"Barillo," said Sands neutrally. His mind was strangely empty,
perfectly blank, neither accepting nor denying the implications of this
deceptively simple statement.
I lost...
"The late Senor Barillo was your father?" he asked wearily, resignation and defeat making his voice flat.
She laughed mockingly. "This isn't Star Wars, Sands," she drawled. "The late Senor was my uncle, my father's brother."
His mind was no longer blank. One the contrary, it was flooded with a hatred so pure, its fire burned the pain and weakness from his body. Equal parts of hatred for Barillo and all his kin and self-hatred for falling into their traps twice swirled blackly in his head.
He forced his voice to stay calm as he asked, "You still have that gun in your hand?"
"Si," she answered slowly. "Por que?"
"Good."
His first punch was slightly off, clipping her on the cheekbone hard enough to spin her around and knock her off the bed. His second punch connected solidly with her abdomen, and he heard her swear breathlessly. He kicked her in the ribs, putting all the force of his anger behind the blow, and she fell to the floor with a satisfying thud.
Sands lunged after her and wrenched the gun out of her hand. She struggled, but he struck her in the side of the head with the butt of the gun, and drove another kick into her side. He stepped away from her, leveling the gun at her, her ragged breathing loud in his ears.
Half of him wanted to continue beating her, to feel her delicate bones shatter under his blows, to make her suffer, to pay her and her family back for the agony they had put him through. Another part of him wanted desperately to hear her scream as he shot her, to end her life as his had so nearly ended. Decisions, decisions.
"Going... to shoot me?" she asked, her voice strained and hoarse.
"Oh, I don't know," he said conversationally. "Seems too easy, somehow."
"Si... it... would be," she agreed, her voice regaining some of its strength.
"How so?" he asked, with the air of one inquiring after the weather in a faraway place he has never been to and furthermore has no desire to visit.
She laughed mirthlessly and said, "I survived the deaths of both my parents in a drug-related hit. I survived years of working as an enforcer for my uncle's cartel. I survived working under cover in the AFN on my uncle's orders. When the time came, I betrayed the AFN and killed six of their agents to protect my uncle, who turned right around and sold me out to the government and set an American CIA agent after me. I killed the agent, too. And now things come full circle, and here is a CIA agent about to kill me."
"Where do I fit into all this?" Sands asked. "As another feather in your hat? Or is it a notch in the grip of your gun?"
"No," she said seriously. "I saved your life because I believed you didn't deserve to die."
"Bullshit," Sands snapped. "You saved me just to sell me to whoever would pay the most for me. So who was it gonna be, then? The cartels? The president? Who?"
"The president has offered one million dollars for you," she muttered. "The Barillo cartel, two million. The Guerro cartel, five million."
"Sold, to the highest bidder," Sands murmured, thinking hard. "Why are the Guerros looking for me? They hate the president and the Barillos, so what do I have to do with them? Why should they want to kill me?"
"That's just it, they don't," she said. "Miguel Guerro wants to speak with you in person, and he's willing to pay five million dollars for the privilege. Why, I don't know. Personally, after spending a few hours in your company, I'd say he should save his money, but that's just me."
"Well, how nice of him," Sands said sarcastically. "Any guesses as to what about?"
"Yo no tengo la menor idea," she said casually. "It was Miguel who called not long ago, of course. I was to take you to see him in a week, when you are well enough to travel."
"That's interesting," said Sands smoothly. "That's very interesting. So interesting, in fact, that I think I might let you live long enough to take me to see this Miguel Guerro." He lowered the gun.
"You're too kind, Senor," she said sarcastically, getting slowly to her feet.
I lost...
"The late Senor Barillo was your father?" he asked wearily, resignation and defeat making his voice flat.
She laughed mockingly. "This isn't Star Wars, Sands," she drawled. "The late Senor was my uncle, my father's brother."
His mind was no longer blank. One the contrary, it was flooded with a hatred so pure, its fire burned the pain and weakness from his body. Equal parts of hatred for Barillo and all his kin and self-hatred for falling into their traps twice swirled blackly in his head.
He forced his voice to stay calm as he asked, "You still have that gun in your hand?"
"Si," she answered slowly. "Por que?"
"Good."
His first punch was slightly off, clipping her on the cheekbone hard enough to spin her around and knock her off the bed. His second punch connected solidly with her abdomen, and he heard her swear breathlessly. He kicked her in the ribs, putting all the force of his anger behind the blow, and she fell to the floor with a satisfying thud.
Sands lunged after her and wrenched the gun out of her hand. She struggled, but he struck her in the side of the head with the butt of the gun, and drove another kick into her side. He stepped away from her, leveling the gun at her, her ragged breathing loud in his ears.
Half of him wanted to continue beating her, to feel her delicate bones shatter under his blows, to make her suffer, to pay her and her family back for the agony they had put him through. Another part of him wanted desperately to hear her scream as he shot her, to end her life as his had so nearly ended. Decisions, decisions.
"Going... to shoot me?" she asked, her voice strained and hoarse.
"Oh, I don't know," he said conversationally. "Seems too easy, somehow."
"Si... it... would be," she agreed, her voice regaining some of its strength.
"How so?" he asked, with the air of one inquiring after the weather in a faraway place he has never been to and furthermore has no desire to visit.
She laughed mirthlessly and said, "I survived the deaths of both my parents in a drug-related hit. I survived years of working as an enforcer for my uncle's cartel. I survived working under cover in the AFN on my uncle's orders. When the time came, I betrayed the AFN and killed six of their agents to protect my uncle, who turned right around and sold me out to the government and set an American CIA agent after me. I killed the agent, too. And now things come full circle, and here is a CIA agent about to kill me."
"Where do I fit into all this?" Sands asked. "As another feather in your hat? Or is it a notch in the grip of your gun?"
"No," she said seriously. "I saved your life because I believed you didn't deserve to die."
"Bullshit," Sands snapped. "You saved me just to sell me to whoever would pay the most for me. So who was it gonna be, then? The cartels? The president? Who?"
"The president has offered one million dollars for you," she muttered. "The Barillo cartel, two million. The Guerro cartel, five million."
"Sold, to the highest bidder," Sands murmured, thinking hard. "Why are the Guerros looking for me? They hate the president and the Barillos, so what do I have to do with them? Why should they want to kill me?"
"That's just it, they don't," she said. "Miguel Guerro wants to speak with you in person, and he's willing to pay five million dollars for the privilege. Why, I don't know. Personally, after spending a few hours in your company, I'd say he should save his money, but that's just me."
"Well, how nice of him," Sands said sarcastically. "Any guesses as to what about?"
"Yo no tengo la menor idea," she said casually. "It was Miguel who called not long ago, of course. I was to take you to see him in a week, when you are well enough to travel."
"That's interesting," said Sands smoothly. "That's very interesting. So interesting, in fact, that I think I might let you live long enough to take me to see this Miguel Guerro." He lowered the gun.
"You're too kind, Senor," she said sarcastically, getting slowly to her feet.