dos tequilas

Need to go off the radar for a while and want to get loaded doing it? There is no better place on the planet than Mexico to do it. Atleast, that is what Clayton Wray’s father always said. Clayton had been there a few times, and while there was nothing he didn’t like about the place, he could not think of a single thing he liked either. How long had he been there, anyway? Days? Or was it weeks? He did not know anymore, and nor did he care; time was something like liquid to him now. He was stuck here for the time being, though. Nothing seemed to be going right for him since his botched museum job, and with every heist going south the only money he had was what little he saved up, and what little he had saved up was not even enough to buy a bus ticket out of Mexico.

Clayton’s appearance was as disheveled as it had ever been as he sat at his own table in a shady corner of the bar. People from the crowded streets poured into the already crowded cantina; the bar’s windows were painted black, but if Clayton had to guess, this meant that the clock read 6 pm and not 6 am. He still couldn’t count on that, though. He took a look down at himself; he was wearing the same dark suit he was wearing during his unappreciated rescue of someone he was not entirely sure he even liked. His clothing was, of course, now looking about as tired and worn as he felt. Was that a bloodstain on the leg of his pants? He wondered if it was even his blood. Elaine was right; he was being too reckless. What had gotten into him lately? He did not have time to think about that for very long, though, as the Barmaid approached his table for what was probably the thousandth time that day. She was a frumpy, middle aged woman with a grouchy disposition that made that Huntress bitch seem cheerful by comparison. “Dos tequilas” Clayton managed to slur and raised two fingers to the woman. That phrase was all the words he knew in Spanish, and he insisted on ordering in that fashion even though the barmaid could speak fluent English. The woman simply shook her head in disappointment as she placed the two drinks he ordered earlier on the table and trotted off to take care of other customers. He hoped she knew he had no intention of paying his tab.

Clayton's face fell to the table as the woman walked off. Here he was in Mexico City, friendless in another country. Consciousness was beginning to fade from him when a loud ruckus began across the room. Men were shouting in Spanish, and Clayton didn’t need to know what they were saying to know there was going to be trouble. Stay out of this. There’s no phantom gel to heal any broken bones down here. Clayton leaned back in his booth in an attempt to go unnoticed.

"Haga las paces con a sus antepasados, para hoy andará entre ellos en las tierras del muerto..." Exploding from the bowels of a small bar in Mexico City, Elaine knew no fear. Clad in a black poncho with the frayed black fringes of her vest poking out, Elaine looked in her own element with two modified colt pistols brandished in the air. "...Hoy encuentra su destino en mí, su peor pesadilla, la vaquera loca."

In the darkness of Mexico's City's history rose a shady subculture of kidnapping and smuggling. An ever observant spectator of Mexican Soap Opera "La exposición realmente triste donde todos está triste todo el tiempo," a few weeks ago Elaine noticed one of her favorite actresses disappeared from the show and noticed a change in the subtle acting cues given off between several key actors. Following up on this Elaine took a bus to Brownsville, Texas. From there she rented a car and breaking numerous safety and insurance liabilities took the car to Mexico City.

"Oye le conozco." She spoke to Clayton. "Oh wait. I mean, I know you. You're Joel Mchale." A blunt plank came across the back of Elaine's head throwing her forward into a table. Bottles and cards parted ways as Elaine planted into the occupied table. "Ouch." Two men moved to grab Elaine and drag her off, when Elaine threw her arm back. Elbows interlocked and Elaine threw the man's weight around to use him as a shield.

A fist flew towards Elaine. She placed her hand against the back of the interlocked man to block the fist with his face. Blood shot out from his face; Elaine quickly moved to grab the assailants arm and twist it behind his back. Bottles shattered on the floor while the thug Elaine used as a shield doubled over on the table. With a quick twist of her wrist Elaine dislocated the man's shoulder. The splitting caused him to shout in pain. "Be quiet. I've never shouted any of the times I dislocated my shoulder." From the corner of the bar a third man rushed over and slammed a wooden plank against Elaine's recently injured left knee. A shot to her leg caused a distraught scream to come from Elaine. Turning to see the man, Elaine grabbed him and shadow jumped towards the ceiling with the man in tow. Wooden rafters framed the ceiling and gave Elaine a place to hang from.

