A/N: Still no Sands in the story, and now I am leaving town until June 3. Sorry.

Sibling Rivalry

The sisters Isabel and Sara were both at home, alone. Señora Perez had gone to the market in the next town. The girls' father and brother worked nine months out of the year in Mexico City.

Isabel ushered him into the small house with ill grace. El tried not to ogle. He remembered her as a rather unremarkable child only a couple of years ago, but she had ballooned into almost an exaggeration of a woman's form. What could once have been baby fat now padded all the most appropriate places, making her look like an overgrown squeeze toy. She wore dark lipstick, almost black, and dramatic shadowing around her eyes. Her clothing was snug and low-cut, both top and bottom. Her sister ghosted in the background, thin and boyish, wearing a modest school uniform.

The house smelled of cooking food, and El's stomach rumbled. The thought of a home-cooked meal not cooked by himself or Soto was very appealing. He wondered if he could get himself invited for dinner.

"I'm here about Señor Sands. Do you know where he went?"

Isabel showed no surprise at the question. "You mean Agent Sands?" she asked.

"Sí," he answered cautiously.

Isabel gave her sister a triumphant grin. "I told you," she said. Sara's sour countenance did not change.

El frowned. "Do you know where he went?"

Isabel put up her chin, which also thrust out her impressive bosoms. "Why would we know?" she said.

"He is a blind man; he would need help. He would need money and transportation. I'm guessing you helped him. Father Soto tells me you were very friendly with him."

Isabel affected a grandly affronted look. "What are you implying, Señor?" she demanded. Behind her, El saw Sara roll her eyes.

"I'm not implying anything. Father Soto told me exactly what happened." So much for getting invited to dinner.

Isabel's look of shock was more genuine. "That was under the seal of the confessional!" she cried.

"I told you," said Sara, with an evil grin.

El didn't know what was between these two, and he didn't care. "Niña, he walked in on you. That part wasn't under any seal." He strode farther into the house, in order to enter Isabel's personal space. "You're lucky he didn't tell everyone. I may still, if you don't tell
me everything you know about Sands and where he went. I will certainly tell your father." Now he could see the small table set for dinner for two, with a string marketing bag occupying a third place.

"My father isn't here," Isabel said, uncertainly, backing up a step. Sara only watched.

"Mexico City may seem a long way away to you, but I can find your father."

Regaining her courage, Isabel said, "I didn't know you were a bully, El Mariachi."

"You learn something new every day. Where is he?"

"We don't know," Isabel said. El moved past her, looking around the house. He doubted that Señora Perez would hide a man in her home, but you never knew.

"Sara?" he asked. Perhaps sibling rivalry might help him, or perhaps the younger sister cared more about her reputation than the elder did.

Her reply surprised him. "Isabel thinks he's going to make her a movie star," she said.

"What?"

"He didn't say that," Isabel said. "He said I was beautiful enough to be a movie star."

"He's blind!" El said, a sense of unreality gripping him. It was hard to get information from someone when he couldn't use his guns. And even harder when they were irrational.

"I told you," Sara said to her sister.

"I know that," said Isabel. "He said he'd heard I was beautiful enough to be a movie star." When El just looked at her, dumbfounded for the second time that day, she continued, "Well, he is an agent, right? You even said so."

Dios. El almost laughed. He couldn't shoot them or beat them, they didn't care about his threats, and … they were idiots! Girls! As his stunned brain searched for something to say, he noticed more closely the string bag on the dinner table. It held cooked flautas wrapped in thin paper, and two bottles of beer. He walked to it.

"Sara, who is coming to dinner?" he asked.

Isabel paled beneath her copious makeup. "That's … that's nothing," she said.

"Sara?" El asked, pleasantly. "You're delivering dinner to someone. Where is he?"

"He's still in the old convent," Sara said, walking slowly to the table.

"Sara!" her sister cried.

"Why should we keep it a secret from his friend?"

"You little bitch!"

El considered this information as the sisters yelled at each other. Why would Sands stay? Was he still too weak? Probably not if he was strolling around and screwing young girls. Still too depressed? Possibly.

"The Padre doesn't know?" he asked, musing.

"No," Sara said as Isabel looked daggers her. "He moved his things to a different area in the fort."

Things? Sands had almost nothing. Took his bedding, maybe. "Did he tell you why he stayed? Did he ask for anything?"

Silent, the girls looked at each other.

"What?" El asked.

Sara pointed to Isabel. "She gave him Esteban's gun."

"You gave him a gun!"

"He needed it," Isabel said. "Everyone else in town has one. Or three. Why not?"

"Because he's suicidal, that's why not!" El spun on a spurred heel and bolted out the door.

"I told you," he heard Sara say.