Estrella covered the awkward moment by turning away from him and
locking the door, saying jokingly, "No more visitors for my patient today!
He should be resting!"
"No, actually he should be getting some answers out of his nurse," Sands corrected.
"Answers?" she asked, with her back to him.
"Yeah. Specifically, an answer to that famous question: Why did you lie to me?"
"I lied to you, Senor?" Her casual tone betrayed nothing.
"You said there was never anything between you and El but friendship," he said, dangerously calm.
"Ah, and what is that to you?" she demanded, her voice tight with irritation.
"Well, that's really the question, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. He ran his fingers slowly down the side of her face and neck. Her skin was silk under his fingertips. "What if I told you I wanted you for myself?"
She jerked away from his touch and snarled, "I'd tell you to go **** yourself! Talk to me again when my bruises fade!" She rushed to the door, unlocked it, and fled.
Sands stood for a long time in the open door, then shook his head and pulled it shut, muttering, "Why the hell did I just do that? I am DEFINITELY with stupid."
************************************************************************
Estrella's mind spun in crazy circles as she stormed down the dusty street in the growing darkness. Automatically, she scanned the darkness for some evidence of her favorite distraction from reality- a little trouble.
She resolutely turned her thoughts away from Sands, away from thoughts of the sound of his voice, the touch of his elegant hands, the taste of his lips... Her bruised cheekbone gave a particularly painful throb, and she cursed under her breath as she strode along.
Her black clothing clung to her like a second skin, granting her a certain degree of camouflage in the fading light- just another shadow in a world of darkness.
What was it about him that captivated her so? Certainly he was handsome, but then, so were many other men, and she had never been one to stare awestruck at a handsome face. Perhaps it was his contempt for all life save his own, or the clear and present aura of danger that followed him wherever he went. Even lying unconscious on her bed, the man had the unmistakable feel of a killer. Estrella shivered a little as she imagined what it must have been like to look into his eyes...
She hadn't gone more than a block or two when she heard the sounds of a fight. She picked up her pace, checking the pair of pistols she carried as she did so. Three men had a young boy trapped in the mouth of an alley. The boy was on his hands and knees in the dirt. Two of the men were kicking him and laughing. The third, taller and clearly the leader of the group, was standing slightly apart from the other two, watching them with a smile on his face. There was a gun in his hand.
The boy bravely made a lunge at one of his captors, but the man snapped a kick into his face. The boy's nose began to bleed, splashing scarlet onto his dusty T-shirt. His dusty, yellow T-shirt.
Estrella muttered another curse as she recognized Marco. She guessed at once who these men must be- members of the Barillo cartel, looking for Sands. They must have caught the boy as he was walking home for dinner. He must have let something slip, something that told them he might know where Sands was hiding.
Stopping about thirty feet away, she fixed her black-eyed stare on the leader's ugly, pock-marked face and called challengingly, "Hey, pistolero!"
All three of them glanced up, shock written on their faces. The leader raised an eyebrow at her, and answered, "Qué podemos hacer nosotros para tú, niña?" (What can we do for you, little girl?)
She favored him with an insolent grin and a long, up and down look. "You in particular? Nothing."
He rolled his eyes as the other two sniggered, their attention now focused on her rather than on Marco, who promptly sprang to his feet and sprinted away at top speed.
The two underlings started after him, but their leader stopped them short with a gesture. "Permita que él vaya. Tráigamela a mí en lugar. Quizás ella dirá nosotros lo que él hace no." (Let him go. Bring her to me instead. Perhaps she will tell us what he would not.)
The two underlings walked purposefully toward her, each displaying the rolling swagger of men who want to be seen, and seen as stalking prey. Estrella nearly burst out laughing, and decided on reflection that she really didn't need her guns at the moment.
She stood impassively, her arms folded across her chest, her legs braced, as they spread out to come at her from either side. She gave herself a mental countdown.
Three... two... one...
************************************************************************
Sands found a way to amuse himself in fairly short order.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, the gun in his lap, and listened very carefully.
There it was. The soft scratching of six tiny legs on the tiled floor. As quietly as he could, he took aim, and fired three times in quick succession.
He waited a moment, listening again. Silence.
A grin crept across his face. Sure, Estrella might be pissed that he was blowing silver-dollar-sized holes in the floor, but he was pretty sure he had eliminated at least half of the really big cockroaches in the building.
************************************************************************
The man on her left grabbed her wrist and yanked, trying to throw her off balance. She went with it, using the force of his pull to help her wind up for the punch that she drove into his windpipe. He let go and staggered back, gasping and clutching his throat. She finished him with a roundhouse kick to the head, feeling his skull fracture as she connected. He went down hard and lay very, very still.
