A/N: So, next chapter. Spurred on by many things, including people reviewing… (Twilight Zone music) How bizarre…

SHAMELESS PLUG REVIEW my FIC jack JILL and THE curse OF the ELEMENTS. DOOO IT SHAMELESS PLUG

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Sands came to with a head full of fog. He was lying on something soft

"Buenos Dias sweetheart,"

"What the fuck-?"

"I had to knock you out sweetheart, so you didn't know where we were going,"

"Err, in case you hadn't noticed, fuck-mook, I'm blind!"

"Yes I had noticed. But I find blind people have a good sense of direction. So it was a precaution, sweetheart,"

Sands growled

"Don't call me that!"

"What ever darling,"

Sands groaned. He had never felt so thick. He shook his head. The fog didn't leave. So let's start small

"Where am I?"

"On a bed sweetheart. I'd have thought you'd have figured that by now."

"OK. Where is the bed?"

"In the last known place of your man,"

"Who?"

"Your guy who knew where to find El Mariachi,"

"Oh, him. Why?"

"Because he had an incredibly tidy mind. He made notes of all his appointments,"

"How do you know?"

"He was my cousin."

"Oh."

"Yeah, shit happens in this place," she laughed. Sands would have looked for his gun, or at the clock, but couldn't. For obvious reasons. Then something clicked. He struggled upwards.

" I'm lying on a dead man's bed?"

"No," gentle but irresistible hands forced him back. " You're lying on the bed in the room next to the dead man's bed,"

Sands relaxed. The fog still hadn't totally disappeared, so he was quite happy to lie back for a bit

"Good man. Now, I'm going for a bit. No monkey business, sweetheart. Or I'll kill you, deal or no,"

Sands stuck his finger up. At least you didn't have to be able to see that to know it was happening. He heard the door lock behind her.

The air conditioning swished and he sat up, and rubbed his temples. Those pills certainly did good work. Now. Let's find out about this mysterious woman. He knew she had a guitar case. He fumbled across the room until he walked into a table, cracking his shin. Cursing softly, he turned round and groped in front of him.

OK, there's a wall. And that… that's a picture. Right. OK. This is a corner. Oh for fuck's sake, he hated this. He dropped onto his knees and crawled. Debasing, but it worked. He reached out and touched a rug. Then rough leather.

Ah, right, what's this?. He felt all the contours. A guitar case. He ran his hands along the top. His had two long stickers on it to mark it out from anyone else's. This was plain. He turned it over to check. Plain on both sides.

OK, we're getting somewhere. Now. He opened the case carefully, from the side. Some cases had interesting burglar systems. Nothing happened.

Now… what do we have. Using light fingers he ran his hands along the top of the guitar. It was a guitar. Oh. Well, what had he expected? Not just a guitar anyway. He plucked a string idly, and something clicked. There was a movement of air. He got out the way just in time as he heard the blade swish. Then he reached out again and cut his finger

"Fuck! Damn, that is sharp!" sucking the cut, he carefully moved the blade till it clicked back into place. Then he started to feel along the lining. However, he didn't get very far because a gun was pressed to his forehead. He put his hands up.

"Really, sweetheart, did you have to?"

"Don't call me that. I was," think fast, Sands "looking for my case,"

"Really," with the gun still to his head, he was guided back to the bed.

"Yes. How do you get a functioning guitar in there?"

"With planning. Hungry sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that. Why?"

"Because I've found out about El Mariachi. And I figured you might want to know more about me."

Good point. Sands didn't even know her name. He liked to know peoples names. He knew who to send the funeral flowers to that way.

"All right, where are we going?"

"A bar. And don't worry; I won't knock you out this time. We can walk. Nice and economical," he heard her moving and listened. There was the metallic sound of a gun being loaded, and a guitar case shut.

"Are you taking it with you?"

"No, not today sweetheart. You are."

"Why?"

"Because a male mariachi is more credible, sweetheart,"

"Oh. Really, don't call me that,"

She sighed and pushed the guitar case into his hands. It was heavy.

