Chapter 35 – You, Me And The Devil Makes Three

Cam searched Jackson’s suitcase thoroughly, not finding anything of interest. Closing it, he turned back to Sands. "Should we search the car?" he asked, watching Sands as he smoked, seemingly deep in thought.

Sands shook his head. "Later, Gator."

Cam studied Sands for a moment. He was still pale, and acting a little spacey. "You sure you’re alright?"

"Si finis bonus est, totum bonum erit," Sands muttered, before saying to Cam, "I’m just fabulous." Tossing his second cigarette out the window, Sands continued. "Go back to my room and nab a change of clothes, and my good pair of sunglasses. I sense I’ll attracted some unwanted attention if I walk down the hall in my current state."

"Since when have you not wanted to be the center of attention?" Cam asked sarcastically.

"It’s all about knowing when to take the spotlight."

Cam rolled his eyes, walking to the door. "I’ll be right back."

After the door closed, Sands collapsed into the nearest chair, exhaustion taking hold. He felt like shit, and knew that he must have looked like it too. Although his breathing had returned to normal, the dizziness hadn’t left him, and he was beginning to feel increasingly nauseous. To make matters worse, a burning sensation was starting to develop where his eyes once were, and he wasn’t sure if the source of the irritation was the cyanide or the fake blood. It could have been from either, or a combination of both. In any case, he needed to get off whatever was causing the stinging right away.

Dragging himself out of the chair and walking into the bathroom, Sands closed the door, grabbed a washcloth off the rack and turned on the water. He scrubbed the fake blood off his face but avoided getting too close to his eyes. It was where he really needed to wash off the fake blood, but he still couldn’t bring himself to touch the area.

‘Over a month and I still can’t do it,’ he thought to himself in disgust, continuing to feel light-headed as his hand clutched the edge of the countertop. It was amazing how much worse the nausea was, and how much harder it was to fight off when he couldn’t see what was around him to get his baring. ‘It’s time I face reality.’

Sands dropped the washcloth in the sink, moving an uncertain hand towards where the irritation was originating. His hand faltered as it hovered above his left socket before finally running a finger along its edge. The burning sensation increased with the contact, along with his queasiness.

‘My eyes should be here,’ his mind screamed, still unable to fully grasp the two empty holes that were there instead of his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t be able to feel this. I shouldn’t be able to run my hand along an empty eye socket, much less two. I shouldn’t be able to feel the foreign, unnatural, alien, empty cavities that are there now.’ Of course they couldn’t just blind him. The cartel wasn’t that kind. They had to take his eyes completely, not just their use.

Still clinging to the countertop as if it was the only thing rooting him to the real world, he leaned over the sink as dry heaves racked his already exhausted body. His stomach had nothing to lose. The last time he’d eaten was on the flight over, and that hadn’t been much. When the gagging subsided he cradled his face in his hands, taking deep breaths to steady himself as the counter supported all of his weight. ‘What am I going to do when this is over?’ He still hadn’t answered that question.

"Where are you, Jeff?"

Startled by Cam’s voice, he quickly pulled himself back together, opened the bathroom door and held a hand out for his clothes. Cam gave Sands what he’d asked for, and Sands set them down on the bathroom counter.

"Time to mop up, Cam," Sands announced, clearing his throat.

"You mean, time for me to help you clean up after your wet work."

"Well, it’s a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it," Sands said, handing him the used washcloth. He went over to the window and grabbed the gun. "Make sure you get the broken sunglasses, shirt, sports coat… and anything else that could suggest that someone else was here with Jackson while he croaked."

"Alright," Cam said, wasting no time in getting down to business. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he got out of Jackson’s room, the better.

Quickly, Sands changed out of his jeans and donned the fresh clothing. He took the microdots and Jackson’s cell phone out of his discarded pants, and tucked them into a pocket of the ones he was wearing, before joining Cam in the main room.

"Keycard?" Sands asked as he slipped on his sunglasses and tucked the gun in his pants.

"Yeah." Cam handed him the keycard before grabbing the plastic bag out of the trashcan and shoving Sands contaminated clothes in it.

"What room are you staying in?"

"303," Cam answered, tying the bag closed.

"Happy cleaning." Nodding once, Sands quickly slipping out of the room.

Cam looked up just as Sands exited, surprised by the other officer’s willingness to let him clean everything up. It wasn’t like Sands at all, and it made him wonder exactly what went on between Sands and Jackson… and how much the cyanide had effected him.

