Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind
a tale spun by Mayor Tokey
Rating: R
Summary: The world is falling down around Sheldon Jeffrey Sands and Morton Rainey. What's the next step towards a grander plan?
Disclaimer: Nobody belongs to us. We're unloved.
Author's Notes: We learn some interesting stuff about our friends in this chapter. Slightly AU, but not terribly so. And I'd like to point out that while this update was slow in coming, we have, like, ten more chapters written (but not edited) and a third of a sequel written. We've not been totally lax.
Legume of Doom
Sands stared forlornly out the window of the business jet. The way he figured it, the whole mess had started when he'd ridden with the common folk on a Southwestern flight. He wouldn't make that same mistake twice; he'd hired a private plane to take them to the snotspeck town in Mexico. He rubbed at his neck absently, the scarring having turned to a nasty green color. Mort hadn't looked much better with a broken nose.
"Why are we going to Acapulco again?" Sands asked suddenly.
Mort scowled and rolled his eyes. "Because you've got a boner for that Spanish chick."
"I've met her once. She tried to kill me then," Sands said sternly.
"Did she now? I thought she tried to bed you."
"Wasn't me."
"Whatever." Mort mumbled. "It was your body she wanted, so it doesn't really matter."
"Oh good, I always wanted to be a sex toy. It was my ambition in second grade. I became a CIA operative instead."
Mort sighed and leaned his head back closing his eyes. "Then you'll be quite pleased with her," he murmured.
"I doubt it. She tried to kill me," he reminded Mort.
"How?"
"She was going to beat me with my crutch, remember?"
Mort frowned, irritated that Sands wouldn't shut up so he could sleep. "She was bringing it back to you!" he grumbled.
"If you were going to bring a hoe back to the person you borrowed it from, would you beat him with it before you gave it back to him? Is that a bit of etiquette I forgot to read up on?"
"You opened the door while she was in mid-knock." He shifted, turning his back to Sands hoping the slighter man would get the message.
Sands knew Mort wanted nothing more than to curl up and take a nap, but he was a spiteful bastard who rarely forgot things. Sands remembered a certain night at a motel when he wanted to go to sleep and found it impossible.
"Do you break the hoe trying to bust his door down to give it back to him? Or are you trying to say she was just a tad overzealous?"
"If that's what it takes to get you to open your fucking door, yes!" Mort cried with frustration. "Now will you please shut up?"
"Aw, did someone not get enough sleep last night? Poor baby," Sands rolled his eyes.
Mort growled, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
"I bet you can't ignore me."
Mort didn't reply.
"I have a secret weapon."
Mort shifted, but still didn't reply.
Sands glanced over and poked Mort sharply in the ribs.
Mort jumped, and jerked his head in Sands' direction. "What the hell?" He glared at Sands as he rubbed his ribs.
"Secret weapon," Sands nodded.
Mort frowned, "What do you want from me?"
"A person to talk to before I sign my doom. You alright with that?"
Mort scowled, settling further in the seat, facing forward. "I don't suppose I have a choice, do I?"
"Nope. Shit, I'll talk about anything. What's been bothering you? Besides me."
"Oh, I dunno...let's see...Harry, Armande, the nameless one... Would you like me to continue?" He shot Sands an irritated look.
"What about them?"
"They've been bothering me."
"Me too," Sands nodded.
"Shit! Will you not leave me alone?" Mort pouted.
Sands frowned. "Why do you not want me to leave you alone? I mean, I'm not, but that was kind of a strange request."
"I was being fucking facetious!" Mort groaned.
"I'm not."
"Obviously," Mort rolled his eyes.
"Listen, I have experience dealing with cranks. I'm not going to let you sleep just yet, so you might as well just make it easy on yourself. Besides, the sooner you humour me, the sooner you can sleep."
"How would you like me to humour you?" Mort asked bitterly.
"Just talk. Distract me, ok?"
"Distract you? From what?"
"The succubus at the other end of this trip."
Mort sighed heavily. "How would you like me to distract you? Unlike you, I don't talk to myself."
"Why do I need you to talk to yourself? I need you to talk to me."
"Talk to your fucking self! Or one of them."
"And further aggravate the condition? The more I acknowledge something's there, the more often it's going to come out."
Mort shrugged, "It's going to come out anyway. Damn, how long is this flight?" He looked over Sands out the window.
"I'm going to bet 'too long' and raise you a 'damned if I know.' "
Mort sighed and leaned back in his seat, defeated.
