Disclaimer: I don't own Sands or anything that was in "Once Upon A Time in Mexico". Now in my circle of friends, I still don't own him, but that doesn't mean I can't borrow him for some fun..
The plane left the airport rather quickly. That pleased him. The sooner he could get out of that godforsaken place the better. Sheldon Jeffery Sands didn't like to sit still for very long. He wasn't allowed to keep his gun. Airport security had been so tight lately, so he had to check all of them. *Besides,* he thought, *the less questions asked the better.* He hadn't had the best week of his life. That damned cartel had taken his eyes, the bastards. Now he couldn't see who he was shooting....or who he was fucking.
To the outsider it looked like Sands was asleep. But no, the man was contemplating what would become of him once he got to New York. He'd have to explain his mistake in trusting the girl. *How the hell could I know that she was Barillo's daughter?!* he thought angrily. *I mean she's the one who came on to me, the little minx...* At least she was dead now. The rest of his trip was like that; him talking to himself and answering himself. He stopped only to ask the stewardess for a tequila and lime, and to meet him in the lavatory when she'd finished her rounds.....She'd complied with both.
*****
Several hours later the plane landed at LaGuardia Airport. As Sands got off he ignored the offers to help with his luggage and exited the plane. As he made his way to the baggage claim (with difficulty considering his eyes were gone) he heard a noise.
"What the fuck?!" Sands jerked his head in the direction of the voice. It was familiar, but distant to him. He picked up his bags and heard the voice again. "Sands? Sands, is that you?" This time he turned around, finally recognizing the voice. With his voice full of sarcasm he addressed the person in front of him.
"So you're my welcoming party," he said icily. "I'd have thought you'd have better things to do with that pretty little head of yours Miss Doyle." The young woman smiled. She picked up one of Sands's suitcases. "Glad to see me?" she asked. She noticed the man's look darken at what she'd said. Then it hit her.
"Oh my God," she said. "It's true then? They really...you know?" He nodded. She let out a long breath. "Shit," she said. "Well come on then, or else I'm gonna have to kill the meter maid if she tickets me." Sands smiled in recollection at who he was dealing with. He knew where he was headed, he'd been to this airport a dozen times. From her footsteps ahead he could almost see her in his mind's eye: she wasn't tall, no, not too skinny either....not like some anorexic supermodel.....she had that really hard to tan Irish skin to go with her name...those really really purply-blue eyes....and her hair. Last time he'd seen her her hair had been long and choppy, with blue, red, and purple highlights mixed with the dark, dark red. It was so dark that it was almost black.
"Well, here we are," she said. "Oh, and Sands? I'm doing the driving, so keep away from the driver's side." He grinned back at her. "Sure thing Ciara....By the way, sugarbutt, what are you doing here?" Ciara walked toward the exit. "I got a call this morning from the men upstairs saying they needed someone to pick up an injured agent. They told me it was some dumb fuck who'd pissed off some Mexican drug lords." Catching his less than amused expression she continued, "But I didn't think it was you." She continued on walking fast but struggling with Sands's luggage.
"Can we get out of here? It's fucking cold," she said. Sands nodded and they exited the airport and walked into the garage. The girl was right, it was fucking cold. He tried to walk to the car, but ended up walking into her. Ciara was wearing a black leather jacket that came down to her hips, which in turn were covered with a pair of black corduroy cargos and combat boots, topped off with a black scoop-necked shirt with crocheted bell sleeves. Of course when Sands bumped into her, he saw none of this, but he sure felt a lot.
"Hey, watch it!" Ciara said. "Remember what I told you Sands: unlike the girls you're used to, I don't mix work with pleasure." She turned to go to the driver's side when Sands stopped her. He moved close to her ear.
"And you remember what I told you," he said, his lips brushing against her several hooped earrings, "I don't take no for an answer." She shivered, but he wasn't sure if it was because it was at least twenty below outside. She got in the driver's seat and as soon as Sands was in the car, she sped away.
The plane left the airport rather quickly. That pleased him. The sooner he could get out of that godforsaken place the better. Sheldon Jeffery Sands didn't like to sit still for very long. He wasn't allowed to keep his gun. Airport security had been so tight lately, so he had to check all of them. *Besides,* he thought, *the less questions asked the better.* He hadn't had the best week of his life. That damned cartel had taken his eyes, the bastards. Now he couldn't see who he was shooting....or who he was fucking.
To the outsider it looked like Sands was asleep. But no, the man was contemplating what would become of him once he got to New York. He'd have to explain his mistake in trusting the girl. *How the hell could I know that she was Barillo's daughter?!* he thought angrily. *I mean she's the one who came on to me, the little minx...* At least she was dead now. The rest of his trip was like that; him talking to himself and answering himself. He stopped only to ask the stewardess for a tequila and lime, and to meet him in the lavatory when she'd finished her rounds.....She'd complied with both.
*****
Several hours later the plane landed at LaGuardia Airport. As Sands got off he ignored the offers to help with his luggage and exited the plane. As he made his way to the baggage claim (with difficulty considering his eyes were gone) he heard a noise.
"What the fuck?!" Sands jerked his head in the direction of the voice. It was familiar, but distant to him. He picked up his bags and heard the voice again. "Sands? Sands, is that you?" This time he turned around, finally recognizing the voice. With his voice full of sarcasm he addressed the person in front of him.
"So you're my welcoming party," he said icily. "I'd have thought you'd have better things to do with that pretty little head of yours Miss Doyle." The young woman smiled. She picked up one of Sands's suitcases. "Glad to see me?" she asked. She noticed the man's look darken at what she'd said. Then it hit her.
"Oh my God," she said. "It's true then? They really...you know?" He nodded. She let out a long breath. "Shit," she said. "Well come on then, or else I'm gonna have to kill the meter maid if she tickets me." Sands smiled in recollection at who he was dealing with. He knew where he was headed, he'd been to this airport a dozen times. From her footsteps ahead he could almost see her in his mind's eye: she wasn't tall, no, not too skinny either....not like some anorexic supermodel.....she had that really hard to tan Irish skin to go with her name...those really really purply-blue eyes....and her hair. Last time he'd seen her her hair had been long and choppy, with blue, red, and purple highlights mixed with the dark, dark red. It was so dark that it was almost black.
"Well, here we are," she said. "Oh, and Sands? I'm doing the driving, so keep away from the driver's side." He grinned back at her. "Sure thing Ciara....By the way, sugarbutt, what are you doing here?" Ciara walked toward the exit. "I got a call this morning from the men upstairs saying they needed someone to pick up an injured agent. They told me it was some dumb fuck who'd pissed off some Mexican drug lords." Catching his less than amused expression she continued, "But I didn't think it was you." She continued on walking fast but struggling with Sands's luggage.
"Can we get out of here? It's fucking cold," she said. Sands nodded and they exited the airport and walked into the garage. The girl was right, it was fucking cold. He tried to walk to the car, but ended up walking into her. Ciara was wearing a black leather jacket that came down to her hips, which in turn were covered with a pair of black corduroy cargos and combat boots, topped off with a black scoop-necked shirt with crocheted bell sleeves. Of course when Sands bumped into her, he saw none of this, but he sure felt a lot.
"Hey, watch it!" Ciara said. "Remember what I told you Sands: unlike the girls you're used to, I don't mix work with pleasure." She turned to go to the driver's side when Sands stopped her. He moved close to her ear.
"And you remember what I told you," he said, his lips brushing against her several hooped earrings, "I don't take no for an answer." She shivered, but he wasn't sure if it was because it was at least twenty below outside. She got in the driver's seat and as soon as Sands was in the car, she sped away.