"Beads on a fucking string." Sands scowled at the man just behind
him. Whether the man noticed, he couldn't tell, but either way he got no
response.
"Say again, Red One?" His radio crackled a bit from transmitting through the thick vegetation that stretched for kilometers all around them. Sands' scowl deepened. He had no trouble picking up on Estrella's sarcasm, even through all the static.
"Negative, White One," Sands drawled. The formal responses irritated him, but force of habit made him stick to protocol nonetheless.
"I copy, Red One." Estrella paused. "Where are you?"
"Couldn't tell ya, White One," Sands answered. "One miserable mud pit of a trail sounds much like another-"he was silent for a few seconds- "Red Two tells me we're still fifteen minutes from our target at current travel speed. Yourselves?"
"We're about ten feet from the edge of the forest, actually," she replied. "Red Group is in position for our assault on the house."
"Copy that. Running a little early, huh?"
"That's the idea, Red One," she said dryly. "Still, we'll be nice and sit here in the bushes like good little children until you're ready on your end."
"I appreciate your generosity, White One," Sands retorted. "Any activity at the house?"
"Negative." Estrella's voice carried grim good humor. "Silent as the grave."
"Cut the chatter, Red One, White One," Guerro snapped, listening in from his position out on the road with their vehicles and a small backup force, Green Group.
"So sorry, Green One," Sands drawled, not sounding apologetic in the least.
"I doubt it," Guerro's voice dropped from chilly to frigid. "You have five minutes to get into position. Green One out."
*******
Sands swore under his breath as his radio went silent. Turning to his second-in-command, he snapped, "What the fuck is the holdup? We're running behind!"
"Yes, senor," the man said respectfully, brushing past Sands and continuing his cautious walk down the narrow, muddy trail that would bring them out near the airstrip and hangar.
********
Estrella settled a little more comfortably against the tree trunk that hid her from casual observation by anyone up at the house. Water dripped rhythmically onto her head from the canopy above, but it was warm and thus easy to ignore. All manner of small, multi-legged creatures took advantage of the lull in activity on her part to make a thorough inspection of her gear and person. She slapped irritably at her arms, left bare by her black tank top, as biting flies tried to drill into her flesh. She resisted the urge to curse at the creatures, mindful of the muffled snorts of laughter emanating from the bushes all around her.
There's little soldiers like better than a joke at a commander's expense.
"I survive a hundred gunfights only to be eaten alive by something less than a centimeter long. Ridiculous," she muttered, taking a moment to loosen her guns in their holsters at her hips and under her arms, and to adjust the position of the rifle slung across her chest so that it no longer dug into her stomach.
Her radio emitted a tiny beep. She freed it from her belt and raised it to her mouth. "White One."
"White One, this is Red Two."
Estrella's breath froze in her throat, nearly making her choke. "Go ahead, Red Two," she said, forcing her tone into something resembling normality. The only people who should be on the command channel were Sands and Guerro, so for Red Two to be contacting her this way could mean only one thing. Sands was either in serious trouble, or dead.
"We've got trouble, White One," the man said grimly. "Heavy resistance at the hangar. Red One and Reds Three through Ten have split off from our main attack force and are attempting to get the opposition caught in a crossfire as we speak. We will be delayed, repeat, delayed for the rendezvous at the storage buildings. Advise."
Estrella bit her lip for a moment, then replied, "Clear out the hangar, Red Two. The plan calls for a pincer, and we can't afford to have anyone come up behind you. Take as much time as you need; rendezvous as soon as is humanly possible. Take the hangar, post your rearguard, and move out."
"Copy that. Red Two out."
"White One out."
Estrella switched to her squad's channel and murmured, "White Group, be advised; we're being delayed again. Red Group has run into opposition at the hangar. We wait."
Murmured acknowledgements followed her transmission, and Estrella settled back in, trying not to think about Sands. Trying to ignore the very real possibility of his getting killed.
*********
El Mariachi awoke in complete darkness, and wondered if he had gone blind. He felt sick- his whole abdomen ached, and he wondered vaguely if he was going to throw up. He could feel his heart pounding and racing. He raised a hand that shook noticeably to his face and rubbed his eyes. His skin felt as hot as the body of a black car left out in the sun under his trembling fingers. He swallowed painfully, his mouth dry as paper.
He tried to sit up, but the room spun underneath him, and he fell back with a groan.