Back in his room, Sands went straight into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind him. Stripping down again, he turned on the shower and stepped in. The water was scalding hot, but he didn’t care. Jackson’s words were starting to creep into his brain. He couldn’t stop them, much as he wanted to.

Grabbing the soap, Sands lathered up, trying to push it all out of his mind. He didn’t need this. Not now. Not when everything was coming to a head.

Most of what Jackson said, he’d dismissed without thinking twice. Cheap shots, nothing more. Elementary psychology. But with one sentence Jackson had hit him where it hurt the most, and he’d known as soon as Jackson said the words that they’d come back to haunt him later.

Sands ground his teeth, wishing he could kill Jackson all over again. Of course Jackson had to say something like that. It was an unpalatable reminder of his failure on the Day of the Dead. As if he didn’t already have a bitter reminder every morning when he woke up and saw nothing.

Sands pounded the shower wall with his fist. Anger and revenge dominated his thoughts. He was furious with Barillo for taking his eyes, with Martin for standing by and doing nothing, with Jackson for being such a useless fuckwad and traitor, with El and his eternal stubbornness. But most surprisingly, he was angry with himself because he hadn’t been able to stop any of it from happening. He’d temporarily lost his control, and it had cost him dearly.

After rinsing off, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry.

He was no fool. He knew the cartel had let him walk out of that building in Mexico alive for one reason.

They’d let him walk away that day because it was much crueler to let him live. Death was the end. But this? It would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Wasn’t it funny? Wasn’t it fucking hilarious to take away the sight of a man who thrived on control? To make an independent man dependent on others? To ruin a career eleven years in the making in a quick half-hour?

Sands smiled bitterly. Adrejez certainly thought so.

Damn her to hell.

Damn them all to hell.

Because he was having a hard time proving them wrong.

But he was going to prove them wrong… because he couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

Sands ran his fingers through his hair, grasping clumps of it roughly as he urged these thoughts to go away.

As Sands opened the bathroom door he listened for any signs of El or Cam. Hearing none, he went straight over to the phone.

"Room service?" he asked. "Yeah. Get me a large bottle of tequila. Room 202. Don’t bother with the ice."

Hanging up the phone, he leaned against the headboard. ‘Just get even and be done with it all. Move on and forget all this.’

‘Move on…’ He shook his head slightly. It was time to start setting things up. If he didn’t, there would be no job at the CIA waiting for him when all was said and done.

Fortunately, he already had a plan.

---

After cleaning up Jackson’s room, Cam found El in the hotel’s dinning room, sitting alone at a table in the far corner.

Cam sat down across from him, eyeing the Mariachi wearily. He didn’t know what to think of the man, and they hadn’t had any real time to get to know each other. All he knew was he didn’t trust him. He had to admit though, after finding the Mariachi and Sands in what appeared to be a death match, he was curious as to what kind of history the two men had together.

After a moment, Cam asked curiously, "What do you have against him?"

Meeting Cam’s eyes, El said nothing.

"What is it? He use you?" Cam continued to prod.

"Yes."

"Well, join the club," Cam said, chuckling. "You know, as bad as it sounds… it’s his job. He’s an asshole, but he’s an official asshole."

El set down his fork, shifting in his seat slightly in an effort to get comfortable on the hardback chair. "He is no better than the enemies he fights."

Elbows on the table, Cam leaned towards El. "I’ve known Sands for over ten years, and I still can’t say that I know him. You’ve worked with him on one operation, and claim to know what he’s all about."

"It is clear, what Agent Sands is about."

"Officer Sands is all about getting the job done," Cam stated, emphasizing the word officer.

"No. He’s about power."

Cam nodded his head. "Oh yes, most definitely. But the two are not separate from each other; they intertwine."

El took another bite of his Pollo en Pipian, not having anything to say.

"Why don’t you try talking to him? He may surprise you," Cam said, not willing to let the subject drop.

El shook his head slightly. "I don’t think so."

"Did he tell you what happened to him on the Day of the Dead?" Cam asked, doubting that Sands had told him the whole truth. He knew very well that Sands wouldn’t let anyone in on his little secret if it were possible. Even he didn’t know the full details.

"Not completely."

"Well, why don’t you find out? If you do, you’ll clearly see who got the better end of the deal. The bottom line is that you want to get home and I want to get home. Our goal would be reached much quicker if all three of us could work together without threatening to blow each other’s heads off every time we attempt to carry out a part of the op."