"That doesn't sound like talking to me."
Mort turned his head and glared at Sands, his lips pressed tightly together.
"Do not make me poke you again," Sands persisted.
"You wouldn't," Mort said through his teeth.
Sands scoffed and poked Mort in the oblique muscles this time. Mort jerked, his arm reflexively flinging out and smacking Sands in the chest. Sands reached around and poked Mort square in the belly. He squealed and leapt up, glowering at Sands, and then stalked down the aisle of the plane to a seat behind Sands.
Sands grinned. He still had a few packets of airline peanuts. Those would work nicely. He ripped open a pack, selected a nice, full-bodied nut and aimed carefully. He flicked the nut at Mort, which bounced against the other man's forehead with a soft thump.
Mort hunkered down in his seat rubbing his forehead, staring straight ahead and ignoring Sands. Sands did it again with only half a nut. It pinged off Mort's shoulder. The author brushed at his shoulder absentmindedly, his eyes darkening. Another peanut bounced off his chest. A fourth hit him on the cheek.
Mort jumped up, flinging out his arms, grimacing as it pulled at his shoulder. "Goddammit! Do you ever stop?"
"Eventually. Just not now."
"Why?" Mort scratched at his arms, still feeling nuts flying at him.
"Well, since you're not babbling, I figured I'd take matters into my own hands."
"Why do I need to babble?"
"Didn't I already ask you politely to talk? You refused."
"I'm not a fucking circus," Mort muttered, scratching his head as the plane lurched. He grabbed onto the seat to steady himself. His face went pale. "What the hell was that?" He didn't much like flying, much less on these tiny little Learjets.
"Turbulence. You think some asshole's trying to shoot us down? They wouldn't dare." Sands took the opportunity to launch another nut at Mort.
Mort flinched as it hit him between the eyes. He shot Sands a look, and flicked his ear hard. "I said stop it!" he yelled, kicking his seat forward.
Sands hunkered down in the chair, emptying the remaining contents of the bag into his hand. With a yell, he flipped around in his seat and flung them all at Mort: a rain of salt and roasted legumes.
"Ahhh!" Mort cried, swinging his arms frantically trying to get the nuts off of him. They made him itch.
"Take that, you fiend! And that!" Sands cried, pelting Mort with nut after nut.
"Gah! Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" Mort cried, scratching at his arms and head and face frantically, his head thrashing.
"Say Uncle!"
Mort continued his frantic scratching, beginning to gasp for air. He was digging his ragged nails into his skin so hard, that there were deep grooves in his arms that were starting to bleed. Sands frowned, wondering if there could be something sinister afoot. He stopped his peanut hurling for the moment.
"Mort, if you're fishing for sympathy, you haven't got it."
He didn't seem to hear Sands. He had blood under his fingernails now, and was smearing it everywhere else.
"Shit," Sands hissed. "Don't die on me!" He all but fell out of the chair in an attempt to scramble to the cockpit. He tore open the door with a mad look in his eye. "One of you better get your asses in gear, my friend is having an allergic reaction!"
Mort's face started to turn purple as he continued scratching and gasping for air. He couldn't breathe. His mouth opened and closed, much like a fish's, as he attempted to suck in air to no avail. His eyes began to bug out.
"Land the fucking plane!" Sands yelled.
"The nearest airport is 15 minutes away, sir, calm down!" the pilot demanded.
"He's going to die, fuckwad! Land the goddamn plane!"
Look at you Morty. Cain't even handle having pea-nuts thrown at you. You dun gonna get all choked up about it.
"Fuck you." Mort managed to gasp out as he began wheezing. He looked around frantically for Sands, still scratching halfheartedly.
The pilot didn't need to be told twice. He radioed some mysterious entity that an emergency landing would need to commence to save a sick passenger. Sands was satisfied when the plane began a downward slope and managed to get back to Mort.
"Hang on, you bastard, do not die on me."
Mort laid across a couple of seats, rasping, his lips turning blue, and his eyes rolling into his head. He was dying...he could feel it...damn Sands and his fucking peanuts!
Sands slapped Mort and alternately brushed all traces of peanut off Mort's clothes. "Stay awake, you little batard! Stay awake!"
Mort knew there was a reason he despised those pesky peanuts they handed out on the planes. He shook his head as Sands slapped him, his eyes stuck staring into his skull.
"Mort! You're a pussy and need to be castrated! You're a stupid little boy who can't tell his ass from his elbow! You can't breathe because you don't fucking want to! Stop being a fucking child and breathe!"
