Authors Note: I'm terribly sorry for leaving everyone hanging... thanks to all my wonderful reviewers.
Thanks to Scarlett, my partner in crime, for beta-ing and putting up with all my rambling, ideas and what not. ;)
El had losened his grip. The American's body began to shake after a moment and El looked on in astonishment,letting go of Sands completely. Sandscurled up into a ball on his side, arms wrapped around his middle and his knees drawn up.
And El discovered the source of the trembling. Silent sobs shook Sands' body. El sat back, his back against the bed, and could do nothing but watch Sands. In a twisted sense of pity, he knew exactly what Sands was going through. So he let Sands sob and cry until he couldn't do it any moreanymore.
"Fucking hurts.." ." Sands whimpered, hands over his eyes. El cringed slightly. "Don't you have anything for pain?!" Sands hissed.
El got up, going over to a bag. He'd managed to get clear enough, that when they hit the little town, he found a place that had some over the counter medication and bought some first aid supplies. He took a bottle of painkillers and tossed them to the floor in front of Sands.
Sands snatched the bottle up and managed to get the top off it with out towithout too much of a problem. He downed two of the pills, letting the bottle drop before rolling over onto his back, breathing hard. "I'm going back there, Mariachi, and I'm wasting them all," Sands vowed.
"Would it not be more wise to go after your daughter first?" El asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together.
Sands frowned sourly. "How bout you go save her, and I'll go waste all the fuckers."
"Sands." El prodded him with the toe of his boot and Sands feebly smacked the hand away. "Fine, fine. I see the flawed logic in that," he muttered.
El hesitated, then said very softly, "I'm am sorry about Cerise." He immediately regretted letting the words leave his mouth. Sands shot up, a hand on El's throat, the other drawing a pistol that he shoved under El's chin.
"Don't you fucking say it," Sands hissed dangerously. "Whatever you felt when you lost Carolina, it's nothing near what I'm going through right now!" He shoved El away disgustedly. "This is the second time I've lost her. The second time it's been my fault!" Sands began pacing.
Oh yeah, it's your fault, you worthless bastard.
FUCK OFF!
You see, the logic of that plan is simply, it can't happen, because Shelly, I'm that little voice you listen to every time your instinct tells you to pull the trigger.
Then some fucking help YOU are.
Pull the trigger, Sheldon.
WHAT?!
Pull the trigger. End it. You know you wanna. Pull the trigger.
Shoot him?!
No you idiot! SHOOT YOURSELF!
Do it! Pull the trigger!
Go fuck yourself!
He struggled with his mind, trying to get the upper hand of the nasty little voice, but it seemed to be winning.
I'm not pulling the fucking trigger! I wont fucking commit suicide! I wont fucking die like that!
What else are you going to do? You're useless, fucking useless!
One of these fucking days you're going to go to far!
Oh, I'll look forward to that day...
For your fucking information, El fuckmook is right. My daughter is still out there. I may have failed in saving Cherry, but I am NOT going to lose my daughter! SO GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY MIND AND SHUT UP!
The little nasty voice clucked, uttered an 'as you wish' and shut up, receding back into the depths of his mind to wait for it's next chance.
"Fuck it." Sands sighed violently after a moment of silence. "We'll do it YOUR way this time, El."
El let go of the breath he was holding silently. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with Sands spiraled downward.
Cerise came to with a sharp breath. The last thing she remembered was being struck on the back of the head as the room erupted into a panic. She blinked against the bright sunlight that was streaming through the window.
"Easy, Cee."
She heard Sammy's voice and turned her head. Sammy was getting out of a chair by the table, walking towards the bed.
"Alright?" he asked.
Cerise dropped back onto the bed, an arm over her eyes. "I've been better. Where the bleedin' hell are we?"
"A long, long way from that estate. He escaped before Sarah and I could catch him," Sammy said.
Cerise moved her arm and looked at Sammy. "Who?"
"Jeff," Sammy said as if he didn't know who Cerise was talking about.
"What about Sheldon?!" Cerise was sitting up now.
"We couldn't stop him, he and that other man got away..."