"And what does Sands want?"

"What makes you think I know? Ask him yourself."

El again said nothing as Cam signaled a waitress. He asked for two orders of beef chimichangas to be sent to room 303 before turning back to El.

"Think about what I said," Cam continued as he got up to leave. "If you agree, meet me in my room, 303, in about half an hour."

"What if I don’t agree?"

Cam shrugged, pushing in his chair. "Well then, I’m sure Sands will make good on his threats."

Taking another long pull out of the tequila bottle in his hand, Sands wished his brain would succumb to that merciful numbness that so many people experienced while drinking. But alcohol didn’t effect him that way. His mind never stopped. It was always turning, always thinking, always plotting and thinking up the next great scheme, and he’d learned long ago that his brain was both his best friend and his worst enemy.

He came to the conclusion that he wanted to get drunk. He wanted to get wasted out of his mind and that was a rare occasion indeed. He remembered Cecelia once telling him that he was the only person she’d ever met who could be totally sloshed yet completely sober at the same time.

He listened to the television distractedly, as some news anchor spouted the latest Mexico headlines in monotonous Spanish. He would have changed the channel, but considering the hotel only had three or four to begin with, he doubted he’d discover anything better than the news.

Figuring that sitting around and drinking was getting him nowhere, Sands decided to pay Cam a visit, or perhaps even El. Admittedly, the empty tequila bottle and growing boredom may have had something to do with the decision.

---

Cam opened his door, coming face to face with El. Stepping aside to let him in, Cam smiled. "I guess you’re not as stupid as Sands led me to believe."

Closing the door, Cam followed El into the room.

"Have you worked with Sands for a long time?" El asked, sitting at the little table by the window."

Cam remained standing as he joined him by the table. "Like I said downstairs, I’ve known Sands for over ten years. We’ve worked together on several operations since we graduated from the Farm."

"The Farm?" El asked.

"Oh, right. It’s where the CIA trains their officers."

El nodded once. "Why are you here?"

Cam laughed. "I’ve asked myself that same question many times, believe me."

"Well?"

"I guess it’s because I’ve known him for so long… and I owe it to him."

"How can you owe him anything?"

Before Cam could reply there was another knock on the door. Answering it, he was startled to find Sands standing in the doorway wearing a wig and corny T-shirt, with cane in hand. "Sands. Why are you wearing a red orphan Annie wig?"

"I just wanted to see what you thought of my newest disguise," Sands said, slurring his words as he walked into the room.

Cam signaled for El to stay quiet before looking Sands up and down. Other than the ridiculous wig, Sands was wearing the pair of jeans he’d brought him and a shirt that declared in white letters, ‘Bomb squad: If you see me running, try and keep up,’ on the front.

"Might consider ditching the bomb squad T-shirt."

His cane touching the bed, Sands sat down and retracted it, placing the humiliation back in his pocket where it belonged. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I’d rather toss the wig," he said decisively, chucking the curly wig at Cam, who caught it and quickly plopped it onto the dresser. "I like the shirt," Sands said in way of an explanation.

"So what brings you here?" Cam asked, glancing to El out of the corner of his eye.

"Your powerful animal magnetism, of course," Sands said with a straight face. "Plus I’m out of booze in my room and we need to make sinister plots against the many evildoers in this world," he continued, keeping up the slur despite the fact that he didn’t really have one. He could hear someone else in the room, breathing softly and trying to keep quiet, and decided to put Cam through a little bit of a test.

Whether Cam passed or failed wasn’t really important. It was the distraction of playing head games which was needed, and focusing his overactive mind on much more productive activities, such as freaking out Cam.

"Are you actually drunk?" Cam asked, sounding somewhat shocked by the idea.

Sands smiled proudly and pointed a finger at Cam, purposefully missing his mark by a few feet. "I prefer the term plastered. Makes me sound like a concrete wall… one that can’t be broken down." He laughed, as if he’d just told a great joke, and it sounded odd to everyone’s ears, including his own.

El cast a curious glance at Sands, the laugh snaring his attention. That, and he hadn’t imagined the agent as a drinker. Suspicious, he couldn’t help but wonder what this was all about.

"Just how much have you had to drink, Sands?" Cam asked him curiously.

Sands held a hand up to count, standing. "One tequila, two tequila, three tequila… floor," he ended as he swayed on his feet.