Mort's eyes flew open and he tried once again to gasp in some air, but still it wouldn't flow. His airway was swollen. He glared at Sands, more than disoriented, and was jostled as the plane set down roughly.
Sands hefted Mort over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and loped towards the exit. "Hang on, fuckmook. You're gonna be fine."
XXX
Where am I? Mort thought. It was bright, and...nothingness...
Yer dead Morty. I dun tole you not to mess with that psycho.
What? Dead? How can I be dead? I can't be conversing with my alter-hey fuck off! Mort's eyes opened, and everything came into focus sharply. There was a tube down his throat that was supposedly helping him breathe although it felt as if it was hindering it. His eyes scanned the bland hospital room that was brightly lit with fluorescent lights. Where the hell was that psycho?
Sands was in the waiting room pacing furiously.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid! How the fuck didn't you know he was allergic to peanuts! You know everything else about him! Stupid!"
So what if the intelligence isn't complete on John Wayne? It's not like you really care about him, do you?
"I shouldn't have killed him!"
You didn't. Not yet anyway.
"I probably did! And now that bitch is going to call the police because we're not landing in Acapulco!"
Call her.
"What?"
You know the hotel. Call her.
"Damn, I hate it when you're right," Sands snarled and finally threw himself into a chair. He took out his cell phone and requested the number for the Holiday Inn of Acapulco Mexico. An attendant picked up.
"Hola, Holiday Inn de Acapulco. Puedo ayudarle?"
"I'm looking for an Ajedrez in your hotel. I need to contact her."
"Cual sala, senor?"
"I don't fucking know, look her up," he hissed.
"Senor!" the attendant gasped. The line clicked off and it immediately began ringing again. He heard the click of the line being picked up and didn't wait for a salutation.
"Ajedrez."
"Armande! So nice to hear from you." She spoke in a smooth amused voice. "Wasn't expecting to hear from you before you arrived. Where are you baby, you can meet me early?"
"I'm not fucking Armande; your boyfriend turned tail and ran three days ago. I'm calling before you get the wrong impression," Sands sighed.
Her tone turned sour. "And that would be..? You're not standing me up are you?" she said with steel in her voice.
"Wouldn't fucking dream of it," Sands muttered. "I'm telling you there's going to be a delay."
She pursed her lips. "How much of one?" She did have a time frame to keep. She had to reel him in, have him wrapped around her little finger within 4 days...
"Fuck me...one or two days. I don't know. I haven't seen the doctor yet."
She began to seethe. "You better have a good fucking excuse. What's the doctor going to tell you? You're fucking psycho? I could've told you that."
"Not shit, Sherlock!" Sands snapped. He glared at the raised eyebrows and slid further down in his seat. "No, Mort's in the fucking hospital. Fucking peanut allergy."
"Mort? Why the fuck are you bringing that monkey along?"
"Do you know how fucking hard I worked to track the little bastard down to begin with? I'm not giving him up because some Spanish harlot wants me to skip on down to Mexico!"
"Fuck you-or rather fuck me." She chuckled. "Fine. You have an extension of 24 hours. Do. Not. Be. Late," she said, enunciating each word, before she slammed the phone down.
Sands was on the brink of crushing his phone in his remaining fingers. Instead he hung up the phone and stepped outside. He needed to shoot something now.
A nurse cautiously approached Sands. "Sir...Your friend is awake now."
Sands whirled, quickly removing his hand from the hilt of the gun in the front of his waistband. "Uh...thank you. Is he...ok?"
She nodded, a little startled at how quickly Sands had whirled. "Yes, I'm sure he's just itching for the tube to be removed from his throat though..."
"So why don't you?" he frowned.
She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not the doctor, and we've yet to receive any orders to remove it," she said timidly. She lead the way to Mort's room. Sands refused to say anything else until he saw Mort for himself. And the feeling that he was walking into a trap wasn't helping any.
Mort's eyes darted to the doorway when he heard voices coming from down the hall. He watched as the nurse strolled to his side and smiled warmly down at him.
"How are you feeling Mr. Rainey?" she asked.
He tried to talk, but all he did was gurgle, and then begin to cough and choke on the tube.
"I wouldn't talk. It'll only end in tears," Sands murmured from his position behind the nurse. Mort heard him, and strained to see him.
"Are you okay?" Sands asked softly.