The man squirmed as Elaine held onto the back of his shirt. "Suelte!" He shouted.

"Okay." Elaine dropped the man down to the table where her first assailant still writhed in pain. "Why are you in Mexico?"

Clayton’s focus was drawn away from the brawl by an all too familiar voice. He turned to the source of it to see none other than that damn cowgirl again. How was she able to just show up like that? She was like some kind of a dimension hopping, gun slinging imp that way. “I’m not even going to ask how you found me, but why you keep calling me Joel… ” Their reunion was cut short by an explosion of violence. Clayton watched, practically awestruck as the tiny woman destroyed all comers while taking the time to mock them. There was no doubt in his mind that she was good; maybe she was as good as he was, or even better. Clayton counted himself lucky that he would not have to find out. During the chaos some tough guy tried to pull Clayton into the fight; it was the tough guy’s mistake. The man grabbed Clayton by his collar and attempted to lift him out of the booth only to be met with a sharp backhand across his face that was followed up with a headbutt. The man let go, clutching his gushing nose as he landed onto the floor. Even in his drunken stupor, they would have to do better than that.

Once the final assailant was dropped to the table, the bar fell silent for a brief moment before returning to its typical dull roar of conversations that Clayton couldn’t comprehend sober, let alone now. ”What am I doing in Mexico? What are you doing in Mexico? Did you follow me or something? Because that would be both adorable and kinda creepy.” Clayton eyed around the room, and noticed two men who appeared to be police officers pushing their way through the crowd, ”Do you maybe wanna get outta here?” the last thing he wanted to do was deal with both local law enforcement and a language barrier at the same time.

"Den el visto bueno nosotros deberemos ir en algún lugar seguro." Feeling that hanging from the rafter brought far too much attention to her, Elaine dropped down towards Clayton's arms to safe her knee the shock of the fall. Elaine grabbed Clayton's hand and started to pull him away. "Why are you standing there! Its like we're speaking different languages. Don't you know that these guys have Estaban!"

Elaine shadow jumped into an adjacent room with guns lining the walls of the room. Five men grabbed small arms and aimed them towards Elaine. She quick drew her right pistol and fired an explosive round towards the man to her left. Bullets flew towards Elaine causing her to roll under a table and kick it over giving her cover. The chamber rolled over in her right pistol and she fired upon the next in her line of targets. The three remaining men took cover in the next room, hoping the wall would grant them some support. To their dismay, Elaine rolled over the chamber til she produced a remote detonation round. Dodging bullets that flew past her, Elaine let the round fly into the back chamber. With her back against the wall, she moved her finger up the grip and pressed the button, causing the bullet to burst with the power of dynamite.

Elaine turned back to the entrance Clayton would use and began explaining herself. "So while I was in the hospital, I was watching "La exposición realmente triste donde todos está triste todo el tiempo" and I noticed that Estaban Corrazon was no longer active in the show. Also, his supporting cast no longer played their roles in the same way as they had in the wedding episode where Izbel came out of coma to realize that Gabriel was not her evil twin, but she was in fact the evil twin. So that can only mean Estaban has been kidnapped. So I get a rental car and came down here to fight crime. Why are you in Mexico."

Clayton caught Elaine as she jumped down from the ceiling and the next thing he knew she was doing that weird wall jump thing again and he was along for the ride. In an instant they were in another room, leaving his glasses of well water alcohol and a large bar tab behind. There was another eruption of violence which happened almost quicker than an ordinary human being could process. Luckily for Clayton and Elaine, they were something more than ordinary human beings. Claytons reactions were made almost thoughtlessly as he dodged the men’s bullets with a fair amount of ease. He wouldn’t be able to dodge them forever, so he kicked over a circular table to his left and crouched behind it for cover as he rolled it towards the table Elaine was hiding behind. He attempted to ask her just what the hell was going on, but was interrupted by the explosion of Elaine’s remote detonation round.

