Sands’ arm slipped off Ava’s shoulder. Standing up he made his way to the door. "Trust me, Sugar. You don’t want to be here when things get messy… and they will get messy."

Ava sat on the edge of the bed nonplussed, as Sands opened the door and ushered her out. She didn’t really know what to do, but she didn’t want to abandon her job. She’d been paid to do something, and it wasn’t her style to just up and leave. After all, she could still be useful.

Walking over to the doorway, she didn’t do as he said, but gently closed the door to give them privacy once again. She was surprised though, by his quick reaction, which was to press the muzzle of his gun against her forehead.

"In case it wasn’t clear as crystal, that wasn’t a request," he said, his voice neutral.

Backing into the wall behind her in an attempt to put as much distance between her and the gun as possible, Ava came to the conclusion that the best way to gain this man’s respect was to not be intimidated by him. ‘Well, here goes nothing.’

"I’ve met men like you before. Do anything for the goal. Anything for the job. Ice hard professional. Excellent at what you do I’m sure… but you’re nobody without your title, Officer Sands. Nobody."

Sands didn’t react instantly, and that was how she knew she’d managed to surprise him. However, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for him to recollect himself.

"You know what they say. Nobody’s perfect," Sands drawled, closing the gap between them. Pressing the gun underneath her jaw he leant in close, speaking softly in her ear. "…therefore, I am perfect." Inhaling deeply, he tilted his head. "That’s lovely perfume, but must you marinate yourself in it?" Turning her so that she was facing him, he continued. "Your rudimentary mind games just won’t work with me, Sugar. You’re looking at a pro."

"You’re just a ray of sunshine, Officer," Ava said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "It’s not my fault that Jackson picked you up."

"I didn’t say it was your fault. I said I blame you for it." Sands lowered his gun, and returned it to his holster.

"Aren’t you going to shoot me?" she asked, moving away from the wall, fully aware of the tightrope she was walking.

"I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. The night’s still young. You in a rush?"

She resisted the urge to heave a large sigh of relief, knowing that she’d just taken a big gamble. "And what about the job I was hired to do?"

Sands cocked an eyebrow, keeping a hand on the butt of his gun. "Consider yourself terminated from my employ."

Opening her mouth to answer, she was interrupted by the door opening, causing them both to step back. Sands’ focus immediately shifted from her to the doorframe.

"What’s going on here?" Cam asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his tone suggestive.

Sands gave him an innocent look before replying. "Only a possible homicide."

"So sorry to interrupt." Cam stepped into the room, closing the door. "I got what you wanted, Sands," he said, setting the bags down on the desk.

"I told you to go, Ava," Sands drawled, holding the door open for her. His tone left little room for argument.

Refusing to leave without a fight, she continued. "Officer Sands, I take my work very seriously. When someone hires me to do a job, I do it."

"That’s very honorable of you, but I truly don’t give a flying fuck," Sands smirked. "Ego te dimitto, Sugar."

"What is that? Latin?" she asked, and his head rolled back, as if he was pleading to a higher power.

"Get out of here before I shoot you."

Cam gave Ava an evaluating look, before turning back to Sands and asking, "Who’s she?"

Heaving an irritated sigh, Sands closed the door before answering. He wasn’t going to run the risk of anyone eavesdropping. "My real driver."

"I’m Ava Hunter. Officer Sands’ contact, Tom, sent me," Ava interjected, hoping that the other man would be more hospitable.

"Your real driver?" Cam repeated to Sands, confusion written on his face. "Then… why are you giving her the boot?"

Sands could barely contain his incredulous expression at the question. "She’s hardly reliable."

Cam’s gaze returned to Ava, and their eyes met. Cam looked her over before asking, "If Jackson isn’t your real driver, then who is he working for?"

Sands arched an eyebrow. "Not in front of the lady, Eric."

Cam eyed Ava once more, then shrugged his shoulders. "Your call Jeff. It doesn’t matter to me, but you never know when we might need an extra hand."

‘Or extra eyes…’ Shaking his head slightly, Sands suddenly remembered what he’d sent Cam for. "You get my cigarettes?"