Mort glared at him and grappled at something on the stand by the bed. He flung a plastic fork that bounced off Sands' forehead. If he couldn't convey his anger in words, he could convey it in actions. Then he flipped Sands off with a jerk of his hand. Sands took it with a stiff upper lip.
"You could've told me you were allergic."
Mort flapped his arms around in annoyance. How the hell was he supposed to know he was allergic? He didn't eat the things, he found them disgusting.
"Should've told me something wasn't right. You know I don't respond well to 'Stop.'"
Mort's eyes narrowed. If he was able, he would've attempted to strangle Sands with his IV.
"As it is, we've got a reprieve. So...if nothing else...thanks. I...owe you."
Mort rolled his eyes. He looked up at the nurse, waving his arms around gesturing to the tube down his throat.
"I'm sorry, we've yet to hear from the doctor."
"Take it out," Sands said.
She looked at Sands, fearful. "I-I can't."
"I'll say it again. Take the tube out of Mort."
"I-I ca-can't." She blushed. "I don't know how."
Sands rolled his eyes and approached the bed. "You want this thing out, don't you?"
Mort saw Sands approaching and his eyes grew wide. He wanted it out, but not by the hand of Sands. He shook his head frantically no.
"Goddamn it, man, make up your mind!" Sands snapped. "Trust me!"
Mort's eyes were wide as he stopped shaking his head and finally nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, keeping one cracked open waiting for Sands to make a move.
"Don't bite, and don't move." Sands leaned towards the headboard to get a better view of the tube down the other man's throat. He held the tube gently between his index and middle finger on his right hand and began to ease it out slowly with his left. Once he established a rhythm, the going was pretty easy and the tube was out in no time. He squeezed Mort's shoulder briefly before turning to the nurse. "Don't know how?"
She bit her lip and moved backwards. "I was told not to do anything we haven't been shown. I'm only an intern," she squeaked.
Mort began to cough and sputter once the tube was removed. He gasped and swallowed in mouthful after mouthful of air.
"Would you believe that's the first time I've ever removed a tube from a person? Oh it's good fun, you should try it some time."
She continued moving away from Sands and when she reached the door, she sprinted down the hall away from them.
Mort's eyes narrowed at Sands. "You fucking idiot!" he croaked.
"What's your problem now? I did you a fucking favor," Sands growled.
"You nearly killed me!"
"I might not've if you'd told me you were having a reaction," Sands reminded him.
"How the hell was I supposed to know I was having a reaction? It just started itching, there's nothing odd about itching!"
"There's everything odd about itching, you dumbfuck! It's your body's way of telling you something's fucking wrong!"
Mort scowled, and pushed back the covers. "Are we ready to go?" he asked.
"We'd better be or I'm going to be pissed. Where'd the chickadee go?"
"Does it matter? Let's get out of here."
"Well, if we're going to be caught and reprimanded, I'd rather just have to explain the whole thing now."
"We won't be caught." Mort said gritting his teeth, moving to change his clothes.
"Just the same, hurry up. We've gotta get back to the plane."
Mort's stomach flopped. "We gotta fly again?" he asked.
"Do you want to walk?" Sands quirked an eyebrow.
"How far is it?"
"Somewhere in Nevada, I'd wager. We didn't get very far," Sands remarked dryly.
Mort frowned. "Can we not travel by land? At least they don't serve peanuts," he muttered.
"You hand me the money I paid for that plane to take us to Acapulco, and you can drive us through two fucking massive states and a honking huge scorching desert. If that's your scene, I can most certainly respect that."
Mort scowled. "Just don't throw any more nuts at me, ok?"
"Scout's honor. By air, then?"
Mort sighed and nodded. "Since there's no other choice."
"I dunno, I would have rather liked to have gotten back a couple extra dollars, but fair's fair. Let's go, John Wayne."
Mort grumbled as he followed Sands out of the hospital and into a cab that took them back to the airport. Mort uneasily followed Sands back onto the plane, and sat in the seat behind him. He shot Sands a look. "Are you going to let me sleep now?"
"Fuck, didn't you sleep enough at the hospital?" Sands snorted.
Mort frowned. "Did I?" He didn't remember sleeping, only waking.
"Don't know about you, but that's what happens when I get...oper..." Sands shook his head and dropped the subject. "Sleep all you fucking want, I don't care."
Mort sighed, relieved, and leaned back against the seats, closing his eyes as the jet throttled down the runway and into the sky.