"You mean El?"
"I guess that's what his name was."
Realization hit Cerise. "Oh god, Sammy, you're here to arrest Sheldon..." She drew her knees up to her chest.
"Not at first, but when I saw him leaning over you..."
"Oh, don't you dare... NO! That was NOT Sheldon!" Cerise jumped off the bed.
Sammy took a step back, looking at Cerise. "Cee, I saw him with my own two eyes, he was going to shoot you."
"Right Sammy, think about it! Sands got his eyes torn out, kidnapped his own daughter and brought me to Mexico to shoot me..." she hissed.
"I'll admit, it's perplexing, but that's what we saw."
Cerise shook her head. "It wasn't Sands!" She was heading towards the door.
"Where are you going?" Sammy moved to stop her. Cerise had had enough and pulled Sammy's Beretta from his holster. Sammy stopped dead as she held it lightly, but threateningly.
"Sorry to do this Sammy, but I'm not sticking around. I know the truth and I've got to stop him from getting a hold of Sands." She turned, aiming the gun directly between Sammy's eyes. "Don't try and stop me, Sammy. I'm getting crazier by the minute. There's no telling what I might do." She tossed him a saucy grin and winked, unlocking the door.
Opening it, she nearly ran right into Sarah. "Oh, 'ello darling. Take care of Sammy will you? He's in shock and seems to be suffering from a heatstroke. Can't remember what Sheldon looks like." She shoved Sarah into the room and pushed both towards the bathroom at gunpoint. Sarah was too surprised to speak.
"Sorry to do this, you guys, really." Cerise slammed the door shut and propped a chair under the handle. "But you'll understand later on," she muttered. Then she disconnected the phone, rounded up both Sarah and Sammy's holsters, the keys to the rental car, and was about to make a break for it, when she saw the folder on the table. She snatched it up and ran.
As she pulled the car onto the road, she flipped through the file. Some how, she was not surprised by the contents. She'd make it a point to ask Sammy later where they'd been found. She scanned the pages while she drove.
Slamming on the breaks at an intersection, she picked up the pages from Sands' file, all about the Paris operation. It all clicked with her now, why that son of a bitch was doing this. "He fucking came back for you, you bloody psycho," she hissed, flinging the pages back into the passenger seat and flooring the gas. She had to get to Sands and El before they were found, but the question was, where were they?!
"So what's the plan ol' El?" Sands asked as they walked down the street in the middle of the day, sunlight filtering through the cracks of the eaves and overhangs, touching their skin here and there with warmth.
"There are some men who arrived not soon after us... heavily armed and following."
"Oo, goodie." Sands gave him a sarcastic grin. "But you still didn't tell me what the plan was."
El sighed. "The plan is to get away from them..." He pulled Sands roughly through an open door.
Sands was hit with a wave of sweet incense, and there was a complete silence that he wasn't expecting. "A church?!"
"We'll wait them out," El replied, looking around.
"And if that doesn't work? Remember the LAST time we were in a church? lWell, YOU were in it... I got the hell out."
El turned and looked at Sands, mouth slightly open. "THAT was you!?"
Sands grinned, and put on the accent. "Bless you my son." El shoved him violently towards the front of the church. "Well, you survived, didn't you?!" Sands countered, stumbling, but quickly regaining his balance.
El dragged him down the isle and behind a pew, forcing Sands down on his knees. "Now what?!" Sands hissed.
"Just stay quiet!" El commanded.
Sands flipped him off, but found himself kneeling beside El. It was a strange contradiction. Sands had given up on God a long time ago. He had no need for Him. God had turned his back on Sands, in some of his most desperate moments, but here he was, kneeling at a pew, his hands in front of him.
His next movement was almost, involuntary. He reached up around his neck and undid the clasp of the silver chain, pulling it out from under his shirt. El watched, raising an eyebrow. Then he saw the small silver cross and his eyes widened. Never would he have thought that this man would wear one.
