A/N: So I'm sorry that this took so long, but I wanted to have a long chapter and I kept falling asleep. Enjoy!

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"Shel? You awake?" They were almost to Tashmore Lakes and Mort didn't want to spend more time than he needed to in that godforsaken hotel. "Shel!"

"Don't call me that." It was more of a groan than a sentence that came from the backseat. "Where are we?" Sands sat up and rubbed his temples.

"We're almost there. So sit up and make it look like you're forcing me to do this. I don't want to go to jail Shel."

"We do you call me Shel?"

"Because that's what I've always called you. What else will I call you? Jeff?" Mort laughed at himself for his little almost joke.

"Sands." Sands lifted his hand that held the gun and pointed it to his forehead. "You know, sometimes I wish that I could just die. Just pull the trigger."

Mort tried to swallow inconspicuously and failed miserably. "Then why don't you do it?"

"I can't." Sands shot at the window and Mort swerved the car.

"Holy shit! What was that for!" He turned around in his seat to look at his deranged little brother. Sands was holding his gun against the window as if he could use it to see. He was mumbling something that Mort couldn't quite make out. And slowly what he was saying became louder.

"Methinks I see you, newly risen. From your embroider'd Bed and pissing, with studied mein and much grimace, present yourself before your glass, to vanish and smooth o'er those graces, you rubb'd off in your Night Embraces."

"What's that?"

"Portsmouth's Looking Glass by John Wilmot."

"It's kind of short for a poem, eh?"

"No."

Mort got out of the car and climbed into the back with Sands. "What's up little bro?"

"Fuck off." Sands unzipped his fly and started to, well as Mort saw it and to put it in non-vulgar terms, grope.

"Shel wait until I get back in the front at least. Jeez."

"No I'm just looking for something. Where is it?"

"Did you loose your dick in there or something?"

"Aha!" Sands pulled out a small gun and checked to see that it was loaded.

"Please don't tell me that you have a crotch dwelling gun."

"Fine. I don't have a crotch dwelling gun. I do have a gun that I keep in a pocket that is sewn into the inside of my pants. Though once or twice I have whipped out the wrong object and/or appendage. That was interesting."

"You disgust me sometimes Sands."

"Hey. You called me Sands."

Mort smiled and nodded his head. "Yeah. I did. So are you ready to go?"

"We have to ditch this car here."

"I know somewhere that we can ditch it. Let's get going."

Sands laid back down and started to fall back asleep. "Hey! You can't fall asleep. You have to hold me at gun point! But please don't use the gun that you keep in your pants."

"Well that's the only gun that I have on me right now."

"Bullshit."

"Fine." Sands sat up and took a gun out from the holster he was wearing. "But the gun that's in my pants is a lot easier to hide."

"Why would you need to hide it?"

"Because I'm in the back. And if I flash my CIA badge the cop would wonder why I'm having you drive if I'm apprehending you."

"Oh." Mort got into the car and started to drive. He went to the cliff where he had gotten rid of Greenleaf and Karsch.

"Where are we, Mort?"

"At a cliff. We can ditch the car here. No one should find it."

"Holy shit!"

"What?"

"That's smell. It smells like someone died."

Mort's eyes widened. How could he know? No one ever found the bodies, how could he?

"Good that smell is horrible."

"What smell?"

Sands 'looked' at Mort like he was crazy. "The smell of wet rotting flesh. This is where you dumped the bodies isn't it?"

"What bodies?"

"The people that you killed. You know that cop, the weird guy, your wife, and her boyfriend. And your dog. I thought you loved that dog?"

"How would you know?"

"Read the file. That's the real reason that the CIA sent me here. To convict you on murder charges. And arson. You did burn down your house, didn't you?"

"No."

"I'm not going to convict you. Well I might, but not now."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no other way to get around."

"That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Truly."

Sands took out one of his hand rolled cigarettes and lit up.

"How can you do that without seeing what you are doing?"

"Lots of practice, big bro. Lots of practice."

"Don't call me that Shel."

"Don't call me Shel."

Mort glared at Sands. This was going to drive him crazy. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "What's your problem with that anyway?"

"I'm not a fucking gas station Mort. And it reminds me of the past. Which I don't give a flying fuck about. Why don't you just take me to the airport?"

"No. Now help me get rid of this car."

"How?"

"Just. Oh never mind."

Mort ran the car over the edge and both he and Sands walked to his house. Mrs. Garvey was there and making a sandwich.

"Oh hello Mr. Rainey. Whose this?"

"Hello Mrs. Garvey. This is my brother-."

"Sands."

"Well let me just make some more food."

"No. It's okay. I'll just heat up some corn. You can leave now." Sands grabbed her arm as she was leaving.

"Aww, but Mort. I'm thirsty."

"Sands don't." Before Mort could stop him Sands had bitten into her neck and sucked most of the life out of her. "What are you doing? I'm going to be framed to murder now."

"She's not dead yet. Just almost."

"What are we going to do with her?"

"Put her in her car and then when she wakes up she'll think that she just fell asleep."

"And if she doesn't wake up?"

"Well we'll put the car in the garage and turn it on. Then it will look like she was gassed. By natural causes, of course."

"You think about this stuff to much."

"It's my job." Sands and Mort carried Mrs. Garvey out into her car and started it up. Mort was torn on the subject of whether or not he wanted her to live or die. Well he didn't really do anything wrong. Sands did all of the bad stuff, but it wouldn't be so bad if Mrs. Garvey was gone. Oh well only time will tell.

"I'll take you to the hotel now." Mort walked out the door and got into his own car. Followed by Sands who had listened to his footsteps.

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Thanks for reading!