11. / Hostile Business

"Take my cell phone number," says Sands, "and keep me posted." He rattles off the number, and Lisiado quickly enters it into his phone, as does Esteban. "You think you can handle this bastard?"

Lisiado tries to relax; the tension in his chest is beginning again. "If he wants to play ball in Culiacan, he's got to take your deal...so he'd better listen."

"That's right," says the American, looking satisfied by his answer. "Make him an offer he can't refuse."

"What are we going to do with Philomena and the children?" asks Esteban. "They'll be here soon enough."

"A hotel room for Philomena and Marisol," replies Lisiado, taking a deep breath. "Ché is going to be secured elsewhere. It's a case of not putting all our eggs in one basket," he says in answer to Esteban's puzzled look.

"See if Manolo's around anywhere," Sands tells Manito. "He'll be good for this." As the mariachi exits, Sands surveys the remanants of the Gomez operation in Culiacan. "You're going to need to do some serious recruiting," he tells them. "Lucky for you, I've been keeping tabs on the local talent. I can offer some suggestions."

"I'm sure you can," mutters Lisiado, resenting the American's interference. It's bad enough that he's right. Sands just grins.

"You need me, Señor?" interrupts the boy whom Lisiado saw with the men earlier.

"Yeah, we're gonna be entertaining Señor Lisiado's boy for a while. He's about your age. Think you're up to keeping him out of trouble?" The boy has a street-wise look; Lisiado's not sure if that's good or bad. He's probably no older than Ché, but how much of that time has been spent with the likes of Sands? Frightening to think of what his son may wind up learning, but as his father begins to realize, the promise of an education has disappeared since yesterday.

Sands fishes a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and offers them around as he takes one out. "Can't," says Lisiado shortly. "Lungs. Excuse me."

He exits El Tarantula Azul and paces like a caged cat. Through the glass in the door, he watches Sands talking to Esteban, who listens as raptly as a rabbit hypnotized by a snake. Christ, he wants a cigar right now - just a couple puffs! Failing that, he's ready to snatch the cigarette Sands is flourishing and suck it down to the filter in one drag. Fool, he scolds himself. Occasionally, he and Nestor divided a Montecristo over backgammon and drinks, but that was rare - once a month, if that.

Nestor...dead. He was a good man to work with, an amiable father-in-law. A true friendship blossomed from the ashes of their rivalry. Grief rakes Lisiado. Dolores and Ché will also miss the old man. God, what will they all do now?

Manito strolls out of the cantina and leans against the side of the building, watching him.

"What, now you're my baby-sitter?"

"I see your temper hasn't improved," comments Manito.

The last few hours have been trying. A man he loved and respected is dead. A brother he's long believed slain is alive - and despises him. "Excuse me if I'm not at my best, but I just found out I've lost a good friend. I'm worried for the lives of my wife and child. And I think I've made a deal with the devil, but what else could I do?"

"You said yourself you didn't think Gomez would come out of prison alive."

"And I never thought I'd have another chance to talk to my little brother, but here you are," he retorts, bitterness filling him. Lisiado stops, his chest constricted by emotion. Right now, I would trade three of you, Manito, to have Nestor back, he thinks, fighting pain real and remembered.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone shot my goddamn lungs full of holes," he rasps. "They don't always work right."

"What do you need? Is there medicine?"

"What do I need?" Lisiado mocks painfully. He fights an urge to provoke the other man - and loses. "Well, now that you ask, there's the matter of confronting Ernesto. Will you help me? I could use someone at my back."

Manito lifts an eyebrow. "Let me see if I understand this, Cesar. You want me to act as your bodyguard so you can go assume power in a cartel I've been trying to suppress. Is that what you're asking?"

"That sounded like a 'no'," his brother says with a grimace. "Forget it."

"That was a 'no'," Manito confirms. "It's one thing to keep your son safe. It's another thing to help you take over a cartel. Don't ask that of me. I wish you luck getting your woman out of there."

"It's not a question of luck. Ernesto doesn't think I know Nestor is dead. He won't be expecting me. I can offer him a deal for Culiacan. The Gomezes lost a lot of money here even before this business with Eduardo. Their distribution hub was burned to the ground. They took a huge hit in inventory. Was that you, too?"

"Last December?" His brother shakes his head. "I was here during the coup, but not for that - that was Sands and some other talent."

"The American woman, Catherine Martin?"

"I've told you," There's a hard edge to his brother's voice. "She's of no concern to the Gomezes."

Is that defensiveness he hears? "Just curious," Lisiado says mildly. His shortness of breath eases as the conversation grows more neutral. He can't relax completely, though - there are still Eduardo's dozen strays to worry about. Please, God, let Philomena make it here safely with the children... "How much of an organization does Sands have? Aside from the CIA, of course."

"If there's anything you want to know, why don't you ask Sands? He gave you his cell phone number."

"I notice you didn't."

"I don't have a cell phone," his brother says coolly. "I can't think of anyone I want to talk to that badly."