XXX
It was almost 4 AM when the plane landed. Sands was hovering in the state between wakefulness and sleep where demons came out to play. The announcement of their descent managed to shake him awake to the point of semi rational thought. The feeling of imminent doom supplied the rest of the thought.
"Mort, wake up, we're here."
Mort groaned, but did nothing more than shift in his seat. Sands sighed and leaned in close over Mort to whisper in his ear.
"Peanut."
Mort jerked awake scratching frantically at his arms. "Gah!" When he realized there were no peanuts, he gave Sands a death glare. "That. Was. Not. Funny," he hissed.
"The world belongs to the light sleepers. Come on. It's early and we've got a dame to meet."
Dame bitch, someone added.
Mort frowned. "Say wha?" He rubbed his eyes sleepily. "What time is it?"
"Exceptionally early. Now come on."
Mort stumbled out of the plane behind Sands. "Where are we going?" He covered his mouth as he yawned.
"Holiday Inn," Sands murmured distractedly. The air was the perfect temperature: a cool 70 Fahrenheit with an ocean breeze. Sands wondered if maybe a bit of exploring wouldn't go amiss. Assuming, of course, Dame Bitch wasn't totally heartless.
Mort wrinkled up his nose. "They have those out here?"
"They have McDonalds in vegan India; why wouldn't they have a Holiday Inn at the most touristy town in Little Old Mehico?"
"Dunno...I'm game as long as they've got a bed..." he mumbled.
"Okay, have you ever thought about maybe getting your brain checked for a concussion? Because nobody needs to sleep for some 16 odd hours," Sands said sharply.
"I'm fatigued." He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.
"Too fatigued. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you got too close to a tsetse fly. You ever been to Africa, John Wayne?"
You sound like that House guy.
"Goddamn it, I do not! If I wanted to sound like House, I'd limp and pretend I'm a bitter old bastard."
You mean that wasn't your bitter old bastard impression? And if that isn't a limp, I just don't know what is.
"Shut up!"
Mort didn't even glance at Sands as he conversed with himself. He took it upon himself to hail a cab and got in. He watched Sands on the curb arguing with one of his alters. "Are you coming?"
"Shit," Sands muttered and fell into the seat beside Mort ungracefully. He just had time to pull his casted calf after him before the car pulled away from the curb. Sands glowered as he tugged the door shut after him. "El hotel Holiday Inn. Pronto."
When they arrived, Mort just looked up at the hotel in awe, unable to comprehend that they had a Holiday Inn in Mexico. He swallowed and looked at Sands getting out of the cab. "We're staying here?"
"Damned if I know," Sands replied as he paid the driver. "I just know we're meeting someone here."
"Oh..." Mort walked into the lobby, looking around at its lavish furnishings.
"C'mon, this shouldn't take long. We might be catching her in her delicates." Sands strode purposefully towards the desk, intent on giving Ajedrez the wakeup call from hell.
Mort frowned. "That is something I can live without ever seeing."
"Me too, frankly. We're looking for an Ajedrez, what room is she in?" Sands asked the attendant.
The attendant looked up at him lazily. "Room 219." He said then returned to his handheld game.
"Let's go," Sands mouthed and hobbled over to the nearest elevator.
Mort stood at the desk pouting. "Can I get a room first, and then you can go to your little meeting?"
"She won't make a pass at me if you're there, now come on!" Sands called.
"Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Ever thought it might do you some good to get laid?" he muttered, following Sands to the elevator.
"I'd rather not feel like I was going to break into a million pieces if I'm going to partake in something that strenuous. Gives me a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe just indigestion."
"What? Break into a million pieces?"
"Huh?" Sands cocked his head. He kept an eye on the rising numbers.
"You said you were going to break into a million pieces."
"Yeah, if I screw her brains out. I'm not planning to."
"Oh...why would you have to screw her brains out if she wants to have sex?" The elevator dinged announcing the arrival to the second floor.
"You're not familiar with colloquialisms, are you?"
Mort shook his head, stepping off the elevator.
Sands limped off with a set look in his eye. "Which way?"
Mort pointed to a sign that showed rooms 201-220 were to the right. He stood quietly as Sands lipped down the hall. Sands stopped in the hallway with a bored look on his face.
"You're coming with me."
Mort shook his head firmly. "No, I'm not. She doesn't want to see me anymore than I want to see her." He shuddered and hugged himself. She gave him the willies.
"And I want to see her less than that. You owe me quite a damn lot, you know that?"
"What for?" Mort asked incredulously.