"Don't drop it," she warned. "Some of the explosives in there are a bit… outside the law. And tend to be… cranky,"

"Cranky?"

"Yep. So please don't drop it. Just because you keep losing body parts don't mean I have to, sweetheart,"

"Fuck you." Sands let her take his arm. He was led into the street, and to her murmured instructions, managed not to get squashed flat by the articulated lorries.

The bar, when they reached it, was quiet. Sands could hear cooking, the chatter of the cook, low key talking, that paused when they came in. she led him to a table. A moment later, she said

"What'll it be, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that. I'll have a tequila and lime."

She ordered a beer in the bottle, because 'the stuff on tap is piss'. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then she said.

"Go on then, ask away sweetheart. I will answer anything, providing I want to answer it."

"What's your name?"

"I once got called Lola,"

"Lola?"

"Yep. Next question?"

"If you have weapons in your guitar case, how do you play guitar?"
"Easy sweetheart. I play a custom job. It's like a wooden electric guitar."

"Don't call me that. Why do you need El Mariachi for this? There's loads of back up around here. And you've got those armed men,"

"What armed men sweetheart?"

"The armed men in the bar,"

"Oh those. No such beast sweetheart. It was the only way I could save myself without killing you,"

"What? You bitch!"

"Thank you sweetheart. Next question?"

"What are you planning to do with El Mariachi? There must be lots of muscle for hire."

"He has skills others don't,"

"What skills?"

"Skills you don't have sweetheart,"

"Like what?"

"Well, he can see. I'd have thought you could have see- figured that out sweetheart,"

"OK, I don't have to stand for this. I'm off," Sands made to leave

"No you aren't sweetheart,"

"Why not?"

"Because you're handcuffed to me,"

"What?" Sands reached down to his wrist. And found he was indeed hand cuffed to her.

He sat down.

"I need you sweetheart. I don't like it. You might not like it. But we are joined at," she laughed "The wrist,"

"You know, I've just decided I hate you,"

"I've just decided I don't care," she sighed. "Anyway, you're rid of me for a while. I have to find some friends. And then we can get started,"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Uh, I'll think of something. Are you still active with the CIA?"

"What do you think?"

"Well, I think no sweetheart. And I'm not any more."

"What happened?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Ah, I think I'll pass on that,"

"Good boy," a movement of air and she was helping him up right. He managed to drain his tequila.

"What now?" he knew he was being lead outside. "Where are we going?"

"You're going out," she told him. Then a sharp pain and more nothing.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he came to with a groan. "What the fuck was that for?"

"It wasn't me sweetheart," Lola told him. "It was the first member of the team."

"Who?"

"Me," this came from someone with a gravel spit voice. A hand took his. "I am sorry. I did not know who you were."

"Yeah well, you could have asked me who I was instead of fuckin' smashing my lights out!" The man's hand was huge and the palms suggested he was used to holding weapons. Sands knew this because he had calluses in exactly the same places on his own palms.

"Yes, but I know who you are now. Agent Sands is it?" What was that accent? Sounded Indian "I am Raj,"

"Raj who,"

"Always just Raj, sir,"

"Right."

"I'm to look after you for a few days. Just until Lola comes back."

"What? Lola I don't need looking after! I'm blind not retarded!"

"You have yet to prove that sweetheart,"

"Don't fucking call me that!"

"Darling, I'll be about a week, maybe less. If I'm not back in ten days, take the mission as failed and give Mr Sands his money. Let him go. He can go where he wants. Remember my instructions,"

"Yes ma'am," Raj replied. Well, at least I'm not the only one with a stupid nickname, Sands thought wryly. A car horn sounded.

"That's my ride," there was the sound of a gun being cocked and a guitar case being picked up. "Be good sweetheart,"

Sands grunted. Was there any point in telling her not to call him that? She seemed to do selective deafness. Which was annoying.

"See ya darling," and she was gone.

A/N: Well, she seems nice. I guess… next chappie soon!