She used the momentum of her kick to carry her around 180 degrees to face her second opponent. He had a knife, and clearly fancied that he knew how to use it. She smirked, and went on the offensive.
Five seconds later, it was all over.
She fastidiously dusted off the sleeves of her shirt, and flexed her fingers several times, watching the leader out of the corner of her eye. He was no longer smiling.
He holstered his gun and strode purposefully toward her, with none of the swagger or posturing that she had seen in the other two.
She was suddenly struck by how very tall and brawny he was. His shoulders were nearly twice the width of her own.
As it turned out, he was also incredibly fast. His first punch came in high, and she ducked, barely avoiding it in time. She kicked his knee, trying to break his kneecap and end the fight quickly, but it was like kicking a brick wall. His return punch slammed into her solar plexus, sending her flying. Her head struck the hard-packed dirt as she landed sprawled in a heap, seeing black spots as her eyes watered with pain.
He reached down and lifted her bodily onto her feet with one hand, jamming his gun into the hollow of her throat at the same time. She met his cold-eyed gaze and sniffed in elegant disdain. He stank of liquor, cigarette smoke, and sweat. He smiled at her, showing horrible, blackened teeth. She spat in his face.
He cursed and threw her down, making her head smack against the wall a second time. She grimaced and shook her head, trying to clear it. She started to get up, but he fired two shots in rapid succession, inches from her head, forcing her back down. The sound echoed loudly in the otherwise silent street. She flinched.
He sneered derisively down at her, and growled, "Ahora tu dirá mí lo que quiero saber. Dónde está el agente de la CIA?" (Now you will tell me what I want to know. Where is the CIA agent?"
"Qué agente?" she asked sweetly, widening her eyes. (What agent?)
He kicked her viciously, making her cry out, and spat, "Tu dirá mí donde él es, o tu morirá!" (You will tell me where he is, or you will die!)
She made a show of examining her fingernails, and inquired, "Why should I tell you? You're going to kill me anyway. Besides, now that I think about it, I've grown rather fond of him, so... no, I don't think I'll tell you."
He fired again over her head, showering her with dust and bits of stucco.
She laughed in his face.
************************************************************************
Sands heard the shots echo from not too far away. He immediately abandoned his game, and sprang lightly onto the floor, wincing as his wounded leg took his weight.
He supposed he was crazy to go out and look for trouble at this point, as badly hurt as he was, but then, sanity had never been his strong suit.
He wished briefly for his gun belt, but decided reluctantly that he didn't have time to pick the lock on the drawer and get it.
Sands walked quickly to the door, pausing a moment to listen, leaning casually against the doorframe. Another shot rang out, and he set off towards the source of the sound, like a moth drawn to a bright light.
************************************************************************
Estrella knew she couldn't last much longer. After his third shot had failed to scare an answer out of her, the man seemed to decide that the best way to get what he wanted was to beat the information out of her.
He had managed to wrestle her gun away from her, and had tossed it somewhere behind them in the shadows of the alleyway. She turned her head slightly to look for it, but another punch brought her sharply back to reality. She doubted she could walk on her own, let alone try and get her gun.
The man raised his hand again, and she flinched in anticipation, but he paused long enough to ask, "Dónde está él? Dónde está su amigo de la CIA?" He mocked her, asking, "Viene él salvarlo?" (Where is he? Where is your CIA friend? Is he coming to save you?)
************************************************************************
Sands heard the sound of heavy blows striking flesh as he reached the mouth of an alley. He heard a rough voice speaking spanish, asking, "Where is he? Where is your CIA friend? Is he coming to save you?"
A female voice answered defiantly, "I think not. He is smarter than I am- he will stay far ahead of you!"
"Estrella?" he called.
"Here," she answered promptly.
"What have I told you about going out to play after dark?" he demanded in mock exasperation.
"Not a thing," she retorted. "So is this just a social call, or are you going to help me?"
"Oh, gosh," he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I nearly forgot." He fired three shots without bothering to aim.
All three caught the man who had spoken in the chest. He collapsed in a heap.
Sands waited, but she didn't get up.
He ran to her side and knelt down in the dust, reaching out blindly for her with one hand. She caught it in a firm grip of her own, and said, "Help me up."
He pulled her carefully onto her feet, but she swayed dangerously, gripping his hand. Her fingers were slick with blood. He swallowed hard and asked, "Is all that yours?"
"No," she said, leaning against him for support, her head resting on his chest. "At least, I'm pretty sure it isn't."
"Can you walk?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, taking a few tentative steps, then walking with more confidence, supporting her own weight.
"Listen, I don't want to spoil your fun or anything, but how about we just head in for the night, ok?" He kept his tone casual, trying not to show how worried he was.
"I think I've had enough fun for one night, thanks," she said dryly.