Things were quieter after that and Elaine gave her explanation. All this death and destruction because some actor quit a Mexican soap opera? What is her damage? he decided it was better not to ask, lest he wind up offending her and winding up like the multiple men dead on the floor. “So what do these fine latino gang members have to do with your missing soap star? Are you absolutely positive they have him?” Clayton shook his head, of course they didn’t have him. Why would they? The guy was probably at home in his mansion watching soccer or something right now; regardless, whether he wanted to be or not, Clayton was involved now. Being caught without even a knife in this gun fight would do him no good so he hopped over the tables and picked up a pistol off one of the corpses. Normally Clayton would have been extremely bothered by such careless death, but he reasoned that these men were probably far from saintly. He checked the gun over and made sure it was loaded, before turning to Elaine, “Don’t worry about why I’m here. Let’s go find this Easterban guy.” What the hell was he doing? Every fiber of his being told him this was probably his worst idea of all time, but he never really listened to them anyway.

"Oh we'll do more than save him. You see, I've come down here with my mother's wedding dress and a ring I found off of a dead guy, so I'm not leaving until I save him and he accepts to marry me." Appropriation failed her in this moment as the three thugs flew out of the room as the round exploded. "The moment will be so right." One of the members cried in pain, as Elaine held her hand over her heart and sighed. Alas, this small room did not hold her long lost love. "Alas, this small room does not hold my long lost love."

Elaine walked to the end of the room, and opened the door. Outside the world seemed normal. Fights broke out among the regulars and no one in authority cared. The police decided the thugs within the room did not pose a threat so they left soon after entering the room. "They would arrest you because you're American, so stay with me." Elaine whispered back to Clayton. She grabbed his hand and lead him out of the bar and to her small rented Rio. Hanging up in the back seat Elaine clearly made good on her promise of bringing a wedding dress with her.

"So as soon as we find Estaban, I want you to play this weird, big, Mexican guitar while I inform Estaban we are to be married. Do you understand that?" Elaine held up a map of the general area. She marked off several locations that harbored very dangerous elements of town. How she traced these elements very few people besides her knew. The only truth of the matter remained that she found and tagged the most dangerous elements of Mexico City; how they planned on acting now, well that ball rolled into Clayton's lap.

This woman was completely insane, and to think he’d been taking her advice about not being so reckless seriously. Clayton could not believe he was an accessory to any of this mess, but continued digging himself deeper into the hole by following her out and following her advice of sticking close. Because I’m an American… What the hell is she then? he continued questioning what he was doing while making no attempts to stop himself. Elaine led him out the door to the crowded Mexico City streets to where her cheap rental car was parked. It was made apparent that Elaine was not joking about her marriage quest, as she actually had the wedding dress hanging in her Rio. ”You want me to play that big guitar thing at your crazy shot gun wedding? Um, okay.” he agreed to her request believing that they would never find the man anyway so he had nothing to worry about.

Once in the car Elaine showed him her map of the city marked with supposed dangerous places. “How did you figure these places?... You know what? Never mind.” Clayton couldn’t actually read the map, so he was forced to just point to a location at random. “There! That place has got to be to where they’re keeping him.” He pointed to one of the X’s on the map it was a building marked “catedral”. Clayton felt like he was playing soldiers again like when he was a kid; only instead of leading neighborhood kids with harmless squirtguns, he was leading a crazy woman with real guns willing to shoot anyone that got in the way of her fantasy wedding. He figured at the very least he could keep her from harming people. For some reason Clayton didn’t manage to connect the word “catedral” to “cathedral”. He was about to be in for a surprise.

"Good call." Elaine said as she stepped on the gas of he small car. Just because a car came cheap did not mean it lacked power. Engines roared as the small car tore through the crowded streets, with Elaine taking "short-cuts" through alleyways and sidewalks. Crowded intersections and pedestrians parted in the way of Elaine. "I can't believe these people are so rude that they stand in the middle of sidewalks when I'm driving down them."

