After the Daydream
By The Vampire Sands
Fandom: Once Upon a Time in Mexico Rating: R for violence & language Pairing: Sands/Ajedrez Feedback: sure, whatever Disclaimer: Sands and company belongs to Richard Rodriguez, I only wish he was mine. Really.
Sands had one of those memories used in fiction a lot. They called it photographic memory or eidetic memory, but his was more than that. Not only did Sands remember everything he'd ever seen, but his audio-graphic memory was just as good. This made him a straight-A student in every language he ever put his mind to. This also made him appealing to the C.I.A. recruiters way back when.
As he sat in the Mexican taxi cab, he listened to the sound of gun-fire growing louder and the odd clunking sounds the engine made. The cab came to a sudden halt. After he exchanged a few words with the intractable driver and listened to the blank sound of a disconnected cell phone, Sands knew he was facing the business end of a cannon and his life expectancy was now down to minutes.
Out of his past came the face and voice of his third-year Japanese teacher. She was a small woman, always smiling, especially when giving them onerous assignments.
The night before she'd set the class the homework of looking up proverbs. Japanese proverbs, of course. As an example, she stopped in front of Sands' seat, closed the NEWSWEEK he'd been flash-reading, and waited for his. He hadn't done his homework and shrugged. "Vision with action is a daydream; action without vision is a nightmare," she'd told him.
Now, getting out of the cab behind the Chicklet boy, Sands thought about her words. Yep. Here he was, acting without vision, and it truly was a nightmare.
He removed his brown jacket. Of course he could see the color in his every- clear mind's eye. He handed it to the kid and held out his hands. There was a moment's hesitation on the kid's part, then he started handing over the gear. Holsters, gloves. Thanks for giving me the wrong one first, kid, he thought sourly. Then dressed to kill, literally, he and the kid moved forward and the chicken-assed taxi driver took off.
Now it was time to face the nightmare, he thought. "He who believes in dreams feeds on wind," he whispered to himself. Well, he had no more dreams and he refused to feed on the wind.
Facing the doors, at least the kid said he was facing them, Sands adjusted his stance and waited. The adrenalin was pumping. He pulled out the automatic. Time to find out just where these pukes were.
He pulled the trigger, spraying the building, which sounded pretty far away, but not hearing any grunts. Instead he heard laughter. Bingo. He fired at the laughing man once. Twice. No more laughter.
Apparently the second man didn't like having his buddy shot. He shot back. No big surprise, but the bullets biting into his legs was one hell of a shock to his system. He fell to his knees, still listening. A step. A shot. A scream. A second shot. It was over. At least for a few moments.
He allowed himself to go down into the dirt. Now, if the kid just remembered what he was to do. Sands was sure his explanation had been clear enough.
It was an indeterminable time later. Without eyes, Sands could no longer see the lime-green face of his watch. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, when he heard the approaching footsteps. At least the kid had come through for him. He prayed it was Ajedrez.
The footsteps paused, she spoke, and glee spread through him. He kept his face reflective of his pain and shock, at least he hoped he looked that way, as she put his glasses on, shoved the cold hard muzzle of her gun's silencer under his chin, and forced him to his feet. He still clutched the wounded left shoulder with his right hand, and she didn't even notice. Until the bullet hit her. Three arms could be really handy.
He answered her question, her very last question, then slid to the ground. "Ambition and revenge are always hungry," he whispered to her still form. He smiled, even as the pain washed over him and he allowed his wounded body to relax on the sun-baked dirt street.
By The Vampire Sands
Fandom: Once Upon a Time in Mexico Rating: R for violence & language Pairing: Sands/Ajedrez Feedback: sure, whatever Disclaimer: Sands and company belongs to Richard Rodriguez, I only wish he was mine. Really.
Sands had one of those memories used in fiction a lot. They called it photographic memory or eidetic memory, but his was more than that. Not only did Sands remember everything he'd ever seen, but his audio-graphic memory was just as good. This made him a straight-A student in every language he ever put his mind to. This also made him appealing to the C.I.A. recruiters way back when.
As he sat in the Mexican taxi cab, he listened to the sound of gun-fire growing louder and the odd clunking sounds the engine made. The cab came to a sudden halt. After he exchanged a few words with the intractable driver and listened to the blank sound of a disconnected cell phone, Sands knew he was facing the business end of a cannon and his life expectancy was now down to minutes.
Out of his past came the face and voice of his third-year Japanese teacher. She was a small woman, always smiling, especially when giving them onerous assignments.
The night before she'd set the class the homework of looking up proverbs. Japanese proverbs, of course. As an example, she stopped in front of Sands' seat, closed the NEWSWEEK he'd been flash-reading, and waited for his. He hadn't done his homework and shrugged. "Vision with action is a daydream; action without vision is a nightmare," she'd told him.
Now, getting out of the cab behind the Chicklet boy, Sands thought about her words. Yep. Here he was, acting without vision, and it truly was a nightmare.
He removed his brown jacket. Of course he could see the color in his every- clear mind's eye. He handed it to the kid and held out his hands. There was a moment's hesitation on the kid's part, then he started handing over the gear. Holsters, gloves. Thanks for giving me the wrong one first, kid, he thought sourly. Then dressed to kill, literally, he and the kid moved forward and the chicken-assed taxi driver took off.
Now it was time to face the nightmare, he thought. "He who believes in dreams feeds on wind," he whispered to himself. Well, he had no more dreams and he refused to feed on the wind.
Facing the doors, at least the kid said he was facing them, Sands adjusted his stance and waited. The adrenalin was pumping. He pulled out the automatic. Time to find out just where these pukes were.
He pulled the trigger, spraying the building, which sounded pretty far away, but not hearing any grunts. Instead he heard laughter. Bingo. He fired at the laughing man once. Twice. No more laughter.
Apparently the second man didn't like having his buddy shot. He shot back. No big surprise, but the bullets biting into his legs was one hell of a shock to his system. He fell to his knees, still listening. A step. A shot. A scream. A second shot. It was over. At least for a few moments.
He allowed himself to go down into the dirt. Now, if the kid just remembered what he was to do. Sands was sure his explanation had been clear enough.
It was an indeterminable time later. Without eyes, Sands could no longer see the lime-green face of his watch. He was slipping in and out of consciousness, when he heard the approaching footsteps. At least the kid had come through for him. He prayed it was Ajedrez.
The footsteps paused, she spoke, and glee spread through him. He kept his face reflective of his pain and shock, at least he hoped he looked that way, as she put his glasses on, shoved the cold hard muzzle of her gun's silencer under his chin, and forced him to his feet. He still clutched the wounded left shoulder with his right hand, and she didn't even notice. Until the bullet hit her. Three arms could be really handy.
He answered her question, her very last question, then slid to the ground. "Ambition and revenge are always hungry," he whispered to her still form. He smiled, even as the pain washed over him and he allowed his wounded body to relax on the sun-baked dirt street.