"You do realize he hates me?" Sands asked, with the air of one
stating the painfully obvious.
"Undoubtedly," said Estrella mildly.
"And this doesn't worry you because..."
"Senor," she drawled, "Someday you must learn to just wait and... see."
Sands muttered something under his breath which could have been interpreted as rude had it been intelligible. Estrella ignored him.
In a way, he almost appreciated her taking a shot at him. He didn't think he could deal with sympathy or condescension at the moment, or ever, for that matter. He heard her mutter something, and the car slowed and swerved right, off the road, coming gradually to a halt.
"Why are we stopping?" he asked, suspicion darkening his tone.
"Relax," she advised, and he heard her door open, but she didn't get out. "We just need gasoline."
He offered a pleasant smile and an agreeable nod, saying cheerfully, "Bullshit." They had been driving for just under an hour- there was no way her car needed that much fuel.
She sighed, asking rhetorically, "No hay mentir a tú, hay?" (There is no lying to you, is there?)
"Nope," he agreed. "What-"
"Just listen," she interrupted.
He did so, tilting his head slightly to one side. Distantly, he heard the hum of engines, and tires on the unpaved road. It sounded like three or four cars, still some distance away. "The cartel?" he asked coolly.
She gave an unladylike snort, and said, "What is this? Does the great Sands think he missed what he shot at?"
"They could have called backup," he pointed out patiently, his tone dripping condescension. "But if you know better, feel free to enlighten me at any time."
"Es la policía," she said simply.
Sands swore feelingly. "That's a cute trick," he said, checking his guns in their holsters. "The cartel must have called them and, what, left an anonymous tip about where we were headed?"
"Or the police are on their payroll already," Estrella added. "I do not know."
"What do you want to do about them?" Sands inquired, as though the matter were personally of no particular concern to him.
"What do you think?" she said sharply, and he heard the crunch of gravel as she got out of the car. He followed suit, wincing as pain shot through his wounded leg.
He could feel the heat of the sun on his face, which was stiff with drying blood from the empty sockets of his eyes. He hadn't had a chance to wash the blood off his face, and he took grim pleasure in imagining what he must look like at the moment; a figure out of nightmares- a man all in black, pale as death, with 'tears' of blood trickling steadily from behind his dark sunglasses, hinting eerily at the horror they hid.
Walking around the car so that it would be between him and the police when they pulled in, fighting the urge to keep one hand braced against it, he nearly ran into the gas pump. He leaned casually against the side of the car next to Estrella, who was making a show of filling the tank, from what he could hear.
Out on the road, the police cars drew nearer. Sands grinned, silently chastising them for keeping him waiting. He drew two guns from their holsters and shifted slightly to stop the edge of the door from digging painfully into his spine.
"Comfy?" Estrella asked sarcastically.
"Oh, you bet," he said, making a production of rubbing his thigh against hers. She gave him a playful shove, saying, "First let's worry about the police, mi amor. Entendimiento?" (*)
He could hear she crunch of gravel as the police cars ground to a halt not far away. He could hear car doors opening and the sound of running feet as the police scrambled to get into position.
A voice with a thick Mexican accent called, "Agente de la CIA Sheldon Jeffrey Sands!"
Sands smirked, sinking down behind the car, and yelled back, "Sí, estoy aquí!" (Yes, I'm here!)
"Usted y su cómplice saldrán ahora con sus manos arriba!" the voice bellowed imperiously, at easily twice the strictly necessary volume. (You and your accomplice will come out now, with your hands in the air!)
"What are you going to do?" Estrella murmured. She was crouched down next to him, close enough that he could hear her breathing.
"You'll just have to wait and see," he whispered. "Just do what I say. Or better yet, do what they say."
She started to object. "Sands, what-"
"Just follow my lead," he muttered. Raising his voice, he yelled, "Sorry, amigos, no can do. I'm hurt- I don't think I can walk, but I'll send my compañera out now!" He nudged her, so she got up carefully and walked around the car, holding her hands in the air, her gun in her right hand.