Cam rolled his eyes as he searched a bag, retrieving one of the packs he’d bought. "Not your brand, but I figured it would do," he said, removing the plastic wrapping and handing the pack over.

Sands quickly lit up and inhaled deeply, feeling himself calm down almost immediately as his tense muscles began to relax. As smoke filtered out through his nose the thought that Ava might have a use after all entered his mind. It occurred to him, that like El, Ava could act as some insurance if the Company tried to prosecute him before, or even after, he proved his case.

"Alright, Sugar… tell you what. You scurry back to your room and chill. I’ll swing by later to discuss things in further detail. But let me give you fair warning." Sands moved closer to Ava before continuing, his voice smooth as silk. "You decide to take this job, and there is no going back. My first advice to you still goes, and if you have any brains in that pretty little head of yours, you’ll get the fuck out of here and you won’t be in room 221 when I decide to mosey on over there." A smirk twisted Sands lips. "Now… get the fuck out of here. I won’t say it again."

"I’ll be in my room, Officer Sands," she said earnestly. Staring intently at the officer in front of her, she headed slowly out the door.

"Die dulci fruere," Sands said with an unenthusiastic wave of his hand, kicking the door closed with his foot as she left. As soon as the door shut, he walked over to the desk and began rummaging through the bags that Cam had brought in, forgetting about the woman in a matter of seconds.

"So, what are we making?" Cam asked, looking over Sands’ shoulder as he began guesstimating the amount of milk needed, pouring it into the plastic bowl Cam had bought.

Smiling mischievously, Sands answered, "Witches brew, Cam. A little eye of newt, couple of crow’s feet, dash of arsenic, and voila! Jackson’s cold dead body will appear before our very eyes… or your very eyes anyway. Cornstarch."

Cam stood there, nonplussed. "Corn starch? Oh!" Cam fished around in a couple of bags before coming up with the cornstarch and handing it to Sands. "You know that what you just said tells me precisely nothing, right?"

"You bet."

As Sands continued to mix the ingredients together, just what he was making suddenly dawned on Cam. He smiled and shot Sands a sly look.

Sands dipped a finger into the mixture, testing its consistency. Searching in the bags, Sands found the glue and squeezed it into the mix.

"Glue?" Cam asked.

Sands nodded in confirmation. "Makes it stick," he explained, cigarette dangling from his lips as he spoke.

"You’re getting ash in the bowl," Cam informed him.

"It’ll give the mix more texture," Sands said, shrugging it off.

"So who is Jackson working for?"

"The Company," Sands answered, taking the tracking device he’d found earlier out of his pocket and tossing it to Cam.

Cam caught it, scrutinizing the device closely.

"I do believe that’s still your specialty, is it not?" Sands drawled, stirring the ingredients together.

"You know it is," Cam said absentmindedly, inspecting the tracker. While Sands was a bang and burn officer at heart and in training, Cam had taken a different direction, specializing in electronic surveillance and photography. "It’s definitely a Company device. Not an old one either. This is the most common tracker in use, released late last year. Where’d you find it?"

"Hitching a ride on Jackson’s car," Sands replied, stubbing his dead cigarette out on the desk. "Fallaces sunt rerum species."

Deciding to ignore the Latin, Cam continued. "I think I’m getting the picture now. But the Company already sent me to find you. Why would they send Jackson too? Why go to the trouble of adding a tracker and keeping up with all these false pretenses when he could have just brought you in?"

Sands turned towards Cam, pointing a finger coated in thick white goop at him. "That’s the theme of tonight’s show."

Sands smirked and brought the finger to his lips. "But don’t tell. It’s a surprise. Besides…" Sands stuck the finger in his mouth, and Cam made a face, knowing that the stuff had to taste nasty, considering the ingredients in it. "… it’d be a cold day in hell before that fuckwad could have taken me back to the States."

Not swallowing, Sands tested its thickness. After a couple of seconds he rolled his tongue over his front teeth, but showed no other outward signs of its bitter taste. Instead, he walked straight into the bathroom.