After a few moments that tried the collective faith and sanity of the greater Mexico City area, Elaine pulled to a stop in front of a cathedral. "Here we are. St. Antonio's Cathedral." Elaine reloaded her gun and opened her door. "Okay, so I go in and fire indiscriminately and you come in with the guitar singing. Sounds like a plan?" Before Clayton could answer Elaine shot for the door. Shadow jump provided her with an entrance that did not include the door, the best kind of entrance.

Motion stood still inside the cathedral. Elaine walked towards the confession booth and strolled pass the rows of seats. She came face to face with an elderly priest, who seemed unnerved to see her. "I need confession." She spoke genuinely. "Father forgive me for I have sinned."

"Well my daughter tell me what you have done."

"I gunned down about five drug members after beating up three other thugs, also I couldn't save a metallic suited villain from being burnt in a fire. Also I killed some people in anger on a roof once, lead to several hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage in property damage to a gay bar, and could not save a little girl from being sacrificed to an evil witch."

"That is quite a life of misery my daughter."

"That just about sums up the last five days. What do I do father?" Elaine clasped her hands together seeking guidance.

"Five days?! What is wrong with you?" The father knew not how to respond to the confession of the naive looking cowgirl. "I..." He struggled for words. "...I've dealt with cartel members, but never anything like that."

"Cartel?" Elaine broke her hands through the wooden veil that separated the two. "Tell me what you know."

"Maybe you should start talking sweetheart." A gun pressed against Elaine's head as two thugs opened the door and pointed guns at Elaine. "We wouldn't want this to get ugly, now would we."

Clayton slammed his forehead against the dashboard of the small rental vehicle. Why did it have to be a church? Out of all the places on the map, he went and picked a church. Not only was he an accessory to Elaine’s rampage; he was now an accessory to a rampage at a church. He wondered if it was possible for this to get any worse. It probably was, but he did not want to think of the ways. He got the sudden urge to just leave and never look back. If Elaine really was going in there and shooting indiscriminately, which was an entirely believable thing for her to do; he felt he would be as guilty as she was if he took no preventative action. He rolled down the window and called out to her, “Elaine, maybe I was wrong! He’s probably not even here. I mean, why would he be at a church of all places? This is silly… ” he laughed nervously as Elaine continued onward to the church, “Elaine… Goddamn it!” he cursed as his pleas fell on deaf ears.

Clayton quickly exited the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him. There was an unusually wide sidewalk between him and the steps of the church; a sidewalk filled with beggars. The church was hundreds of years old, and something of a tourist attraction in the city, so of course the beggars flocked to it in hopes of sympathetic tourists being able to spare a few pesos. As Clayton hurried towards the cathedral his path was interrupted by a boy who looked to be somewhere between the ages of eight and ten. “iSeñor! ¿Dinero, por favor?” the boy begged with cupped hands.

“Money? Yeah sure, kid. Here, this is real money.” Clayton dug into his pockets, withdrew a few crumpled up one dollar bills and handed them to the boy.

“iGracias!” the boy smiled and ran off, but not before the other beggars caught what was going on.

Within a second they were surrounding him like sharks drawn to blood in the water; poverty stricken, malnourished sharks with outstretched hands and desperate cries for help.
Oh, what the hell? I don’t have time for this! Clayton was more than annoyed as he pushed through the sea of homeless towards the church. ”No no no no. No more dinero. No mas dinero!” he barked to the crowd, which continued reaching for him and begging desperately. “You people want money?! Fine! Have at it!” he exclaimed as he emptied the rest of ones and loose change from his pockets onto the streets. This seemed to be enough for nearly of the crowd as they all made dives for the money. All were busy scrambling for the currency but one eldery man who clung desperately to Clayton’s jacket.

“Please, please, señor…” the man sputtered out desperately.

Unfortunately for the man, possibly innocent lives being in probable danger took precedence over whatever his situation might have been. “Outta the damn way, old man!” Clayton urged, but the man just would not let go. So Clayton did the only logical thing and brought his fist to the man’s face with a forceful impact which knocked him unconscious almost instantly.