They were nearly home, walking slowly down the dusty street, before Sands realized she hadn't let go of his hand.
"No, actually he should be getting some answers out of his nurse," Sands corrected.
"Answers?" she asked, with her back to him.
"Yeah. Specifically, an answer to that famous question: Why did you lie to me?"
"I lied to you, Senor?" Her casual tone betrayed nothing.
"You said there was never anything between you and El but friendship," he said, dangerously calm.
"Ah, and what is that to you?" she demanded, her voice tight with irritation.
"Well, that's really the question, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically. He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. He ran his fingers slowly down the side of her face and neck. Her skin was silk under his fingertips. "What if I told you I wanted you for myself?"
She jerked away from his touch and snarled, "I'd tell you to go **** yourself! Talk to me again when my bruises fade!" She rushed to the door, unlocked it, and fled.
Sands stood for a long time in the open door, then shook his head and pulled it shut, muttering, "Why the hell did I just do that? I am DEFINITELY with stupid."
************************************************************************
Estrella's mind spun in crazy circles as she stormed down the dusty street in the growing darkness. Automatically, she scanned the darkness for some evidence of her favorite distraction from reality- a little trouble.
She resolutely turned her thoughts away from Sands, away from thoughts of the sound of his voice, the touch of his elegant hands, the taste of his lips... Her bruised cheekbone gave a particularly painful throb, and she cursed under her breath as she strode along.
Her black clothing clung to her like a second skin, granting her a certain degree of camouflage in the fading light- just another shadow in a world of darkness.
What was it about him that captivated her so? Certainly he was handsome, but then, so were many other men, and she had never been one to stare awestruck at a handsome face. Perhaps it was his contempt for all life save his own, or the clear and present aura of danger that followed him wherever he went. Even lying unconscious on her bed, the man had the unmistakable feel of a killer. Estrella shivered a little as she imagined what it must have been like to look into his eyes...
She hadn't gone more than a block or two when she heard the sounds of a fight. She picked up her pace, checking the pair of pistols she carried as she did so. Three men had a young boy trapped in the mouth of an alley. The boy was on his hands and knees in the dirt. Two of the men were kicking him and laughing. The third, taller and clearly the leader of the group, was standing slightly apart from the other two, watching them with a smile on his face. There was a gun in his hand.
The boy bravely made a lunge at one of his captors, but the man snapped a kick into his face. The boy's nose began to bleed, splashing scarlet onto his dusty T-shirt. His dusty, yellow T-shirt.
Estrella muttered another curse as she recognized Marco. She guessed at once who these men must be- members of the Barillo cartel, looking for Sands. They must have caught the boy as he was walking home for dinner. He must have let something slip, something that told them he might know where Sands was hiding.
Stopping about thirty feet away, she fixed her black-eyed stare on the leader's ugly, pock-marked face and called challengingly, "Hey, pistolero!"
All three of them glanced up, shock written on their faces. The leader raised an eyebrow at her, and answered, "Qué podemos hacer nosotros para tú, niña?" (What can we do for you, little girl?)
She favored him with an insolent grin and a long, up and down look. "You in particular? Nothing."
He rolled his eyes as the other two sniggered, their attention now focused on her rather than on Marco, who promptly sprang to his feet and sprinted away at top speed.
The two underlings started after him, but their leader stopped them short with a gesture. "Permita que él vaya. Tráigamela a mí en lugar. Quizás ella dirá nosotros lo que él hace no." (Let him go. Bring her to me instead. Perhaps she will tell us what he would not.)
The two underlings walked purposefully toward her, each displaying the rolling swagger of men who want to be seen, and seen as stalking prey. Estrella nearly burst out laughing, and decided on reflection that she really didn't need her guns at the moment.
She stood impassively, her arms folded across her chest, her legs braced, as they spread out to come at her from either side. She gave herself a mental countdown.
Three... two... one...
************************************************************************
Sands found a way to amuse himself in fairly short order.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, the gun in his lap, and listened very carefully.
There it was. The soft scratching of six tiny legs on the tiled floor. As quietly as he could, he took aim, and fired three times in quick succession.
He waited a moment, listening again. Silence.
A grin crept across his face. Sure, Estrella might be pissed that he was blowing silver-dollar-sized holes in the floor, but he was pretty sure he had eliminated at least half of the really big cockroaches in the building.
************************************************************************
The man on her left grabbed her wrist and yanked, trying to throw her off balance. She went with it, using the force of his pull to help her wind up for the punch that she drove into his windpipe. He let go and staggered back, gasping and clutching his throat. She finished him with a roundhouse kick to the head, feeling his skull fracture as she connected. He went down hard and lay very, very still.
She used the momentum of her kick to carry her around 180 degrees to face her second opponent. He had a knife, and clearly fancied that he knew how to use it. She smirked, and went on the offensive.