Light stabbed his eyes, suddenly blinding him. He threw a trembling arm up in front of his face. Everything was blurry as he slowly lowered his arm to squint unsteadily at the woman standing next to the sweat-soaked cot on which he lay. "Where am I? Estrella?"
The woman laughed cruelly, making him flinch. "Oh, no, El Mariachi. I'm not Estrella. My dear cousin is otherwise occupied at the moment, so I thought I'd come down here and keep you company." She caught the frown on his face and continued, "Where's here? We are underground, as you may have gathered. Underneath the storage units. My advisors thought it best that I stay out of the way while they dealt with your friends, and," she laughed, "I am certain I am quite safe down here."
"Why-"El began, but he cut off sharply as a cell phone rang.
Marisa raised it to her ear and spat, "Yes? What! Well, retake it, then! We don't have the troops? Why the fuck not? I see. Attacking at the house as well? I understand. Fall back. Just lure them here and get rid of them!" She shut the phone off and favored El with a thin smile. "Your friends are trying to rescue you, isn't that sweet? I hope you won't take it personally if I have them all killed?"
********
Sands snapped off one last shot, and heard his target collapse in a heap. He sprang up from his cover behind a packing crate and jogged forward to check his victim. The man twitched and moaned as Sands approached, so the agent shot him again, this time in the head. The moaning cut off abruptly.
The man had been the last of the resistance at the hangar. Early on, the battle had been going badly for Red Group as the enemy used their superior numbers and defensive stance to keep them pinned down at the edge of the jungle. Then Sands had taken a small force and circled around behind the hangar, coordinating a crossfire with Red Two and his people.
One brisk firefight, and it was all over.
Sands nodded once in grim satisfaction, feeling the pleasant tingle of adrenaline flood his body as he addressed his force. "Reds Three through Ten, stay here as rearguard. Radio Guerro if you get into serious trouble- he'll send Green Group straight down the road and to hell with surveillance." He favored them with a smirk. "Though I doubt you'll have trouble. If they don't know we're here by now, how will they ever notice?" A few of the soldiers snorted. "For the rest of us, it's time to leave."
**********
Estrella leaned a little out of cover, sighted through the scope on her rifle, and took out one of the men sniping at White Group out of a second-story window of the house. Glass shattered as he tumbled out of the window to the ground below, but another man was soon there to take his place.
Estrella swore passionately. They needed to take the house, and soon. Already some of the Barillo fighters were falling back down the service road, running for the storage buildings. Unless she could follow and keep them engaged, they would be waiting for Sands as he reached the storage buildings from the opposite direction (from the airstrip and hangar). Red Group alone wouldn't be enough to deal with them; the strategy depended on White Group being there to back them up and complete the pincer.
She was forced to flatten herself to the ground as another blistering volley zipped lethally over her head, courtesy of the dozen or Barillo gunmen still in the house.
She took a deep breath and started bellowing orders. "White Two, take Three through Fifteen and give us cover fire! Sixteen through Thirty, on me!"
White Two shouted an acknowledgement and swiftly organized his assigned force, laying down a horizontal hail of cover fire. Estrella sprang to her feet and raced for the house, dodging and ducking. White Sixteen, running lightly beside her, yelled, "Commander, are we taking the house?"
"Not exactly," she said with a wicked grin, showing the man a hand grenade at her belt as she slowed to a jog. He smiled evilly in return and followed suit. They had come around the front of the house, and were no longer being shot at.
Estrella drew one of her handguns and shot out a window on the second story, pulled the pin on the grenade, and flung it into the house.
A moment of silence passed, then an echoing boom and the screams and cries of men inside the house, and the crackle of flames. Smoke began to pour out of the broken window, and she could hear the hail of gunfire from inside the house falter.
She left White Two and his people to complete the mopping up, and took her squad down the road towards the storage buildings.
********
"Well, that wasn't too bad," Sands observed, standing casually next to Estrella as she surveyed the bodies strewn all over the ground around the storage buildings. Ultimately they had been able to complete the pincer maneuver more or less as planned, and had caught the remaining Barillo cartel fighters between their two groups. After that, it was a slaughter.
Estrella's portion of White Group and Sands' Red Group (except for the hangar rearguard) were searching the storage units, but thus far had found nothing unexpected or unusual. Still, they proceeded with all deliberate caution in case of traps or other nasty surprises.
Estrella's radio beeped, and White Two's voice crackled over the airwaves. "White One, this is White Two."
"Go ahead, White Two."
Two's voice was slurred with exhaustion, and he coughed slightly before answering. "The house is secure, repeat, we have secured our objective. We've searched from attic to cellar and found no one alive."
