Then silence from his dancing companion. Followed by a gasp for air. It sounded slightly painful and Sands realized she had just been drinking some sort of cool drink. He could almost see the look of pain from it burning her throat. Her eyes would be watering... he let out a short, humorless laugh. Funny, how he always thought of eyes now.
"What?" she asked in confusion.
"You shouldn't be drinking cool drink in the morning" he said in a lecturing voice.
"Who are you? My mother" she asked wryly.
"It's bad for you" he said sternly.
She let out a bark of laughter as mirthless as his own had been. "This coming from the man who got involved with the drug cartel and had his eyes ripped out!" Sands let out a snarl as he stood so quickly that his stool tipped over and clattered to the floor.
"Don't chip the tiles" she said calmly.
"You don't know what you're talking about. Never mention that again" he said icily.
She made a non committable noise that sounded like contempt.
"I'll talk about whatever I want" she shot back challengingly. Sands almost shook with rage.
"Fine" he snapped and stalked back to the room he had slept in last night.
He ended up asleep atop the covers.