"Taste good?" Cam asked in amusement, as he heard Sands spit into the sink and run the water for a few seconds.

Sands didn’t answer until he was back in the room, standing beside Cam. "Tastes like shit," he said matter-of-factly. Walking back over to the desk, Sands smirked. "Which means it’s perfect. Now for the final touch, which you’ll have to add… the food coloring."

Cam did so, trying to match a color he’d seen before. It wasn’t a hard color to remember. In fact, he was quite sure that it would be etched into his mind until the day he died.

Sands grabbed a water bottle and returned to the bathroom. Twisting off the cap, he took a swig, then poured the rest of the water into the sink, bringing the empty bottle back into the room.

"Got it?" Sands asked.

"Yeah. Where’d you learn to make this anyway? The Farm?"

Frowning slightly, Sands didn’t answer. His hand searched the desk, until it made contact with the notepad. He tore off a piece of paper, took the bowl from Cam, and went back into the bathroom.

‘Oh hell,’ Cam thought, knowing he’d just stuck his foot in his mouth. Sands’ reaction had told Cam that he already knew exactly who’d taught Sands. A painfully obvious answer that he should have thought of before opening his mouth.

Sands sighed as he set the bowl down by the sink, wishing that Cam hadn’t asked that question. It brought back memories that he didn’t want to remember, and thoughts that he’d rather not have.

Rolling up the piece of paper, he stuck one end in the plastic water bottle, and let the other end naturally expand out, creating a makeshift funnel. Grabbing the bowl, he began slowly pouring the thick mixture, transferring it from the bowl to the bottle.

When the bottle was full Sands twisted on the cap and cleaned up.

Walking back into the entryway, Sands dug into his bag and brought out an unusual looking black gun. It wasn’t very large, and was almost all barrel, with a firing lever instead of a trigger.

"Jesus, Sands! Is that what I think it is?" Cam asked when he caught sight of the gun.

"Since my telepathic powers seem to come and go as they please, I’ll just say yes."

"How the hell do you still have one of those? Wasn’t the Company forced to destroy that model five years ago when they started the big crackdown?"

Sands inclined his head, and Cam could imagine the devilish twinkle that would have been in his eyes. "Yes, and the answer is simple. I was sent out on an assignment with this gun seven years ago. When I returned to the States, I told the Company that I had to destroy the gun because it was in jeopardy of being discovered."

"But you just kept it instead… just how much Company stuff have you jacked over the years?"

Sands smiled wickedly, a clear capsule of light yellow liquid between his fingertips. He loaded it into the gun, and tucked the gun into his hip holster. The weapon was a dangerous one, and if it went off before he intended, he’d be dead… end of story.

"The Company doesn’t give those to just any officer…" Cam continued

Next Sands retrieved a brown sports coat, folded up in the bottom of his bag. Slipping it on to conceal the gun at his hip, he faced Cam and cocked an eyebrow, finishing the sentence. "Only to their trained assassins."

Cam said nothing, not knowing what to say. Sands tucked the water bottle into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Of course officially we don’t exist anymore, so mums the word," Sands continued easily.

Cam sighed heavily before replying, "Well, I always did wonder what that last specialty of yours was."

Sands slipped off his sunglasses, and searched around in the bag for his extra pair. Making the switch, Sands slipped on the cheaper sunglasses. There was no sense in ruining a good pair of sunglasses, after all. "Where did El run off to, anyway?"

"Beats me. Maybe he’s eating dinner."

"That better be all he’s doing," Sands said offhandedly. Retrieving a pair of black leather gloves and a small box from the bag, he slipped on the gloves and opened the box. Taking out a small white pill, he popped it in his mouth and swallowed it dry, then put the little box in his pocket.

"What was that?"

"Sodium thiosulfate," Sands answered, all suited up and ready to go. "Here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to ask Jackson to go down to the car and get my suitcase. I want you to stall him for… oh, let’s just say twenty minutes."

"I don’t know what he looks like."

"Now Cam, it would be rude of me not to formally introduce the two of you."

"Any specific way you want me to stall him?"