Estrella went very pale. "Say again, White Two?"
"We found no one alive, White One."
"Was Marisa Barillo found dead?"
"Negative, White One," White Two sounded grim. "We found no sign of her, or of El Mariachi."
Estrella gritted her teeth. "I copy. Radio Guerro and give him the update, would you?"
"Will do. White Two out."
Sands cocked his head to one side. "Did I hear that right? They didn't find Marisa?"
"Si."
"Fascinating," Sands drawled. "Now, if I were a cowardly little rat like her..." He trailed off thoughtfully, his head cocked a little to one side, then continued. "I wouldn't be brave enough to run for it, and risk getting my precious ass shot up. Which implies... we just aren't looking hard enough."
********
Sands lay on the cold concrete floor of the largest of the storage sheds, listening. The fighters under his command stood outside in varying states of bemusement, watching him and muttering amongst themselves.
The agent smiled tightly to himself. He could hardly blame them for thinking he was crazy. After all, he was beginning to have doubts himself.
********
Marisa paced like a trapped animal as El watched. He was shivering convulsively, though the close air in the underground room was quite warm. He had managed to sit up at last, though the room still seemed determined to spin under him. Still, he watched Marisa closely, listening to the footsteps of many people overhead, searching the storage unit.
She toyed distractedly with her gun, flipping the safety on and off, snarling vicious-sounding things under her breath. She seemed to have decided to simply wait out the invaders, hiding, so to speak, under their very noses.
El shook his head fractionally. This would not do.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on the mariachi. The great El, hero of a hundred battles against bad guys of every description, now all but surrounded by his allies-and completely thwarted by one woman with a gun.
This simply would not do.
Marisa's pacing brought her past the end of the cot.
El lunged, tackling her into the opposite wall, though dizziness nearly made him black out and pain from his abdomen tore through his whole body. Marisa screamed, struggling, then struck him hard on the side of the head with the gun.
It went off with a roar, the bullet passing close enough to ruffle his hair.
******
Sands leapt to his feet as the distinctive crack of a gunshot reached him, echoing up through the floor.
"Damn, am I good," he muttered in great satisfaction, leaping to his feet. He reached out with his right hand until it came in contact with a tall stack of boxes. They were thick with dust, and coated his fingers. The floor next to them, however, was not.
"Bingo..."
He dealt the boxes a sharp kick, and they toppled over with a crash. He ran a hand over the newly uncovered floor until his hand encountered a ring set in the concrete. "Amateurs," he muttered, grabbing it with both hands and yanking, wrenching his lower back.
A section of the floor lifted away, and Sands set it down next to the newly uncovered hole as quietly as he could. He paused for a moment to listen, but there was no response from anyone down below.
The agent allowed himself another smile, and dropped through the opening, though he misjudged the drop slightly and landed with a loud thud.
He held perfectly still for a fraction of a second-long enough to pick out the sound of someone breathing not far away from him; several someones, as it happened. Fabric rustled, and he *sensed* a gun being brought to bear on him.
Without bothering to aim, he opened fire.
********
El watched Sands drop down from the trapdoor in the ceiling, and sincerely believed that he was going to die. There was no way in hell the agent could get Marisa without blowing him away as well.
Marisa, still on the floor beside him, brought her gun to bear on the blind agent, her eyes holding the blank fire of murder.
The mariachi watched, detached and cool, as Sands drew his own guns with blinding speed and opened fire.
El closed his eyes.
*********
Sands shot until both his guns ran out of bullets, then slowly lowered the weapons to his sides and re-holstered them. He flexed his fingers meditatively, making his black leather gloves creak in protest, then said conversationally, "You can get up now, El."
He listened, and picked out the mariachi's ragged breathing, but no sound of the man getting up. Vaguely annoyed, he asked, "Whassa matter, did I scare ya? Poor baby."
The mariachi's voice came back to him, harsh and rough. He sounded very much the worse for wear. "I don't think I can get up."
"Well, you aren't shot, or at least, not by me." Sands walked over and crouched down next to the mariachi, though not before giving what was left of Marisa's body a good, solid kick. He grabbed El's upper arm, feeling the mariachi's continued involuntary trembling, and used his teeth to yank the glove off his free hand. He laid the back of his hand against El's forehead for a moment, then withdrew. He was laughing.
"What is so funny?" El demanded irritably.
