Sands and Jackson returned to the car in very different states. Sands was calm, collected and had an even more cocky air then he had before he entered the house. Jackson, on the other hand, was in a state of shock; at least that’s what he decided to call it. He’d just watched this officer kill a man in cold blood. When Sands had shot him, the other officer hadn’t even really been a threat. Jackson started up the car mechanically, saying nothing as Sands sat down in the passenger seat and shut the door, snapping Jackson out of his zombie mode.

"Jesus, Sands, you just killed that man!"

"Yeah, ain’t it cool?" Sands smiled.

"You shot him!"

Sands head shifted in his direction and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Your point?"

Jackson blinked a couple times. "My point is that you just murdered a man," Jackson said, stressing the last part of the sentence in a slightly hysterical way.

Sands adopted a pained expression and rubbed his temples. "Shit, we still have any undamaged windows in this car? I’m pretty sure your voice just reached a level that could shatter glass."

"How can you just sit there and be so calm about this?" Jackson kept on, only toning his voice down slightly.

"You know, people like you are the reason people like myself need medication," Sands drawled, as the thought of popping four more Aspirins entered his mind, but his face quickly hardened and he pointed forward.

"Drive."

His voice left no room for argument. Jackson pulled away from the curb and started down the road slowly.

"You could go to jail for life for what you just did back there."

Sands barked out a laugh. "What I did back there was nothing Kemo Sabi. I could get the gas chamber for what I’ve done while in the CIA’s employ." Jackson’s eyes widened and Sands continued coolly, "You know why I haven’t?"

Jackson shook his head, but realizing it was pointless, made an effort to find his voice for a brief word. "No."

Sands smiled as he set the gun he’d been holding back in the black bag at his feet and answered in a voice that implied Jackson was stupid for not knowing the answer.

"Because I’m in the CIA’s employ."

"What?"

Sands sighed and leaned back. "Few great men would have gotten past personnel, Jackson. The Company looks for those with the potential to kill, and cultivates it as we’re trained. Not all mind you, but many of us have little conscience when it comes down to how we accomplish our missions. Make no mistake Jackie; the Company doesn’t produce good human beings. They produce machines. Machines that are fit for their purpose. Those who will do whatever is necessary… lie, cheat, steal, kill… give up anything for the mission… their life, their family, their sight…. all in the name of the wonderful US of A."

Jackson gulped, sure he wasn’t imagining the bitterness that had managed to taint Sands voice ever so slightly. "I never heard it put like that."

"You think that many people know that? Realize that?"

"I suspect not."

"Well you’d suspect right. Most who are in the Company’s employ don’t even realize how they’re being used."

Jackson decided to say something rather bold, seeing how Sands was speaking to him in such an earnest way. Something he still didn’t really understand. "Did you?"

Sands sat there, a little off balance from the question, but said nothing as he turned his head towards the passenger window as if he were watching the sparse scenery go by. The silence turned to tension very quickly and Sands seemed to cut the conversation off abruptly. After a minute or so Sands broke the silence.

"Head for Guitar Town. Paracho."

"Paracho? That’s a good day’s drive at least."

Sands turned back towards him smirking, "A day? Not if I were driving amigo."

"If you were driving we wouldn’t make it out of Culiacan."

Sands smirk faltered ever so slightly, but he kept it plastered on for the sake of appearances. Shooting the rather idiotic officer back at Ramirez’s old home had felt good. It had been entirely too long. The rush, the thrill, the power… it had felt too damn good to pass up. Still, Jackson’s naïve way of thinking was eating into him and it was making him uncomfortable. "You know Tito, there was a time not so long ago when I would have run you over with my Camaro just for the fun of it. For no reason at all, other than the sake of killing, to satisfy my own twisted sense of humor."

Jackson looked at Sands curiously, "And you’re saying you wouldn’t now?"

Sands shifted in his seat a bit, as if uncomfortable. "On the contrary, if I were to get behind the wheel now I would probably run you over without even realizing it… and yes, I would probably find it hilarious once I did realize. However you needn’t worry too much Jackie, if that’s what you’re doing. Offing you would put me in a rather awkward position, because at the moment you are of use to me. Besides, Tom probably wouldn’t appreciate me killing you…" Sands paused for a minute as if thinking before continuing, "But then again, maybe he would. Maybe that’s why he sent me you. He had to have known you were far too green for someone like myself."

Sands took his hair out of its ponytail and placed all but one gun back in his bag. After a few minutes Jackson asked, "So, why are we going to Paracho?"

"There is a Mariachi in Guitar Town that most assuredly owes me for his betrayal, and I intend to collect on that debt."

