[OUATIM] On the lips and hearts of children (PG)

[winter]

Sands and a boy, on a lazy afternoon.

Previously in the series:
Back in the Fold
Things to Do in Sinaloa When You're Dead
First Blood
Ballad of the Blind Gunman
Darkness, and the Fear of Darkness

Note: With thanks to my child-Faramir muse, who informed my portrayal of Chiclet Boy here.



ON THE LIPS AND HEARTS OF CHILDREN

by Beth Winter


The early July sun is turning the streets of Culiacan into a barbecue grill. This is bad for business, so Paco spends the early hours of the afternoon in the shadow of the eaves of his mother's house. It is his house, too, because a lot of the money that feeds his mother and three sisters comes from Paco's earnings. But he des not feel he belongs there. He has not for eight months now.

Since the November day he does not let himself think about.

In his half-sleep he hears the car stop by the house. Footsteps, and then a woman's voice talking to his mother. The woman's Spanish is lightly accented. Cuban, possibly. There's a faint jangling sound as the visitor moves. Earrings?

As he strains to hear what they're talking about, a second set of footsteps circles the house to stop in front of him. Paco opens his eyes.

He knows there's nothing behind the dark glasses that could look back at him.

"Señor." His voice catches, but does not break.

A smile under those opaque lenses. "You're not out selling gum?"

Paco shrugs. "Too hot."

"Yeah, I get that." The American is wearing black. Simpler and more suited to the weather than eight months ago, but still black. Paco can't imagine him in anything else.

Then he notices something. "You learned Spanish, Señor?"

"I always knew it." White teeth in the sunlight, bleached bone. "Never let out how much you really can do. That way, you always got a choice of aces up your sleeve. At least that's what mom used to say."

The American sits down on Paco's side - no. He doesn't sit down, he folds up like a futuristic deck chair, all black and gun-chrome. They sit together for a while, the toes of their boots touching the sunlight.

"Why did you come to see me?" Paco's fingers draw patterns on his knees.

Sands laughs roughly and switches to English. "You know, if you left me in that square, it'd all end clean. As clean as it gets in this whore of a country. Guy went against the cartels, got killed, killed the ones who killed him. End of fucking story. Why didn't you?"

Paco looks at the American thoughtfully. "You'd be angry," he offers.

"Damn straight. Did I say thank you? Thank you, thank you, thank you." Sands leans over. "You need anything? US visa? Scholarship? I've the dineros now, just say it."

Paco drops his gaze and looks at the silver buttons on Sands' black shirt. They have carvings of scorpions poised to sting. "You're still doing it, Señor. Still fighting them."

"Now, what makes you say that?"

The boy smiles, then remembers the other will not see it. "You look like you did on El Dia de los Muertos," he explains.

"Minus the blood and gore, I should hope. But yeah. Things changed, my gum-selling friend."

"My mother says that's called growing up," Paco says.

This elicits another snort of laughter. "The boss-man would probably agree with her. Or maybe I finally found something worth going on for, something besides half-cooked ideas."

"What?" Paco shifts to looks straight at the American; Señor seems thoughtful as he toys with his ebony cane.

"Hitting those bastards where it hurts. They knew what they were playing with when they started messing around, and I'm it. I'm what's waiting at the bottom."

"Justice?"

"Nah. Just me." The American is smiling now, tight-lipped and wide. "That's what got me through once you got me on the plane. Got me through rehab, psych eval - turns out vengeance is a healthy impulse - and what came after. And here I am."


~FINIS?~

Notes:
"Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children" - William Makepiece Thackeray, quoted in The Crow. The original version has "in the lips and hearts", but I like the Crow version better.

Next in this series: Oaths And Bullets. Sands and his team get between two sides of an old feud. Contains easter eggs for the discerning Tolkien geek.


Add comment? (Yes/No/Bang!)

Comments

[pinkdormouse.livejournal.com]

Lovely interspersing of dialogue and minimalistic descriptions that say so much.

One typo:

"Minus the blood and gore, I should hop. But yeah. Things changed, my gum-selling friend."

'Hope' surely?

Definitely bouncing with anticipation of the next part.

Gina

[winter]

*hiss* Thanks. That's what happens when you surreptitiously type the thing in while pretending to be working on an article for the newspaper.

And the "more" will certainly be upcoming. Right now I'm experimenting with the elves original characters who'll play a major part in the next story.

[pinkdormouse.livejournal.com]

Good news indeed.

In my first Customer Services job I once typed an entire chapter of a novel while waiting for the phone network to get repaired.

Gina

[blodwen.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you've come back to this series. I enjoyed the first parts enormously and these are just as good. I especially like how Sands addresses Paco as an adult, rather than a small child. He's earned a certain amount of respect from Sands, who would talk to an adult like a child if he thought they deserved it.

And small, but funny typo: ... so Paco spends the early hours of the afternoon in the shadow of the ewes of his mother's house. Did you mean "eaves"? Dare I ask what you were thinking about when you typed this?

And before I go - The Corinthian!! I guess Sands is something of a nightmare for the cartels now.

[winter]

*meeps* Gah, of course it's eaves. I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I was typing this in surreptitiously in the office.

And I'm very glad you liked it :)) I've always seen the Corinthian as the same archetype as Sands. There's a crossover fic lurking here somewhere.