March 29th, 2013
1
"You forget who I am! Never talk to me that way again!" José snarled, hand dipping toward his belt.
Dean's dark eyes narrowed as he looked up from the muddy ground. The thin layer of grit was still keeping most of the sun from peeking though the windows and, without the glare, he had a perfect shot.
"Whoever did this might still be around. Listen to my brother, Josey, and shut up, or maybe your body will join that one by the burnt jeep. It is one of your hombres, yes?"
The school had obviously been the site of a battle. Blackened jeeps, fly-ridden Mexican corpses, puddles of drying blood, drag marks in the deep sand - and the front of the red brick building looked like a bomb had gone off. The stocky guerilla picked it all out through his binoculars. Seemingly concentrating on the scene in front of them, he stored the insults, thinking one day, when he was in charge, these two negro hermanos would be muerto.
Dean seemed to sense the thought and snorted, "You'd better bring help, Josey." Mounting his solid black horse awkwardly, he silently cursed the wound which had healed, but left nerve damage that prevented the smooth control he used to have over his leg.
At the second intentional slur of his name, the scarred Mexican considered trying anyway.
Dean saw it in his slanted eyes, and he grinned at Cesar's ugly cousin. "Don't miss."
It was a long moment between them, and Dillan reluctantly distracted his brother. They needed Cesar. Killing his reckless second in command wouldn't help. "Fresh tracks. Not ours."
Dillan stood up from his perusal of the hard ground and Dean continued to eye the Mexican who abruptly turned his back to them. He was pretending to watch mutated ants the size of an infant's shoe, climb in and out of a huge, two-foot high hill of dirt, but both brothers knew he was really like a coiled snake, waiting for the right moment to strike. If he could conquer his carelessness, José might eventually gain the deadly air his cousin carried, but for now they weren't impressed.
"They were overpowered?" José asked, lighting a thick cigar with hands that were steadier than the brothers expected.
Dean realized Dillan had been right to stop him. For now. "If they had won, they would have maybe stayed, held your men as hostages. They fled," Dean stated curtly, annoyed they had to ally themselves with such amateurs. Cesar was the only real threat; the only reason José was still drawing breath.