Five seconds later, it was all over.
She fastidiously dusted off the sleeves of her shirt, and flexed her fingers several times, watching the leader out of the corner of her eye. He was no longer smiling.
He holstered his gun and strode purposefully toward her, with none of the swagger or posturing that she had seen in the other two.
She was suddenly struck by how very tall and brawny he was. His shoulders were nearly twice the width of her own.
As it turned out, he was also incredibly fast. His first punch came in high, and she ducked, barely avoiding it in time. She kicked his knee, trying to break his kneecap and end the fight quickly, but it was like kicking a brick wall. His return punch slammed into her solar plexus, sending her flying. Her head struck the hard-packed dirt as she landed sprawled in a heap, seeing black spots as her eyes watered with pain.
He reached down and lifted her bodily onto her feet with one hand, jamming his gun into the hollow of her throat at the same time. She met his cold-eyed gaze and sniffed in elegant disdain. He stank of liquor, cigarette smoke, and sweat. He smiled at her, showing horrible, blackened teeth. She spat in his face.
He cursed and threw her down, making her head smack against the wall a second time. She grimaced and shook her head, trying to clear it. She started to get up, but he fired two shots in rapid succession, inches from her head, forcing her back down. The sound echoed loudly in the otherwise silent street. She flinched.
He sneered derisively down at her, and growled, "Ahora tu dirá mí lo que quiero saber. Dónde está el agente de la CIA?" (Now you will tell me what I want to know. Where is the CIA agent?"
"Qué agente?" she asked sweetly, widening her eyes. (What agent?)
He kicked her viciously, making her cry out, and spat, "Tu dirá mí donde él es, o tu morirá!" (You will tell me where he is, or you will die!)
She made a show of examining her fingernails, and inquired, "Why should I tell you? You're going to kill me anyway. Besides, now that I think about it, I've grown rather fond of him, so... no, I don't think I'll tell you."
He fired again over her head, showering her with dust and bits of stucco.
She laughed in his face.
************************************************************************
Sands heard the shots echo from not too far away. He immediately abandoned his game, and sprang lightly onto the floor, wincing as his wounded leg took his weight.
He supposed he was crazy to go out and look for trouble at this point, as badly hurt as he was, but then, sanity had never been his strong suit.
He wished briefly for his gun belt, but decided reluctantly that he didn't have time to pick the lock on the drawer and get it.
Sands walked quickly to the door, pausing a moment to listen, leaning casually against the doorframe. Another shot rang out, and he set off towards the source of the sound, like a moth drawn to a bright light.
************************************************************************
Estrella knew she couldn't last much longer. After his third shot had failed to scare an answer out of her, the man seemed to decide that the best way to get what he wanted was to beat the information out of her.
He had managed to wrestle her gun away from her, and had tossed it somewhere behind them in the shadows of the alleyway. She turned her head slightly to look for it, but another punch brought her sharply back to reality. She doubted she could walk on her own, let alone try and get her gun.
The man raised his hand again, and she flinched in anticipation, but he paused long enough to ask, "Dónde está él? Dónde está su amigo de la CIA?" He mocked her, asking, "Viene él salvarlo?" (Where is he? Where is your CIA friend? Is he coming to save you?)
************************************************************************
Sands heard the sound of heavy blows striking flesh as he reached the mouth of an alley. He heard a rough voice speaking spanish, asking, "Where is he? Where is your CIA friend? Is he coming to save you?"
A female voice answered defiantly, "I think not. He is smarter than I am- he will stay far ahead of you!"
"Estrella?" he called.
"Here," she answered promptly.
"What have I told you about going out to play after dark?" he demanded in mock exasperation.
"Not a thing," she retorted. "So is this just a social call, or are you going to help me?"
"Oh, gosh," he said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I nearly forgot." He fired three shots without bothering to aim.
All three caught the man who had spoken in the chest. He collapsed in a heap.
Sands waited, but she didn't get up.
He ran to her side and knelt down in the dust, reaching out blindly for her with one hand. She caught it in a firm grip of her own, and said, "Help me up."
He pulled her carefully onto her feet, but she swayed dangerously, gripping his hand. Her fingers were slick with blood. He swallowed hard and asked, "Is all that yours?"
"No," she said, leaning against him for support, her head resting on his chest. "At least, I'm pretty sure it isn't."
"Can you walk?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, taking a few tentative steps, then walking with more confidence, supporting her own weight.
"Listen, I don't want to spoil your fun or anything, but how about we just head in for the night, ok?" He kept his tone casual, trying not to show how worried he was.
"I think I've had enough fun for one night, thanks," she said dryly.
They were nearly home, walking slowly down the dusty street, before Sands realized she hadn't let go of his hand.