Sands knelt there, the cross between his hands. In the silence, it was a chance to reflect on everything. From the first moment, he'd unknowingly dragged Cerise and Lily into the consequences of a scheme that had backfired. It should have never been about the money. He should have done his job, and nothing else. He shouldn't have ended up confiding in Adjerez. That had been his fatal mistake.
"In all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine," Sands muttered, shaking his head ruefully.
"What?" El questioned from beside him.
"Nothing, El," Sands replied, before he brought the cross up to his lips, and kissed it. He whispered something that El couldn't hear, and then put the cross back on, tucking it inside his shirt.
They heard the door open and shut, but Sands didn't turn his head. El glanced cautiously over his shoulder and saw the two men. "Cuatro pistolero." El whispered, wondering briefly if Sands knew what he was saying. He got his answer when Sands nodded. In his hands was a compact 9mm, not the cross he'd had a moment before.
Sands listened to the footsteps, the were moving down the isle. He snickered. The footsteps were not cautious enough, meaning these guys were sure they'd have no problem disposing of El and Sands. BIG mistake. The men stopped, three isles away. El was tense beside Sands, he couldn't see how Sands could be so relaxed when they both knew what was about to happen.
Then the men opened fire with their automatic rifles. Sands hit the floor flat on his stomach and rolled under the pew towards the front of the church. He swung his arm around the front of the pew when he came to a rest and opened fire. An agonizing scream was heard as he got one of them in the knee. But the others were smart. They dove behind the pews, avoiding a hit. Sands pulled the trigger again, catching a second in the chest, as El shot the man in the head. The other men opened fire a moment later, destroying the pew Sands was behind. He lay on his stomach, covering his head as the splinters rained down on him.
"MISSED ME!" Sands yelled, jumping to his feet. A hand grabbed him and El yanked him behind the confessionals as the gunmen rained bullets down upon them.
Sands gasped as his shoulder hit the stone wall. El had bandaged it for him, much to Sands' irritation. But he'd done a good job. "All these years of practice, eh?" Sands had asked him, only to get no answer.
"Careful much?" Sands asked him now, but still no answer, instead he heard the cocking of a gun. "Oh yeah," Sands muttered, as if remembering what they were doing and he dropped the compact 9 mm. in his pocket, and pulled his twin 9 mms from his shoulder holster. He turned his head towards El. The Mariachi didn't need to say a thing, Sands knew he was looking at him for the go. A Man After My Own Heart. Sands thought. He nodded and El went left, while Sands went right. Both striding around from either side of the confessional, opening fire on the men. When he heard a satisfying thump, he lowered his guns, putting them back in the shoulder holsters. Sands heard the clink-jingle of El as he moved towards him, then stop and crouch.
"Oh is he still alive?" Sands asked in sarcastic concern as he walked towards the man, drawing his gun with each step. The man's eyes widened as Sands stopped directly over him, gun between his eyes. "Start talking, cowboy," Sands said.
The man looked at El. "What he said." El indicated with his head. The man grumbled something and Sands crouched. "Speak up, I can't here you."
"Fuck you!" The man spit in Sands' face, spittle running down the lens of his sunglasses. Sands glared, mouth forming a thin line.
Then with out a word, Sands turned his gun and shot the man in the leg. "Now I can fill you with all kinds of holes that wouldn't kill you right away, so unless you want to suffer a slow and painful death, TALK!"
"What do you want?!" The man shouted back in bad English.
"Where's my daughter?" Sands hissed, jamming the barrel of his gun into the man's forehead. "I don't know, they don't tell us!" the man screamed.
"Not good enough!" Sands shot the man's leg above the first wound. The man screamed.
"Alright, alright! I'll tell you!"
"Whenever you're ready," Sands drawled.
"It's an estate, just outside of town. The old Barillo place."
"Second question, who do you work for?"
The man was withering in agony now but he answered, as he watched Sands run his gun up and down the man's body, almost sensually, showing that he enjoyed toying with the man, but was ultimately deadly. "Sands, his name is Sands," the man replied quickly.
Sands' head whipped around and he hesitated a moment. "Does he have a first name?"
"We just know him as Sands," the man said in desperation.
"How nice, he's a rock star," Sands grumbled.