Cam resisted the urge to steady him, asking instead, "What’s your plan?"

Sands dug into his pocket, not answering the question.

"What’s bugging you, Sands?" Cam asked directly after a stretch of silence.

Grabbing a cigarette, Sands lit up, waggling his finger at Cam. "You're at it again, you're trying to run the game, and I'm not gonna play." Taking a drag, he walked towards Cam. "I run the game, not you." He pretended to be a bit off kilter, preparing to reel Cam in. "Even if something was bothering me, what makes you think I’d tell you?"

"You can trust me, Sands." Sands pursed his lips at the word trust and Cam continued quickly, "You can tell me. It’ll stay just between you and me."

"Just between you and me?" Sands blew a cloud of smoke into Cam’s face. "I can trust you?" he asked seriously.

Cam swallowed hard, getting the distinctly bad feeling that he just let himself fall into a trap, but unable to turn back now he answered, "Yes, you can."

"Hmm." Sands backed away from Cam and walked towards the window. Much to Cam’s dismay, he was headed right towards El as well. El remained as silent as possible and Sands still appeared oblivious to the mariachi’s presence as he neared.

A few feet in front of El, Sands spun back around and asked Cam soberly, "Honestly? I can trust you implicitly?"

"Yeah," Cam replied as warning bells went off in his mind.

Sands pulled out his .45 and aimed it straight at El. "Then I can pull this trigger right now, and not worry about embedding a piece of lead in El’s cranium?" Sands tilted his head in silent question.

Cam closed his eyes. ‘Damn it, you idiot!’ He’d walked right into it.

Sands cocked the gun. "Well?"

Cam sighed heavily. "I’m sorry Sands, I just thought that…"

Sands lowered the gun. "Oh, don’t worry Cameron. Honesty may be the best policy but by process of elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy."

"I was just…"

"Believe me Cam, I know exactly what you were trying to do, and you’d never have attempted it if you thought I was sober," Sands cut in smoothly, approaching Cam again, all signs of drunkenness gone. "You wanted me to open up in front of El, so he’d suddenly have an epiphany and work with us willingly. There are only several major problems with that idea of yours. Congratulations on a badly thought out plan that even Jackson wouldn’t have fallen for." Without warning, Sands’ rammed the butt of his gun forcefully into the side of Cam’s head, and Cam crumpled ungracefully to the floor.

Sands took another puff of his cigarette before turning towards El as the Mariachi spoke.

"He meant nothing by it."

Sands ignored his comment, deciding to get straight to the point. He knew what he needed to do now to get El to work with him. He was going to hate every minute of it, but if it meant a successful operation then he’d do it. "El, I think it’s time you and I chew the fat. You know… Officer to Mariachi, assassin to pistolero, law enforcer to law breaker…"

"Agreed," El cut in quickly, taking advantage of Sands’ need to suck in a breath.

Tucking his gun back in its holster, Sands nodded and walked over to the window, hands positioned ever so slightly in front of him to prevent any run-ins with furniture in the unfamiliar room. Opening the window, he motioned for El to continue. "I’d rather this didn’t take all night so let’s get real. What is it?" he asked bluntly.

El drummed his fingers on the table, watching Sands closely. "What is it?"

Sands turned to face him. "HajjHaven’t you had enough games, El?"

El smirked as he regarded Sands thoughtfully. "I thought you enjoyed your games."

A thick cloud of smoke filtered out Sands’ nose. "I do. But eventually I tire of old games, and have to make room for new ones. So… what is it, El? What will make you willingly do this job for me?"

"I thought I already agreed."

Sands shook his head. "No, you haven’t. You can’t mislead me." Sands smirked. "You’re still trying to make up your mind."

El thought about it for a moment. "Tell me the truth," he said, deciding that that was what he wanted.

Sands tilted his head to the side in question. "About?" he asked, knowing full well what El was referring to. He wasn’t at all surprised at his request. It was what he’d been expecting.

"Día de los Muertos."

"Ah, Día de los Muertos," Sands said ruefully. "¿Por qué?"

"I want to know."

Sands flicked his cigarette out the window as he thought of the best way to go about this. Moving away from the window, he joined El at the table. "I can’t tell you what happened on the Day of the Dead," Sands said, adjusting his sunglasses absentmindedly. He really didn’t want to go through with this.