"Taking the tube out of your throat, uncuffing you quite a few times when I shouldn't have, not shooting you in the head or the heart, rolling you cigarettes, lending you lights, getting you out of Maine, do I really need to continue?"
"You almost frickin' killed me!" He cried indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Must a man's life be dedicated to one badly planned mistake? And it was partially your fault, anyway."
"My fault? I didn't make you throw peanuts at me! I was trying to get away from you!"
"If I'd known you were going to choke, I would've stopped. I thought you were being a fucking prick."
"So it's my fault you decided to chuck nuts at me?" Mort threw up his hands exasperated. "I'm leaving!" He pushed the button for the elevator.
Sands cleared the distance between himself and Mort at a blazing speed. He gripped Mort's upper arm tightly to prevent any escape.
"You're going to throw me to the fucking wolves because I accidentally made you realize that life isn't fucking infinite. Wake up, you selfish bastard. You're going to die some day. We're all going to die. Now's a hell of a time to believe you're the center of the universe. You're not. You're the Man of the Year on America's Most Wanted and for all I know, I'm Number 2. Whether you like it or not, we've got to help each other get out of this shit. Quid pro quo. We're in fucking Acapulco. Pretend to enjoy it while we lie low and sip tequilas or whatever the fuck it is you drink. But if we're going to stay here safely, we've got to run this errand. If you're with me, it won't take five minutes. Now are you with me, or do I have to do some more convincing?" Sands somehow managed to squeeze his fingers even tighter.
Mort's eyes bugged out from the pain. "I should've let you kill yourself!" he hissed, his bug eyes clashing with Sands'.
"No shit, but it's too late for that now. How bad could it possibly be? It's not like we're going to snog or anything brutal like that."
Mort looked at him skeptically. "Sure, just wait till Armande makes his appearance. At least get me a room to retreat to?" he pleaded.
"You can't retreat because you're going to snap me out of it if I go into an episode. I don't want to kiss her any more than you want to see me kiss her."
"No, I'm not! I'm staying the hell away!"
"You're coming in! I told you this!"
"Fine but when it gets heated, I'm gone." His eyes narrowed at Sands.
"You dip, don't you listen? When it gets heated, you need to hit me or some shit like that. Don't let me, or any part of me, fall for her!"
"Why? I already told you I don't think it would be that bad for you to get laid. Might loosen you up."
"I'm not getting laid until I can fucking walk, savvy?"
Mort raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling slightly as his eyes shifted. "Sure."
"I...I beseech you. Good enough?"
Mort just chuckled, looking over Sands' shoulder. Ajedrez had slunk up behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing firmly against his back.
"You're early baby," she whispered in his ear, her tongue snaking out as she spoke.
Sands had to stop himself from physically shuddering. "Technically, I'm late."
"Well, I'm very patient." She purred, her tongue snaking into his ear and trailing down his neck.
Mort just rolled his eyes. "Will you get me a room now?"
"No," Sands snapped before addressing Ajedrez. "Listen, you cost me a small fortune getting here. What the fuck do you want?"
"What do you think I want?" She pressed her body more firmly against his back where he could feel her every curve.
"Buy a dildo," Sands answered smartly. "Unless you already have and just don't know how to use it."
"But dildos don't have smart mouths." She licked across his jaw to his lips and gave them a sharp lick.
"Buy a Monty Python CD. It's cheaper than repaying me for this shit your trying to pull."
"Oh but I can more than afford it, and movies don't...interact." She smiled against his cheek.
"That's why you listen to the CD while you're using the dildo. If you think it'll help to boil it before hand so it feels more realistic, who am I to stop you? I'm simply refusing to be your cabana boy, if that's all fine and dandy with you. Unless you get off on screwing cripples in which case I'm going to call you a sick fuck and limp my way out of here angrily. Sound good?"
"Oh, come on. You know you want me." Her hands slid down his front to cup him. Sands jerked away, catching himself on the wall. He glared at the woman before him.
"If you really insist on doing that, I'm going to shoot you," he warned. "Be grateful I'm being civil. What do you want from me here that you couldn't get in Denver?"
"Oh there's plenty I didn't get in Denver." She moved towards him, her hands moving to the holsters at his hips as she crushed her lips to his and ground her hips hard against his.
Sands didn't discriminate between an attack from an armed mugger and this one by the needy Dame Bitch. He kneed her in the stomach, though he instantly regretted it. He crumpled to the floor in a daze and found he had to shake his head to clear it.
