Entry tags:
FIC: Ciudad del Este (cartel!verse)
TITLE: Ciudad del Este
FANDOM: crossover (cartel!verse)
RATING: PG?
WORD COUNT: 947
DISCLAIMER: These characters aren't mind, and the world is a strange 24/Once Upon a Time in Mexico/The Things They Carried crossover via M'ways in the past, and sorta belongs to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walksbyherself - I just threw in OUaTiM and started playing.
Ciudad del Este
Ciudad del Este is a cesspit, a hellhole of a city carved into the sweltering South American rainforest. It is a place where crime and sin run freely down the streets; where murderers-for-hire stand in the shadows talking shop with hookers who look as cheap as they are; where addicts shoot up only meters from where the drug lords and gangsters in their flash hotels and conference rooms discuss the next shipment. It’s grungy and dark and Mary Anne is in love. It’s like death by chocolate cake and she has her face pressed against the window. Nevermind that they arrived too damn early to be sane, nevermind that the scenes in the streets could be reflected again and again elsewhere; the point is that her lips are parted and her blue, blue eyes are just drinking it all in.
The limousine eventually pulls up in front of a classily understated hotel– or at least classily understated as passes for such in the Sin City of the South. She frowns, glancing back at the cartel-lord next to her.
“This is it?”
Ramon just snorts without answering and glances at the papers in his briefcase before snapping it shut. He could say a witty one-liner but…he’s too pissed off. The bruises on her back attest to that.
(not that Mary Anne had minded)
They step out into the summer and it’s like she’s eaten too much. Smog and the stink of addiction and decay; she manages not to gag as he gives quiet orders as to their bags and men, but it is a close thing. He doesn’t even have to say ‘this way’ before she’s at his heels and through the doors. It’s cooler in the foyer, but that is to be expected. In any other city, Mary Anne would say that there are tourists hurrying too and fro, but this Ciuded del Este. Italians brush shoulders with the Chinese, and in the part of her mind that has absorbed meeting after rant she starts thinking ‘shipments’, ‘arms deals’ and ‘heroin’. There, a Japanese businessman talks to his colleagues (Yakuza), there some Russians (the Organizatsiya), there a Latin American woman heading into a lift with several manila folders under one arm.
“Stop that lift,” Ramon says quietly and she doesn’t need to be told twice. Quickly and silently, Mary Anne dodges through the barely-there crowd and throws an arm out just as the lift is closing. The woman glances up, startled. She’s attractive, dark-eyed and brown-haired, and could be anywhere between thirty and forty. She opens her mouth to speak and Ramon steps into the lift with a smile.
“Ms Barillo.”
“Mr Salazar,” she replies calmly enough in a voice that is quiet and husky and makes Mary Anne curl her upper lip as she slips into the lift with them. Without glancing away, Ramon presses a button, any button.
“Ms Barillo…we need to talk. Now.”
Beatriz Barillo Trejo does nothing more then look mildly resigned.
“I suppose we do.”
Barillo, Barillo…Mexico, Florida.
“Do you want me to cut out her tongue?” Mary Anne asks, watching the other woman. Curvy, by both nature and children, with a thick gold wedding ring on her left hand and expensively nice clothes like any cartel-wife, but you would be a fool to discount the flash of fire in her dark brown eyes.
Mary Anne has never been a fool.
Ramon shakes his head, but it’s less no than not right now.
“What’s going on in Florida, Ms Barillo?”
“We saw a hole in the market, and took it.”
“I thought we agreed that Florida was mine.”
“Yours?”
“Columbia’s. Mine soon enough.”
“Of course.” The Mexican woman’s voice is mocking, in a polite way.
“You still-”
“We did nothing of the sort. You had an agreement with Enrique Torres, not the Barillos.”
There is pause and Ramon narrows his eyes. Barillo shrugs and smiles. It’s cold and warm at once, bitchwhorekiller. It’s a smile that Mary Anne recognizes from the mirror.
“And if you care to talk to your various contacts, then you will know that Señor Torres has recently met with an unfortunate realization, and acted accordingly.”
Ramon’s voice is flat.
“He got religion?”
“No, just an absence of the heart. It’s usually fatal, I am told. But, it does tend to happen when you cross your partners. Now,” she brings up the folders to her chest and starts thumbing through, “if you could read this and contact me afterwards, I’m sure we’ll have a far more productive conversation.” Barillo holds out the creamy-coloured folder with a smile. Slowly, still watching her with cold, narrow eyes, Ramon takes it from her. The lift stops with a ping and Barillo’s smile widens. Businesswoman perfect it’s not, but it seems more genuine for it.
“Now, can I go? You have some,” a brief glance at Mary Anne before her eyes snap back to Ramon, “uh, reading to do.”
“…fine.”
“Gracias, señor,” and with that she steps out of the lift and walks down the hallway. Wordlessly, Mary Anne turns to glare at her lover.
“Bitch of a woman,” he mutters, “Never understood why they let her-” and then looks at her.
“Ramon.”
“What, it’s true. I will never understand-”
“You were checking out her ass.”
“I was not.”
She steps forward and taps the knife-blade against his chest.
“You were.”
“Mary Anne, would I do that?”
(he means in front of her)
The doors open again, this time to their floor. “Yes,” Mary Anne informs him in frosty tones. “But I’ll forgive you, because the view was rather nice.”