"Deje caer su arma!" one of the officers screamed. (Drop your weapon!) Sands waited with baited breath, and a moment later he heard the thump of Estrella's gun hitting the ground.
************************************************************************
'If he doesn't have a plan, I'll kill him,' Estrella vowed blackly, forcing herself to do nothing as almost all of the officers descended on her in a highly unprofessional mob, leaving only a few covering the car and Sands' hiding place, such as it was.
A short, weaselish man with greasy black hair that hung limply over his small, watery eyes leered at her as he patted her down for other weapons, taking far more time than was necessary, lingering over her legs and chest for several long seconds. The temptation to break every bone in his scrawny body was almost overwhelming.
At last they spun her around and slammed her face-down on the hood of the police car hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to resist too much as they yanked her arms behind her, fumbling with the handcuffs.
Over their muttered conversations and barked orders to each other, she thought she heard a tiny metallic click from Sands' direction, followed by a second. 'Right,' she thought, catching on. She jerked sharply to one side, causing the man behind her to drop the handcuffs with a loud clatter.
************************************************************************
Sands heard the handcuffs fall and mentally congratulated Estrella on her quick thinking. Twisting around, he leapt to his feet, braced his elbows on the roof of the car, and opened fire, aiming for the men who held Estrella. Screams rent the air, and the distinctive thump of bullets striking flesh was soon followed by the thud of falling bodies.
Sands smiled, and kept firing.
************************************************************************
Estrella stayed perfectly still as Sands took out the men holding her down. As soon as the last one was dead, she dropped to the ground and crawled to where her gun lay in the dirt. Lying prone, feeling small stones dig into her stomach and thighs, she added her bullets to the hail of death raining down on the police.
She heard footsteps behind her and twisted around to glance over her left shoulder. Sands was coming around the side of the car, still firing, changing his position to bring the last few officers into his line of fire.
Soon, only one was left.
The last police officer leapt into his squad car and revved the engine, spinning his tires before roaring off in a broad semicircle, firing out the window at Sands, who ducked his first two shots with casual ease. The agent was incredibly fast.
But not fast enough.
The third bullet tore a long, shallow furrow in Sands' already wounded upper arm, ripping the black fabric of his sleeve. Blood sprayed. The shot knocked Sands sideways onto his knees. He bowed his head, grimacing with pain. Estrella sprang onto her feet in a single fluid motion and sprinted toward him.
The officer in the car twisted the steering wheel sharply and poured on speed, racing for the figure kneeling in the dust.
A second before impact, Sands' head came up, and it seemed to Estrella that he could see her, just for a moment. He struggled to rise, managing to get up onto his feet, clutching his wounded arm.
Then the car slammed into him. The sickening sound of impact rang loud in Estrella's ears. Sands' body was flung high into the air, and he struck the earth with a dull thud and lay still, on his back, his hair making a dark halo around his head. His sunglasses had come off, and she could see the empty sockets of his eyes, filled with the red of his blood. His gun lay near one motionless gloved hand.
She spun on her heel, screaming as she poured fire into the squad car, until at last the back window shattered and one of her bullets found the driver's skull. The car rolled on, finally slamming into a boulder on the side of the road and bursting into flame.
Estrella bowed her head, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, her gun held loosely at her side in shaking fingers. She raised her head to look at Sands, lying in the dust, unmoving.
Slowly she walked over to him and knelt at his side, tears now pouring openly down her face. She took his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her face, her shoulders shaking with sobs. His fingers were cold.
She reached out and brushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face.
Slowly, so slowly that she wasn't sure of it at first, his fingers tightened on her hand. Then he coughed, and she distinctly saw his lips form a single word.
"Shit."
************************************************************************
(*) The term "Entendimiento?" translates literally as "understanding?", but could also be interpreted as "savvy?"