"You bastard!" She hissed, doubling over. "You're going to fucking pay for that!"
"I already have. Roughly 4 cab rides, a private jet, and hospital fees among other things," Sands growled.
She slapped him smartly against his face. Get him while he's down. "I don't care what hell you went through to get here. All that matters is you're here now." She leaned forward and pulled his lower lip into her mouth to bite down and draw blood. She smirked at him as she continued to bite on his lip.
Sands gripped her by the hair and manage to wrench her away from his chewed up lip. He couldn't quite extricate himself from her, but he could make it even clearer that he wanted no part of her.
"There is not enough marijuana or tequila in this whole damn country to make you attractive."
"Fuck!" She hissed as he yanked her hair. She kicked her leg out catching him in the sternum and stood up. She straightened her short skirt and smoothed down her hair whilst glowering down at Sands.
Sands was sucking on the coppery blood the bled freely from his lip. He felt it dribble down his chin and absently rubbed at it. He normally liked getting turned on by pain, but this woman was definitely not in his best interest.
Ajedrez looked down at him, recalling what he'd said about her being attractive. "Most men would murder to be in your spot, while you say you don't find me attractive. Well I don't think you could handle all the marijuana or tequila in Mexico before you puked your guts up or passed out. You wouldn't be able to handle it, you're too much of a fucking pussy." She spat on him,and turned on her heel, shooting Mort a glare as she strode by.
Mort pressed himself against the wall to move out of her way, and looked down at Sands with a little snort of laughter. When Sands looked up at him, he swallowed it, but was unable to hide the smirk.
"That sounds like a bet," Sands called. "Is it?"
She smirked. "Take it how you want to..." She called out continuing down the hall slowly.
"You wouldn't happen to be in the business of Tijuana Gold, would you?"
"If it floats your boat," she replied vaguely.
"I would say it does. A little taste of history. Now, are you or are you not interested in finding out if I can take your bet?"
"Do you think I would throw it out there without intentions of seeing it through?" She threw a sly smile over her shoulder as she fit her key card in her lock and pushed open the door. She looked back at him questioningly.
Mort sighed. "Can I please get a room?"
"No...we'll need a referee," Sands murmured absently. "C'mon. If it's Gold, it's good."
Mort sighed and mumbled under his breath about peanuts.
"You want peanuts?" Sands cocked his head in question.
"No damn you! I want a fucking bed!" Mort scowled at him and moved past to enter the room, but was stopped by Ajedrez's hand.
She narrowed her eyes at him, then looked at Sands. "What does he think he's doing?"
"Making sure it's a fair match if he knows what's good for him."
She moved into the doorway crossing her arms over her chest. "He's not coming in here."
"Chica, I said I wasn't going to screw you. He's got nothing to watch."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're using him as an excuse. You're not man enough to think you can handle yourself without him here to stop you from doing something you don't want to." She sneered at him and moved to shut the door, mumbling, "Fucking pussy."
Sands got his foot in the door like a good salesman. He loathed this bitch, but the stupid lady cop back in Maine had confiscated his last bit. Ajedrez was not allowed to dangle this in front of him and get away with it.
"You can't turn your back until you repay me!"
"Is that a bet?" She threw his words back at him. "Get rid of the hick-" She nodded her head in Mort's direction. "-and then we'll talk. Or smoke as the case may be." She gave him a sly smile and kicked his foot out of the door before shutting it in his face and turning the lock with a click.
Sands sighed and turned to Mort. At the stare he rolled his eyes.
"I'm not a junkie."
"I'm tired; I want to go to bed. Can we please get a room? She won't see you now, at least with me. There's no point hanging around outside her door; she'd really be likely to call the cops."
Sands' body seemed to whine in frustration. So close!
John Wayne's right. She's not going to be reasonable. Not at this hour. That's the price of inconvenience.
"Fuck. Fine. I'm about to fall over."
"So...we gonna get a room?"
"Didn't I just say yes?" Sands snapped.
"Well you've made no move towards the elevators," he pointed out.
"Murphy's Law. If I go downstairs with you, our room's going to be on this floor. I'm not walking much farther."
"Well I don't have any money..."
"Pay at check out."
"Oh." Mort turned and headed down the hall to the elevator and watched Sands as the door shut.
Sands was alone in the hallway and slowly trying to wrap his mind around some reasonable form of action. The mention of dopamine had sent his nerves on edge and his brain wasn't making sense.