Still chuckling, Sands hauled the mariachi to his feet, saying cheerily, "Tell me, my friend; what do you know about cocaine?"
"Say again, Red One?" His radio crackled a bit from transmitting through the thick vegetation that stretched for kilometers all around them. Sands' scowl deepened. He had no trouble picking up on Estrella's sarcasm, even through all the static.
"Negative, White One," Sands drawled. The formal responses irritated him, but force of habit made him stick to protocol nonetheless.
"I copy, Red One." Estrella paused. "Where are you?"
"Couldn't tell ya, White One," Sands answered. "One miserable mud pit of a trail sounds much like another-"he was silent for a few seconds- "Red Two tells me we're still fifteen minutes from our target at current travel speed. Yourselves?"
"We're about ten feet from the edge of the forest, actually," she replied. "Red Group is in position for our assault on the house."
"Copy that. Running a little early, huh?"
"That's the idea, Red One," she said dryly. "Still, we'll be nice and sit here in the bushes like good little children until you're ready on your end."
"I appreciate your generosity, White One," Sands retorted. "Any activity at the house?"
"Negative." Estrella's voice carried grim good humor. "Silent as the grave."
"Cut the chatter, Red One, White One," Guerro snapped, listening in from his position out on the road with their vehicles and a small backup force, Green Group.
"So sorry, Green One," Sands drawled, not sounding apologetic in the least.
"I doubt it," Guerro's voice dropped from chilly to frigid. "You have five minutes to get into position. Green One out."
*******
Sands swore under his breath as his radio went silent. Turning to his second-in-command, he snapped, "What the fuck is the holdup? We're running behind!"
"Yes, senor," the man said respectfully, brushing past Sands and continuing his cautious walk down the narrow, muddy trail that would bring them out near the airstrip and hangar.
********
Estrella settled a little more comfortably against the tree trunk that hid her from casual observation by anyone up at the house. Water dripped rhythmically onto her head from the canopy above, but it was warm and thus easy to ignore. All manner of small, multi-legged creatures took advantage of the lull in activity on her part to make a thorough inspection of her gear and person. She slapped irritably at her arms, left bare by her black tank top, as biting flies tried to drill into her flesh. She resisted the urge to curse at the creatures, mindful of the muffled snorts of laughter emanating from the bushes all around her.
There's little soldiers like better than a joke at a commander's expense.
"I survive a hundred gunfights only to be eaten alive by something less than a centimeter long. Ridiculous," she muttered, taking a moment to loosen her guns in their holsters at her hips and under her arms, and to adjust the position of the rifle slung across her chest so that it no longer dug into her stomach.
Her radio emitted a tiny beep. She freed it from her belt and raised it to her mouth. "White One."
"White One, this is Red Two."
Estrella's breath froze in her throat, nearly making her choke. "Go ahead, Red Two," she said, forcing her tone into something resembling normality. The only people who should be on the command channel were Sands and Guerro, so for Red Two to be contacting her this way could mean only one thing. Sands was either in serious trouble, or dead.
"We've got trouble, White One," the man said grimly. "Heavy resistance at the hangar. Red One and Reds Three through Ten have split off from our main attack force and are attempting to get the opposition caught in a crossfire as we speak. We will be delayed, repeat, delayed for the rendezvous at the storage buildings. Advise."
Estrella bit her lip for a moment, then replied, "Clear out the hangar, Red Two. The plan calls for a pincer, and we can't afford to have anyone come up behind you. Take as much time as you need; rendezvous as soon as is humanly possible. Take the hangar, post your rearguard, and move out."
"Copy that. Red Two out."
"White One out."
Estrella switched to her squad's channel and murmured, "White Group, be advised; we're being delayed again. Red Group has run into opposition at the hangar. We wait."
Murmured acknowledgements followed her transmission, and Estrella settled back in, trying not to think about Sands. Trying to ignore the very real possibility of his getting killed.
*********
El Mariachi awoke in complete darkness, and wondered if he had gone blind. He felt sick- his whole abdomen ached, and he wondered vaguely if he was going to throw up. He could feel his heart pounding and racing. He raised a hand that shook noticeably to his face and rubbed his eyes. His skin felt as hot as the body of a black car left out in the sun under his trembling fingers. He swallowed painfully, his mouth dry as paper.
He tried to sit up, but the room spun underneath him, and he fell back with a groan.
Light stabbed his eyes, suddenly blinding him. He threw a trembling arm up in front of his face. Everything was blurry as he slowly lowered his arm to squint unsteadily at the woman standing next to the sweat-soaked cot on which he lay. "Where am I? Estrella?"
