Chapter 3
"What will happen if the CIA comes after you?" El asked after a quick shooting. He and Sands were having lunch.
"They won't. I haven't done anything in the U.S. or to offend the agency so they can't do anything unless Mexico asks them to." The ex-agent replied, "Why?"
"Just wanted to know. I wasn't sure if you would want to me to shoot at one of their men in case they did come after you."
"They make for me, you shoot. It's quite a simple arrangement, El. Do you need me to break it down any further?" Sands asked in his usual snotty demeanor.
In reality, the CIA was going to come after Sands. He knew it and, now, so did El. They always came after Agents-Gone-Bad. As soon as they found out that former-Agent Sheldon Jeffery Sands had become Captain of the Bad-Guy squad they'd send some people down to try and take him home.
"Why don't you trust me yet?" the Mariachi asked.
"Now, who would say that? I trust you—unless you know otherwise…"
"Well, I know that your right arm is made of the plastic and that you are pointing a gun at me from under the table."
"What gave me away, ol' pal of mine?"
"Nothing. I happened to notice that you play guitar with your right hand and that you eat with your left. I simply assumed that you do not trust me."
"wow…"
Both men got up. Sands walked into the kitchen,—cane less, of course—El heard the expected "Bang! Bang!" and they both strolled out of the restaurant.
"Where did the gun go?"
"It's in my front pocket, mommy. Why don't you reach down and give it a few tugs?" ah…quintessential Sands.
As funny it sounded, El was quite tempted to do exactly that; give it a few tugs. To tell the truth, El had wanted to do similar things since he'd first met (ex)Agent Sands. Now, when he watched him and he knew he couldn't be watched back, it made Sands all the more… more—
"We're here."
"What?"
"I counted the steps. We're here." Sands repeated.
"Oh…sorry." El unlocked the door to the small building.
Sorry? Very rarely did El apologize, and not remembering about the door wasn't one of those things that filled him with regret. Actually, Sands was realizing more and more how uncomfortable he made El; the periodic silences were just one factor on the list you learn as a CIA agent.
That night El woke up to Sands' playing. It was a sweet, slow melody. As El followed the sound it began to speed up. Then, at the moment he stepped onto the balcony, at the moment of the song's climax, it stopped…
"You naked again?"
no answer
"I know you're there, El."
Again, no answer.
"I'm not going to play until you say something." Sands insisted.
"Yes."
"Yes- what?" he asked.
"Yes, I am naked." El couldn't figure out why he was so shy around Sands.
Then the slow melody came back and Sands sang:
"…estoy aquí,
Una ve más,
Sabes,
Que te quiero hacer feliz,
Te quiero hacer feliz…"
" 'Te quiero hacer feliz'?" Questioned El.
"I want to make you happy." Sands translated.
"I know what it means… I wasn't sure you knew what it meant. Where did you learn that song?"
"Fucking your nice, whore friend; Lorenzo."
"Oh, is that true?"
"No, I learned it while fucking yo' mama."
"Necrophiliac."
"Oh, don't be that way! It was quite pleasant."
This time the silence was expected.
Sands broke it, "So, why don't you trust me?"
"Because you slept with my dead mother."
A/N: R&R!!!