If you're going to be a little bitch about it, pick the lock. You know how.
"I do."
She'll think it's sexy and you can walk all over her.
"Yeah...yeah, that'll work..."
Ajedrez's head shot up as she heard the unmistakable sound of someone picking the lock. The corners of her lips curled, and she sat down on the bed, crossing her legs seductively leaning halfway back. On her chest lay a baggie of the plant. She lay in wait till he busted into the room.
"Well?" he murmured when he noticed her all knowing smirk.
"Hm?" She cocked an eyebrow shifting allowing her skirt to hike up a bit more, exposing more of her long, smooth legs.
Sands turned away. This gave "beating women off with sticks" a new meaning.
"Just give me the damn smoking stuff."
She spoke slowly enunciating each word. "You want something I've got, and I want...well, you know what I want."
"So I'm going to have to pimp myself out to get a decent joint," he stated. The ghost of pain lit his retinas in an uncomfortable red glow. Damn Tom, damn Tom, double, triple deca-damn him and his fucking doctors!
"You can't have me. Pick something else."
She shrugged her shoulders looking innocent. "There is nothing else," she said as she stuck the baggie in her bra. She stood from the bed, and moved towards him. "Now if you'll excuse me, it is rather late." She held the door open for him to leave.
The glow became a flame. He walked purposefully over to Ajedrez, his jaw set tightly. Before he could think twice, he tugged the bag out. He never touched her. He stood back, to make sure she wouldn't immediately try to snog him senseless.
Her mouth dropped open a little and her eyes narrowed. She snatched for it. "Give me that!"
He almost over-balanced trying to get it out of reach, and he barely managed to stay upright.
"No. Now I'm going to consider this payment for the hell I went through getting here for no fucking reason. Hasta."
He turned around and thumped to the door.
She moved quickly and slid in between him and the door, blocking his exit. Her eyes flashed as they met his. "You're not taking all of that! That cost me two grand!" She stretched her arms out across the door so that he couldn't get past.
"So did my trip!" Sands growled.
She didn't move from her spot at the door as she spoke. She pouted. "What did you do to poor little Armande?" She said it huskily, moving to lick up his neck.
Sands pulled away, his good hand moving down to his waist for the gun. "Well, Almond ran away ages ago and you, m'dear, are going to be very sorry if you do that again."
She pulled back crossing her arms over her chest leaning against the door. "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," she said pursing her lips.
"Wrong side of the hospital waiting room more like, but I'll let it slide. I'm going outside to meet my cohort. I'm taking this and hopefully, we'll put this whole messy thing behind us. Can you dig it?"
"No I most certainly can not 'dig it,'" she said, not moving.
"Don't make me shoot you. I'm not because I don't want to look like I stepped out of Night of the Living Dead, so count your blessings. Move."
"I'm not moving till you give me something. That's my cache!" She made a grab for the baggie and surprisingly managed to pull it out of his grasp.
"Would you rather I give it back and make you repay all our expenses?"
She held the baggie in front of his nose. "I think we should see who can smoke the most, because I think you're full of shit."
"You just want it back so you can smoke it? What kind of a dealer are you?"
Take it, you dumbass! Half is better than none at all!
She tsked, trailing a finger along his jawline. "Are you making excuses again? Boy...you must really be worried that I can smoke more shit than you."
"You're the one that held off the first time," Sands remarked as he slapped her hand away.
"Whatever are you talking about? You snatched the whole bag from me!"
"In the hallway," Sands sneered.
"Whatever." She shook her head. "Do you or don't you want to go at it, because if not I can find more willing gentlemen that would be willing to take the dare." She smirked at her ambiguousness.
"I should smoke it all in front of you out of spite."
"You wouldn't."
"No, because this stuff seems like it the stuff to savour. But if I'm going to be trapped in here, I might as well roll a joint or two to while away the time, hm? Wait for Mort to wander in and crack you in the back of the head with the door and all? Seems like a plan to me."
Sands got out his rolling paper for lack of a better substitute and stole the baggies back. He opened it and began to roll the butt.
A smirk played on her lips as he rolled a joint. She held out her hand. "Can I have one at least? Might losen me up..."
"You're no dealer, are you?" Sands murmured, taking a drag. Oh that was good. His eyes ceased to burn and his combined aches began to melt away. That's when the door opened.
Honour Roll: midnight muse: Okay, so this one wasn't so speedy. Whoops! But more Ajedrez so...more evilness, right?