"Undoubtedly," said Estrella mildly.
"And this doesn't worry you because..."
"Senor," she drawled, "Someday you must learn to just wait and... see."
Sands muttered something under his breath which could have been interpreted as rude had it been intelligible. Estrella ignored him.
In a way, he almost appreciated her taking a shot at him. He didn't think he could deal with sympathy or condescension at the moment, or ever, for that matter. He heard her mutter something, and the car slowed and swerved right, off the road, coming gradually to a halt.
"Why are we stopping?" he asked, suspicion darkening his tone.
"Relax," she advised, and he heard her door open, but she didn't get out. "We just need gasoline."
He offered a pleasant smile and an agreeable nod, saying cheerfully, "Bullshit." They had been driving for just under an hour- there was no way her car needed that much fuel.
She sighed, asking rhetorically, "No hay mentir a tú, hay?" (There is no lying to you, is there?)
"Nope," he agreed. "What-"
"Just listen," she interrupted.
He did so, tilting his head slightly to one side. Distantly, he heard the hum of engines, and tires on the unpaved road. It sounded like three or four cars, still some distance away. "The cartel?" he asked coolly.
She gave an unladylike snort, and said, "What is this? Does the great Sands think he missed what he shot at?"
"They could have called backup," he pointed out patiently, his tone dripping condescension. "But if you know better, feel free to enlighten me at any time."
"Es la policía," she said simply.
Sands swore feelingly. "That's a cute trick," he said, checking his guns in their holsters. "The cartel must have called them and, what, left an anonymous tip about where we were headed?"
"Or the police are on their payroll already," Estrella added. "I do not know."
"What do you want to do about them?" Sands inquired, as though the matter were personally of no particular concern to him.
"What do you think?" she said sharply, and he heard the crunch of gravel as she got out of the car. He followed suit, wincing as pain shot through his wounded leg.
He could feel the heat of the sun on his face, which was stiff with drying blood from the empty sockets of his eyes. He hadn't had a chance to wash the blood off his face, and he took grim pleasure in imagining what he must look like at the moment; a figure out of nightmares- a man all in black, pale as death, with 'tears' of blood trickling steadily from behind his dark sunglasses, hinting eerily at the horror they hid.
Walking around the car so that it would be between him and the police when they pulled in, fighting the urge to keep one hand braced against it, he nearly ran into the gas pump. He leaned casually against the side of the car next to Estrella, who was making a show of filling the tank, from what he could hear.
Out on the road, the police cars drew nearer. Sands grinned, silently chastising them for keeping him waiting. He drew two guns from their holsters and shifted slightly to stop the edge of the door from digging painfully into his spine.
"Comfy?" Estrella asked sarcastically.
"Oh, you bet," he said, making a production of rubbing his thigh against hers. She gave him a playful shove, saying, "First let's worry about the police, mi amor. Entendimiento?" (*)
He could hear she crunch of gravel as the police cars ground to a halt not far away. He could hear car doors opening and the sound of running feet as the police scrambled to get into position.
A voice with a thick Mexican accent called, "Agente de la CIA Sheldon Jeffrey Sands!"
Sands smirked, sinking down behind the car, and yelled back, "Sí, estoy aquí!" (Yes, I'm here!)
"Usted y su cómplice saldrán ahora con sus manos arriba!" the voice bellowed imperiously, at easily twice the strictly necessary volume. (You and your accomplice will come out now, with your hands in the air!)
"What are you going to do?" Estrella murmured. She was crouched down next to him, close enough that he could hear her breathing.
"You'll just have to wait and see," he whispered. "Just do what I say. Or better yet, do what they say."
She started to object. "Sands, what-"
"Just follow my lead," he muttered. Raising his voice, he yelled, "Sorry, amigos, no can do. I'm hurt- I don't think I can walk, but I'll send my compañera out now!" He nudged her, so she got up carefully and walked around the car, holding her hands in the air, her gun in her right hand.