Sands raised his eyebrows. "You’re asking me? I do believe you’re the people person, out of the two of us. I’m sure you’ll think of a way." Walking to the door, Sands turned and waited for Cam to join him. "Just don’t arouse his suspicion."

Cam made his way over to Sands, but when Sands began to turn the knob Cam stopped him. "You just make sure you watch your back, Jeff."

"It’s just a little game of Cowboys and Indians, Cam. Don’t wig out," Sands said, calm as ever as he lit another cigarette.

"Yeah, but who knows how many Indians may be outside that door."

Sands exhaled a perfect ring of smoke, unfazed by Cam’s words of caution. "I’ll be sure to shoot first, shoot later, shoot again, then when everyone’s dead I’ll try and ask a question or two."

Cam smirked, reminded of the old days when they were partners in the field. "I thought you’d learned that dead men can’t tell you anything by now?"

Sands grinned and opened the door. "That’s where you’re wrong."

---

After Sands had introduced the two of them and ordered Jackson to promptly bring him his suitcase, they’d left Sands in Jackson’s room, while they collected the remaining luggage from the car. After picking up the rest of the bags, Cam had taken Jackson aside, leading him into the dinning area.

"How loyal are you to Sands?" Cam had whispered conspiratorially to Jackson after pulling him aside.

Cam got his answer without much effort. The answer was, Jackson wasn’t loyal at all.

During their chat, Jackson hadn’t mentioned who he was working for or what he was up to. Cam kept to his word and didn’t press for any information, to avoid any suspicion on Jackson’ part.

When they returned to the second floor, they parted ways. Cam returned to Sands’ room, deciding to wait for him.

---

After Cam went into Sands’ room, Jackson set down the two suitcases he carried and knocked on the door. Since he’d left Sands there, Jackson figured he’d still be waiting.

After several seconds and no sounds of movement within the room, Jackson tried again, and again there was no answer. Figuring that Sands had returned to his room after the long wait, Jackson took the keycard out of his pocket and opened the door.

Setting one foot inside, he dropped off his bag before walking down the hall with Sands’ suitcase. Knocking on the officer’s door, it was immediately answered by Cam.

Jackson quickly shoved the suitcase in Cam’s hands. "Tell Sands that I don’t want to be bugged by him for the rest of the night."

"Well, I’ll tell him when he gets back."

"He’s not here?"

"No," Cam answered, setting the suitcase down in the entryway by Sands’ other bag.

Curious, Jackson wondered where Sands could be. Coming to the conclusion that he really didn’t care, he shrugged. "I’ll see you two in the morning."

Returning back to his room, Jackson made a quick stop in the bathroom before grabbing his suitcase from the entryway and carrying it into the room. Setting it down on top of the small table by the window, he popped it open and grabbed a manila folder out of the top flap.

Turning around, he quickly froze in horror at the sight that greeted him. The folder in his hands dropped to the floor forgotten, and his jaw fell slack.

He took a small, shaky step towards the gruesome sight, his breath catching in his throat. He’d never been able to stomach the sight of blood… and there was a lot of blood.

"Fuck," Jackson swore under his breath. After a couple more steps towards the body, he decided that getting any closer wasn’t necessary.

Taking his cell phone out of his pocket, Jackson dialed a number with shaky hands. The line on the other end picked up after the first ring.

Jackson took a deep breath. "Yeah. I have some news to report about Officer Sands. No… no, that won’t be necessary after all. He’s dead."

Looking back at Sands’ body, Jackson shivered involuntarily. Blood coated his T-shirt, and had soaked through part of his jacket as well. He lay at an odd angle on the bed… but worst of all was the horrendous sight of Sands’ face.

Gone were the sunglasses that had always been there since he’d met the officer, but there was something else vital missing as well; his eyes. Instead, all that was there were empty sockets, recent wounds oozing dark crimson blood down his face.

Voice shaking, Jackson spoke into the phone again. "Yes, I’m sure. Sands won’t be a problem anymore."

---

Latin Translations

Ego te dimitto – You’re fired.

Die dulci fruere – Have a nice day.

Fallaces sunt rerum species – Appearances are deceptive/ Things are not as they appear.