The woman laughed cruelly, making him flinch. "Oh, no, El Mariachi. I'm not Estrella. My dear cousin is otherwise occupied at the moment, so I thought I'd come down here and keep you company." She caught the frown on his face and continued, "Where's here? We are underground, as you may have gathered. Underneath the storage units. My advisors thought it best that I stay out of the way while they dealt with your friends, and," she laughed, "I am certain I am quite safe down here."
"Why-"El began, but he cut off sharply as a cell phone rang.
Marisa raised it to her ear and spat, "Yes? What! Well, retake it, then! We don't have the troops? Why the fuck not? I see. Attacking at the house as well? I understand. Fall back. Just lure them here and get rid of them!" She shut the phone off and favored El with a thin smile. "Your friends are trying to rescue you, isn't that sweet? I hope you won't take it personally if I have them all killed?"
********
Sands snapped off one last shot, and heard his target collapse in a heap. He sprang up from his cover behind a packing crate and jogged forward to check his victim. The man twitched and moaned as Sands approached, so the agent shot him again, this time in the head. The moaning cut off abruptly.
The man had been the last of the resistance at the hangar. Early on, the battle had been going badly for Red Group as the enemy used their superior numbers and defensive stance to keep them pinned down at the edge of the jungle. Then Sands had taken a small force and circled around behind the hangar, coordinating a crossfire with Red Two and his people.
One brisk firefight, and it was all over.
Sands nodded once in grim satisfaction, feeling the pleasant tingle of adrenaline flood his body as he addressed his force. "Reds Three through Ten, stay here as rearguard. Radio Guerro if you get into serious trouble- he'll send Green Group straight down the road and to hell with surveillance." He favored them with a smirk. "Though I doubt you'll have trouble. If they don't know we're here by now, how will they ever notice?" A few of the soldiers snorted. "For the rest of us, it's time to leave."
**********
Estrella leaned a little out of cover, sighted through the scope on her rifle, and took out one of the men sniping at White Group out of a second-story window of the house. Glass shattered as he tumbled out of the window to the ground below, but another man was soon there to take his place.
Estrella swore passionately. They needed to take the house, and soon. Already some of the Barillo fighters were falling back down the service road, running for the storage buildings. Unless she could follow and keep them engaged, they would be waiting for Sands as he reached the storage buildings from the opposite direction (from the airstrip and hangar). Red Group alone wouldn't be enough to deal with them; the strategy depended on White Group being there to back them up and complete the pincer.
She was forced to flatten herself to the ground as another blistering volley zipped lethally over her head, courtesy of the dozen or Barillo gunmen still in the house.
She took a deep breath and started bellowing orders. "White Two, take Three through Fifteen and give us cover fire! Sixteen through Thirty, on me!"
White Two shouted an acknowledgement and swiftly organized his assigned force, laying down a horizontal hail of cover fire. Estrella sprang to her feet and raced for the house, dodging and ducking. White Sixteen, running lightly beside her, yelled, "Commander, are we taking the house?"
"Not exactly," she said with a wicked grin, showing the man a hand grenade at her belt as she slowed to a jog. He smiled evilly in return and followed suit. They had come around the front of the house, and were no longer being shot at.
Estrella drew one of her handguns and shot out a window on the second story, pulled the pin on the grenade, and flung it into the house.
A moment of silence passed, then an echoing boom and the screams and cries of men inside the house, and the crackle of flames. Smoke began to pour out of the broken window, and she could hear the hail of gunfire from inside the house falter.
She left White Two and his people to complete the mopping up, and took her squad down the road towards the storage buildings.
********
"Well, that wasn't too bad," Sands observed, standing casually next to Estrella as she surveyed the bodies strewn all over the ground around the storage buildings. Ultimately they had been able to complete the pincer maneuver more or less as planned, and had caught the remaining Barillo cartel fighters between their two groups. After that, it was a slaughter.
Estrella's portion of White Group and Sands' Red Group (except for the hangar rearguard) were searching the storage units, but thus far had found nothing unexpected or unusual. Still, they proceeded with all deliberate caution in case of traps or other nasty surprises.
Estrella's radio beeped, and White Two's voice crackled over the airwaves. "White One, this is White Two."
"Go ahead, White Two."
Two's voice was slurred with exhaustion, and he coughed slightly before answering. "The house is secure, repeat, we have secured our objective. We've searched from attic to cellar and found no one alive."