And with that, she stalks out, leaving him to choke on sudden laughter.
~~
FANDOM: crossover (cartel!verse)
RATING: PG?
WORD COUNT: 947
DISCLAIMER: These characters aren't mind, and the world is a strange 24/Once Upon a Time in Mexico/The Things They Carried crossover via M'ways in the past, and sorta belongs to
walksbyherself - I just threw in OUaTiM and started playing. Ciudad del Este is a cesspit, a hellhole of a city carved into the sweltering South American rainforest. It is a place where crime and sin run freely down the streets; where murderers-for-hire stand in the shadows talking shop with hookers who look as cheap as they are; where addicts shoot up only meters from where the drug lords and gangsters in their flash hotels and conference rooms discuss the next shipment. It’s grungy and dark and Mary Anne is in love. It’s like death by chocolate cake and she has her face pressed against the window. Nevermind that they arrived too damn early to be sane, nevermind that the scenes in the streets could be reflected again and again elsewhere; the point is that her lips are parted and her blue, blue eyes are just drinking it all in.
The limousine eventually pulls up in front of a classily understated hotel– or at least classily understated as passes for such in the Sin City of the South. She frowns, glancing back at the cartel-lord next to her.
“This is it?”
Ramon just snorts without answering and glances at the papers in his briefcase before snapping it shut. He could say a witty one-liner but…he’s too pissed off. The bruises on her back attest to that.
(not that Mary Anne had minded)
They step out into the summer and it’s like she’s eaten too much. Smog and the stink of addiction and decay; she manages not to gag as he gives quiet orders as to their bags and men, but it is a close thing. He doesn’t even have to say ‘this way’ before she’s at his heels and through the doors. It’s cooler in the foyer, but that is to be expected. In any other city, Mary Anne would say that there are tourists hurrying too and fro, but this Ciuded del Este. Italians brush shoulders with the Chinese, and in the part of her mind that has absorbed meeting after rant she starts thinking ‘shipments’, ‘arms deals’ and ‘heroin’. There, a Japanese businessman talks to his colleagues (Yakuza), there some Russians (the Organizatsiya), there a Latin American woman heading into a lift with several manila folders under one arm.
“Stop that lift,” Ramon says quietly and she doesn’t need to be told twice. Quickly and silently, Mary Anne dodges through the barely-there crowd and throws an arm out just as the lift is closing. The woman glances up, startled. She’s attractive, dark-eyed and brown-haired, and could be anywhere between thirty and forty. She opens her mouth to speak and Ramon steps into the lift with a smile.
“Ms Barillo.”
“Mr Salazar,” she replies calmly enough in a voice that is quiet and husky and makes Mary Anne curl her upper lip as she slips into the lift with them. Without glancing away, Ramon presses a button, any button.
“Ms Barillo…we need to talk. Now.”
Beatriz Barillo Trejo does nothing more then look mildly resigned.
“I suppose we do.”
Barillo, Barillo…Mexico, Florida.
“Do you want me to cut out her tongue?” Mary Anne asks, watching the other woman. Curvy, by both nature and children, with a thick gold wedding ring on her left hand and expensively nice clothes like any cartel-wife, but you would be a fool to discount the flash of fire in her dark brown eyes.
Mary Anne has never been a fool.
Ramon shakes his head, but it’s less no than not right now.
“What’s going on in Florida, Ms Barillo?”
“We saw a hole in the market, and took it.”
“I thought we agreed that Florida was mine.”
“Yours?”
“Columbia’s. Mine soon enough.”
“Of course.” The Mexican woman’s voice is mocking, in a polite way.
“You still-”
“We did nothing of the sort. You had an agreement with Enrique Torres, not the Barillos.”
There is pause and Ramon narrows his eyes. Barillo shrugs and smiles. It’s cold and warm at once, bitchwhorekiller. It’s a smile that Mary Anne recognizes from the mirror.
“And if you care to talk to your various contacts, then you will know that Señor Torres has recently met with an unfortunate realization, and acted accordingly.”
Ramon’s voice is flat.
“He got religion?”
“No, just an absence of the heart. It’s usually fatal, I am told. But, it does tend to happen when you cross your partners. Now,” she brings up the folders to her chest and starts thumbing through, “if you could read this and contact me afterwards, I’m sure we’ll have a far more productive conversation.” Barillo holds out the creamy-coloured folder with a smile. Slowly, still watching her with cold, narrow eyes, Ramon takes it from her. The lift stops with a ping and Barillo’s smile widens. Businesswoman perfect it’s not, but it seems more genuine for it.
“Now, can I go? You have some,” a brief glance at Mary Anne before her eyes snap back to Ramon, “uh, reading to do.”
“…fine.”
“Gracias, señor,” and with that she steps out of the lift and walks down the hallway. Wordlessly, Mary Anne turns to glare at her lover.
“Bitch of a woman,” he mutters, “Never understood why they let her-” and then looks at her.
“Ramon.”
“What, it’s true. I will never understand-”
“You were checking out her ass.”
“I was not.”
She steps forward and taps the knife-blade against his chest.
“You were.”
“Mary Anne, would I do that?”
(he means in front of her)
The doors open again, this time to their floor. “Yes,” Mary Anne informs him in frosty tones. “But I’ll forgive you, because the view was rather nice.”
And with that, she stalks out, leaving him to choke on sudden laughter.
~~