"Let's go El." Sands stood and stepped over the man, heading for the door. El stood without a word and followed him.
The man on the floor began reaching for his gun. Without hesitation, Sands spun round firing two shots, hitting his target and stilling the man. Sands holstered his gun silently and walked out of the church.
El stuffed the man's wallet in the poor box and followed him. "I know where the old Barillo estate is," El told him.
"Good, good. A little time to make a plan, meet a few new friends and gather some supplies," Sands answered.
When El came back into the hotel room, Sands was sitting at the old table, shirtless, white bandage on his shoulder, cleaning a gun. There was a rolled cigarette hanging from his lips.
El took a moment. Now he could understand why the man was so quick. Sands may have been tall and lean, but he fast, and his chest toned just enough. This was never a man to underestimate. "Get what ya were lookin for?" Sands asked, the cigarette bouncing between his lips.
"Yes." El answered, setting the guitar case down.
Sands cocked his head to the side ever so slightly, listening to the sound. "Oh THAT'S what you went after..."
"Yes, that."
"Good, all the better." There was a rumble of thunder overhead and Sands turned his head towards the window. "It's gonna rain," he stated, not a question.
"Looks that way...a tropical storm in the gulf."
"Spiffy," Sands answered, as he finished cleaning the gun. El moved over to the other chair and sat down.
"Tell me what happened the Day of the Dead," El said after a moment of silence.
"Go fuck yourself," Sands replied flatly, but El didn't let up.
"Because...Charlie told me..."
"Did he now?" Sands gave El a look as if it really mattered.
"Cerise also told me." El was treading on thin ice now, and he knew it.
"Oh really, and when was this?" Sands hissed.
"When we were...arguing."
"I should have shot you in the hand." Sands drummed his fingers on the table.
"Take off the sunglasses," El said simply.
"Fuck my gun," Sands replied in the same tone.
El sighed, shaking his head. Sands was digging his nails into the wood. Cerise had the habit of speaking before she thought when she was irritated or angry. So if El said Cerise had told him, she probably had.
Damn it Cherry!
Sands got up from the table, walking away a few steps. Then he stopped. "You wanna know, El?" he asked. El didn't have to answer, he'd already thrust himself into finding out, he might as well go all the way.
Sands turned and stalked back over to El. He leaned down, face to face with El and reached up. "This is what happened on the Day of the Dead," he hissed, removing the sunglasses.
"Oh my Lord..." El muttered, leaning back as far away from Sands as he could. But Sands grabbed El's neck and pulled him closer. "Like what you see, El?" Sands hissed. "Because I sure as hell don't see ANYTHING!" Sands yelled.
El wrenched himself away from Sands and fell out of the chair with the same movement. He scrambled to his feet as Sands leaned casually against the table, folding his arms over his chest and cocking his head to the side, sunglasses dangling carefree from one hand.
Sands fought to keep the anger out of his voice, when he spoke softly, with a calm drawl, "So tell me, do I look that bad... or just THAT bad?" he asked, gesturing with the hand that held the sunglasses. He always took on that soft, calm drawl when he was really angry. "Say it, El." El couldn't even open his mouth. "SAY IT!" Sands turned and threw the sunglasses against the opposite wall. "I'M DIABLO HIM FUCKING SELF!" Sands screamed. El crossed himself.
After another moment of silence, El spoke. "This is why you needed my help..."
"I don't NEED your help, fuckmook, but you are useful," Sands replied with a gesture.
"I'm not going to be your slave, Sands," El replied hotly.
"I'm not ASKING you to be my slave, damn it!" Sands replied.
El looked at him for a long moment as another rumble of thunder played overhead. El let out his breath slowly, sinking down into the chair again.
Sands had turned his back on him, going over to his bag and searching through it. He came up with another pair of black sunglasses and slipped them on. They were much snugger then the ones Cerise had given him and he could probably expect a headache later on.
"There, now you know the truth. But I'm telling you El... cross me and I'll make your life a living hell!" With that, he turned and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" El asked.
"The bar, I need a drink." Sands answered, slamming the door behind him.