Sands reclined his seat, intending to snooze a bit on the boring drive. He knew El would be in Paracho. It was where he had found him before and it was the only home El had. Sands hadn’t actually planned on finding El, but since Ramirez was gone, and he didn’t have the time to search him out, El would have to do. Actually, the more he thought about it the more he liked the idea.

~*~

It was a full day’s drive, as Jackson had said, driving straight through with only one short stop for drinks and a restroom break. Sands had said little during the drive, and Jackson could never tell when he was asleep or awake, something he didn’t like at all. This was one of those times.

"Sands? Sands?"

Sands was reclining in his seat as he sighed irritably. "That’s my name, don’t wear it out."

"We’re about fifteen minutes away from Paracho."

Sands immediately straightened up, bringing his seat back to an upright position. "Cool beans."

Jackson moved uncomfortably in his seat. His legs felt like jelly. He hated driving straight through without being able to trade off with someone else. Questions had been cycling though his mind since they’d left Culiacan, and he finally got the courage to ask one.

"How can the CIA go after one of their own officers?"

"Possunt quia posse videntur."

"What?"

"I said, they can because they seem to be able to."

Jackson’s face scrunched up in confusion. "Do you never give a straight answer?"

"It’s undoubtedly possible that the possibility is possible."

Jackson struck the steering wheel with one of his hands in frustration.

"Temper, temper," Sands scolded, wagging a finger in his direction.

"Why the hell can’t you just talk like a normal human being?"

Sands smiled as if enjoying his own private joke as he removed his shoulder holster from the bag and strapped it on. Shaking his head to himself Sands replied, "You have much to learn grasshopper," complete with accent to match.

"We’re here," Jackson announced as he drove into the outskirts of the small town. It wasn’t much, and he could already see why Sands called it Guitar Town.

"Groovy, now head to the center. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find in this one-horse ghost town."

Sands felt the car come to a halt as he finished loading his guns and assorted paraphernalia on his person. Sands sat there for a moment, deciding on which of his plans to use. Touching his sunglasses subconsciously as he faced straight ahead, he finally asked, "So, how’s the view?"

Jackson could tell he was trying very hard to sound casual, and he briefly wondered how long the man next to him had been without sight.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, he started to describe what he saw. A tiny town, with large buildings surrounding the small town square. The square itself was surrounded by small booths with finished and unfinished guitars hanging from the walls and ceilings of the sellers’ stands. There were a few older men manning the booths, and a few others making guitars with very few people or activity other than that.

As Jackson described the square, Sands committed as much of it as he could to memory, and tried his damnedest to visualize it. He’d always thought he possessed a vivid imagination, yet nothing his mind’s eye could see could hold a candle to what his eyes had.

Sands had to dispel those thoughts before he got himself depressed. He nodded briefly as Jackson finished. "Alright. You’ll come with me, walking only slightly in front of me. Make a bee-line for a manned booth."

"And after that?"

"I work my magic and you stay out of my pixie dust."

Jackson nodded and bit his lower lip nervously. He really didn’t appreciate the fact that he was being dragged into this, and he really wasn’t sure anymore that ten thousand dollars was enough.

"Oh yeah, and Jackson… remember what I said about the subject that’s on a need to know basis?"

"Yeah."

"No one here needs to know." He said, facing Jackson again. Jackson could tell he was adamant on the subject. "Get it?"

"Got it."

Sands smiled, "Good." His eyebrows waggled up and down a few times teasingly. "You ready to rock?"

Jackson sighed and opened his car door. "I’ll never be ready."

Sands opened his door and stepped out as well. "Please don’t tell me you’re a jazz man, or worse…" Sands shuddered theatrically, "country."

Shutting his door Sands straightened himself up and stretched his stiff arms for a second. "All you are required to do is lead, shut up, stay out of the way and look pretty. So don’t fret my pet."

Jackson walked up to the front of the car, waiting for Sands. "And my chances of being riddled with bullets this time?"

"I’d say they’re pretty good. The Mariachi we’re currently seeking is a bit loco, after all."

Jackson narrowed his eyes warily, never quite sure when Sands was joking. Sands confidently followed the sound of Jackson’s footsteps as they began the walk across the square, looking for the entire world like he was scoping the place out.

Sands felt a bit of excitement at the prospect of meeting El again, and smiled at the thought. Sands’ entrance into El’s beloved hometown would come as a great surprise to El, and Sands just loved to make a big entrance.

He took a deep breath, as if tasting the air. Yes, El was here and he was going to get his attention one way or another. After all, in Sands’ mind, El had a betrayal to compensate for and Sands was going to make sure that he collected in full.