"Then I can’t work for you willingly," El stated, disappointed. He’d hoped that Sands could answer at least one of his questions truthfully. Apparently, he was wrong to hope for such honesty from the officer. He began to get up, but Sands’ voice stopped him.

"Sit back down, Mr. Bojangles."

Easing back into his seat, El waited for Sands to continue, but Sands took his time in doing so.

"I can’t tell you because I can’t…" he trailed off and sighed. Goddamn, he didn’t want to do this. Forcing himself to continue, he said finally, "I can show you." Taking a long breath, Sands began to explain. "It starts with betrayal, El. You, Cucuy, Adrejez… but most importantly, Martin."

"Who is Martin?" El asked when Sands’ paused.

"My superior officer… using the term loosely, of course." Sands smirked. "You see, he was supposed to send me backup, but he never did. Martin left me high and dry in the middle of Culiacan with the cartel shadowing my every move."

"They get tired of your games, Agent Sands?" El asked.

"Ah! But that’s the twist. He burned me without the CIA’s blessing. He handed me to the cartel on a silver platter, and now I’m going to make sure the bastard gets what’s coming to him."

"What exactly did the cartel do to you?"

"You know that I’m blind, what more do you need?"

"I think that there is more."

"There’s always more."

El waited for him to elaborate, and when he didn’t, said, "You said you could show me."

Sands exhaled slowly, as if he’d been dreading something he knew was coming. He leaned back in his chair and it creaked slightly against the weight. Sluggishly, he reached up and took off his sunglasses, tossing them onto the center of the table.

Sands heard El’s sharp intake of breath as he pushed his chair back slightly.

"So now you know, El. Do you feel enlightened?" Standing up, he went over to the window again and lit another cigarette. If it had been a bad habit of his to light up before, it was doubly so now. Placing the lighter back in his pocket he commented, "You know, sometimes I think revenge and cigarettes are all that’s holding me together." He chuckled as he thought out loud, "That would make a good bumper sticker."

Quickly becoming serious, he leaned against the wall so that he was facing El, feeling far too exposed. However, he’d be damned if he was going to show any of his anxieties to El. "You see the truth in my eyes, so I expect no less from you. Will you willingly do this job for me, or not?"

"I’m sor…"

"Don’t you dare say that to me," Sands said, a threat clearly evident in his voice. He’d play the victim if necessary, but he’d never accept pity from anyone, least of all from the man sitting in front of him now. "Answer my question, yes or no."

"I don’t like you, Sands," El began again.

"Good. One less Christmas card for me to buy this year. That’s not what I asked you."

"I’ll do this if you keep your word about never bothering me again," El said, lowering his gaze to the tabletop, not wanting to look at what had happened to the officer any longer. He’d heard of cruelty like this from the cartel before, seen men with no hands as punishment for upsetting Barillo, but it never made it any easier for him to take. Taking both eyes was something he’d never heard of until now, but he knew all too well that the cartel was fully capable of doing such things. It was true that as much as he disliked the officer, he never would have wished for this to happen to him. Funny how the thought of his death hadn’t bothered him as much.

Moving back to the table, Sands put both palms on the tabletop and leaned in towards El. "As welcoming as your country has been to me, I don’t think I’ll wish to visit again anytime soon. You see, I don’t like tacos and good slow roasted pork is hard to come by."

El sat there for a moment, staring hard at Sands as the officer retrieved his sunglasses from the table and slipped them back on. Inwardly, El heaved a sigh of relief. "Alright, I’ll do it."

Sands nodded, then leaned sideways in his chair, as if looking over El’s shoulder. El turned to see what had gotten Sands attention and saw that Cam had moved a little. He’d probably be waking up soon. "Why are you being so honest with me?"

"I thought it was time for a change," Sands quipped. "It was the only way to get you to cooperate with me, was it not? You see," Sands smiled, leaning in. "If it means getting what I want, I’ll play whatever part I need to play."

"Why tell me this?"

"I’m sorry, did I offend you? I guess I should have lied, but that would have spoiled our arrangement."

El remembered what Cam had said at their meeting a little while ago, and asked without thinking, "Who are you, Sands?"

Not expecting the question, Sands’ eyebrow crept up in mild surprise. "I’m whoever I need to be, of course. And I’ll be your worst nightmare if you back out of your word now, understand?"

"I do."

Sands held out his hand, and El shook it reluctantly.

"I feel as though I’m making a deal with the devil," El muttered.

Amused by his words, Sands tightened his grip. "Maybe you are. You never can be too sure."