"Deje caer su arma!" one of the officers screamed. (Drop your weapon!) Sands waited with baited breath, and a moment later he heard the thump of Estrella's gun hitting the ground.
************************************************************************
'If he doesn't have a plan, I'll kill him,' Estrella vowed blackly, forcing herself to do nothing as almost all of the officers descended on her in a highly unprofessional mob, leaving only a few covering the car and Sands' hiding place, such as it was.
A short, weaselish man with greasy black hair that hung limply over his small, watery eyes leered at her as he patted her down for other weapons, taking far more time than was necessary, lingering over her legs and chest for several long seconds. The temptation to break every bone in his scrawny body was almost overwhelming.
At last they spun her around and slammed her face-down on the hood of the police car hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Gritting her teeth, she tried not to resist too much as they yanked her arms behind her, fumbling with the handcuffs.
Over their muttered conversations and barked orders to each other, she thought she heard a tiny metallic click from Sands' direction, followed by a second. 'Right,' she thought, catching on. She jerked sharply to one side, causing the man behind her to drop the handcuffs with a loud clatter.
************************************************************************
Sands heard the handcuffs fall and mentally congratulated Estrella on her quick thinking. Twisting around, he leapt to his feet, braced his elbows on the roof of the car, and opened fire, aiming for the men who held Estrella. Screams rent the air, and the distinctive thump of bullets striking flesh was soon followed by the thud of falling bodies.
Sands smiled, and kept firing.
************************************************************************
Estrella stayed perfectly still as Sands took out the men holding her down. As soon as the last one was dead, she dropped to the ground and crawled to where her gun lay in the dirt. Lying prone, feeling small stones dig into her stomach and thighs, she added her bullets to the hail of death raining down on the police.
She heard footsteps behind her and twisted around to glance over her left shoulder. Sands was coming around the side of the car, still firing, changing his position to bring the last few officers into his line of fire.
Soon, only one was left.
The last police officer leapt into his squad car and revved the engine, spinning his tires before roaring off in a broad semicircle, firing out the window at Sands, who ducked his first two shots with casual ease. The agent was incredibly fast.
But not fast enough.
The third bullet tore a long, shallow furrow in Sands' already wounded upper arm, ripping the black fabric of his sleeve. Blood sprayed. The shot knocked Sands sideways onto his knees. He bowed his head, grimacing with pain. Estrella sprang onto her feet in a single fluid motion and sprinted toward him.
The officer in the car twisted the steering wheel sharply and poured on speed, racing for the figure kneeling in the dust.
A second before impact, Sands' head came up, and it seemed to Estrella that he could see her, just for a moment. He struggled to rise, managing to get up onto his feet, clutching his wounded arm.
Then the car slammed into him. The sickening sound of impact rang loud in Estrella's ears. Sands' body was flung high into the air, and he struck the earth with a dull thud and lay still, on his back, his hair making a dark halo around his head. His sunglasses had come off, and she could see the empty sockets of his eyes, filled with the red of his blood. His gun lay near one motionless gloved hand.
She spun on her heel, screaming as she poured fire into the squad car, until at last the back window shattered and one of her bullets found the driver's skull. The car rolled on, finally slamming into a boulder on the side of the road and bursting into flame.
Estrella bowed her head, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm her, her gun held loosely at her side in shaking fingers. She raised her head to look at Sands, lying in the dust, unmoving.
Slowly she walked over to him and knelt at his side, tears now pouring openly down her face. She took his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her face, her shoulders shaking with sobs. His fingers were cold.
She reached out and brushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face.
Slowly, so slowly that she wasn't sure of it at first, his fingers tightened on her hand. Then he coughed, and she distinctly saw his lips form a single word.
"Shit."
************************************************************************
(*) The term "Entendimiento?" translates literally as "understanding?", but could also be interpreted as "savvy?"