Estrella went very pale. "Say again, White Two?"
"We found no one alive, White One."
"Was Marisa Barillo found dead?"
"Negative, White One," White Two sounded grim. "We found no sign of her, or of El Mariachi."
Estrella gritted her teeth. "I copy. Radio Guerro and give him the update, would you?"
"Will do. White Two out."
Sands cocked his head to one side. "Did I hear that right? They didn't find Marisa?"
"Si."
"Fascinating," Sands drawled. "Now, if I were a cowardly little rat like her..." He trailed off thoughtfully, his head cocked a little to one side, then continued. "I wouldn't be brave enough to run for it, and risk getting my precious ass shot up. Which implies... we just aren't looking hard enough."
********
Sands lay on the cold concrete floor of the largest of the storage sheds, listening. The fighters under his command stood outside in varying states of bemusement, watching him and muttering amongst themselves.
The agent smiled tightly to himself. He could hardly blame them for thinking he was crazy. After all, he was beginning to have doubts himself.
********
Marisa paced like a trapped animal as El watched. He was shivering convulsively, though the close air in the underground room was quite warm. He had managed to sit up at last, though the room still seemed determined to spin under him. Still, he watched Marisa closely, listening to the footsteps of many people overhead, searching the storage unit.
She toyed distractedly with her gun, flipping the safety on and off, snarling vicious-sounding things under her breath. She seemed to have decided to simply wait out the invaders, hiding, so to speak, under their very noses.
El shook his head fractionally. This would not do.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on the mariachi. The great El, hero of a hundred battles against bad guys of every description, now all but surrounded by his allies-and completely thwarted by one woman with a gun.
This simply would not do.
Marisa's pacing brought her past the end of the cot.
El lunged, tackling her into the opposite wall, though dizziness nearly made him black out and pain from his abdomen tore through his whole body. Marisa screamed, struggling, then struck him hard on the side of the head with the gun.
It went off with a roar, the bullet passing close enough to ruffle his hair.
******
Sands leapt to his feet as the distinctive crack of a gunshot reached him, echoing up through the floor.
"Damn, am I good," he muttered in great satisfaction, leaping to his feet. He reached out with his right hand until it came in contact with a tall stack of boxes. They were thick with dust, and coated his fingers. The floor next to them, however, was not.
"Bingo..."
He dealt the boxes a sharp kick, and they toppled over with a crash. He ran a hand over the newly uncovered floor until his hand encountered a ring set in the concrete. "Amateurs," he muttered, grabbing it with both hands and yanking, wrenching his lower back.
A section of the floor lifted away, and Sands set it down next to the newly uncovered hole as quietly as he could. He paused for a moment to listen, but there was no response from anyone down below.
The agent allowed himself another smile, and dropped through the opening, though he misjudged the drop slightly and landed with a loud thud.
He held perfectly still for a fraction of a second-long enough to pick out the sound of someone breathing not far away from him; several someones, as it happened. Fabric rustled, and he *sensed* a gun being brought to bear on him.
Without bothering to aim, he opened fire.
********
El watched Sands drop down from the trapdoor in the ceiling, and sincerely believed that he was going to die. There was no way in hell the agent could get Marisa without blowing him away as well.
Marisa, still on the floor beside him, brought her gun to bear on the blind agent, her eyes holding the blank fire of murder.
The mariachi watched, detached and cool, as Sands drew his own guns with blinding speed and opened fire.
El closed his eyes.
*********
Sands shot until both his guns ran out of bullets, then slowly lowered the weapons to his sides and re-holstered them. He flexed his fingers meditatively, making his black leather gloves creak in protest, then said conversationally, "You can get up now, El."
He listened, and picked out the mariachi's ragged breathing, but no sound of the man getting up. Vaguely annoyed, he asked, "Whassa matter, did I scare ya? Poor baby."
The mariachi's voice came back to him, harsh and rough. He sounded very much the worse for wear. "I don't think I can get up."
"Well, you aren't shot, or at least, not by me." Sands walked over and crouched down next to the mariachi, though not before giving what was left of Marisa's body a good, solid kick. He grabbed El's upper arm, feeling the mariachi's continued involuntary trembling, and used his teeth to yank the glove off his free hand. He laid the back of his hand against El's forehead for a moment, then withdrew. He was laughing.
"What is so funny?" El demanded irritably.
Still chuckling, Sands hauled the mariachi to his feet, saying cheerily, "Tell me, my friend; what do you know about cocaine?"