[Riddle of the Blackbirds] Deleted Scene: "Fork It"

[permetaform]

[explanation]
While I was writing Riddle of the Blackbirds this was an assumed backstory, but it didn't fit the storyline and clashed with the storytelling.

But then I realized that I'd already had DVD Extras at the end of the fic so hey! Might as well have deleted scenes too, ne?
[/explanation]

So I present to you

Riddle of the Blackbirds
DVD Extras -

Fork It

[]

The restaurant clinked around them under the determined advice of the pair of Feds, and he thinks that they are compromised.

His contacts, that is; not the pork, which is actually pretty good.

"...would love for you to come back."

Sands let the silence drop until he heard them start to to shift uneasily.

"Do you like pork?" He gathered some up on the silverware.

"What?" The lady sounds amused. Sands is amused too and lets it show in his voice.

"This is really good Conchinta Pilbil. Wonderful, really. Here, try some." And Sands held up the loaded fork to where he'd last heard her voice come. Her partner sputtered, then tried to talk Sands into agreement again.

And Sands only smiled as he heard polished laughter and felt a slight tug on the tines.

Whereupon he shoved the utensil up beyond the back of her throat and fired three times from under the table; once in the stomach to hurl back the scatface, once into where he'd assumed one's heart might be, and once for insurance; 'cause he's just a little paranoid now, thank y' kindly dear Ajedrez.

He flipped open his phone and pressed the speed dial.

"El Jingles, need some help here."

"What now?"

"Three guesses, and two of them are dead."

"More? Why don't you just kill off the whole TOWN?" There was a faint doubled-echo of chains, from the cell and from the door.

"No, that's your job. I'm just here to look nice." Sands closed the phone and tucked it in his jacket, then plunked his doctor's bag on the table top. The chains stopped near as he tore off his arm and half stuffed it into the bag.

There was a wet sucking noise, and a brief rustle.

"El."

There was an amused grunt in response.

If Sands had eyes they'd be rolling out of his sockets; last time he'd used the arm he found a banana in the hand later. He reached over, and sure enough the bloodywet fork was stuck in the grip of the glove.

"You realize that's going to get stains on the bag."

"I'll pay for the dry-cleaning." There was a huff, and Sands guessed The Mariachi was hauling up the bodies.

"Fine, whatever floats your wood." Sands leered as he shoved the rest of arm into the bag and zipped it up.

They left as the restaurant started quietly clinking again and a waiter ambled by, mopping up blood.

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