Clayton shook the slight twinge of pain from his fist as he rushed up the stairs of the church. Atleast there haven’t been any gunshots… not yet, anyway He was almost at a run as pushed through the doors of the church, only to come to a sliding halt as he was greeted by the site of two stereotypical looking cartel thugs aiming pistols at a confessional booth. He stopped and there was a brief moment of silence as he and the gunmen stared blankly at each other, ”What the hell kind of sin did- fuck it, lame joke anyway.” Clayton didn’t bother finishing his bad attempt at humor as the thugs aimed their guns at him and fired. Quick reflexes allowed him to dive safely behind the pews as the bullets began to fly at him. ”Elaine! That you in there? What the hell did you do to piss these kind gentlemen off?” Clayton’s shouts echoed out from behind the pew, and through the large, mostly empty church as he drew the pistol he lifted off a dead man earlier.

"Yipikaye Sister Superior!" Elaine drew her pistols out from under her poncho and fired two smoke screen shells into their backs. Smoke rose from the bodies of the two men, smoldering on the ground. Quickly her eyes diverted to see where Clayton ducked to. "Do you slip or something? You should be more careful this place is dangerous..." Suddenly a crucifix hit Elaine square in the back of the head, sending her face first into the side of the confession. A sigh of relief came from the elderly priest who survived Elaine's savage attack.

"Kill that man. We don't need witnesses!" A loud command rang out from the confession, ushering in Clayton's silencing committee. Within a few seconds two groups of three men erupted from the side doors flanking the pews and filling the rows with rounds spit from fully automatic weapons. Out of the corner of the balcony, a lone shooter crept into position to fire on the pinned down Clayton.

Shots rang out from the confessional; if the men pointing guns at it before weren’t proof enough that Elaine was in there, the shots were. Did she have to kill everyone she met? … Okay, Clayton could forgive her for those two. She asked him something about slipping when he peered around the corner and caught a glimpse at the smoke rising from the two gunmen. Whatever else she was about to say to Clayton was cut off by a loud thud followed by a man shouting for his head. Reckless, reckless, stupid, reckless… he cursed himself when the men came in firing assault rifles into the pews. How Elaine’s mere presence could make even the purest of places into the most dangerous was beyond Clayton, but he would do his best to make sure that they both made it out alive; even if that meant the cartel men wouldn’t.

He couldn’t shout to Elaine without giving away what slight cover the wooden pews and smoke screen gave him. He knew firing his pistol would give away his position, but at the very least it would even the numbers. He slid on the surprisingly slick marble floor down the pew towards the men coming from the left, away from the smoke. Staying on his stomach to make for as small a target as possible, he aimed the pistol towards the men. Before they even had time to react he fired off a shot at each of them. Clayton hoped to hit their hands, but his aim was not careful enough since he was trading precision for speed. Each shot connected with the men’s chests; they were probably dead. Clayton would have time to kick himself over this all later. He picked himself back up to a crouched position behind the pew when a shot whizzed directly past his head and into the wooden bench. Clayton looked up to see a man with a rifle of some sort aimed down at him from the balcony; he returned fire at the sniper in a flurry of reaction time, with the shot catching the man in the waist and sending him tumbling over the balcony. The other three men, one with an assault rifle and two with machine pistols were rushing stupidly down the aisle to the right where Elaine’s smoke screen gave Clayton complete concealment. He hurried over to cross it before they could get there. Once through the barrier the men began firing on … nothing.

Clayton kept his back to the wall and shot two of the men in the back. He did not care whether the men lived or not at this point; it was clearly kill or be killed, and that would allow Clayton to justify this event for the time being. The third man, the one with the assault rifle turned around to face him. Clayton pulled the trigger, but the gun made the familiar “clink” of emptiness. The cartel member smiled wickedly at what he assumed was a helpless man; Clayton refused to be fish in a barrel, though, and simply tossed the gun directly at the man’s face, smashing his nose in. It did not prevent the man from firing, but it did allow Clayton to narrowly avoid the lead and get in close enough to twist the rifle away from the man. It was Clayton’s turn to smile now as it was the man’s turn to be fish in a barrel. Rather than simply shoot the man, Clayton lifted the gun and drove it into the cartel member’s face. Whether he was dead or not, Clayton couldn’t tell. Looking around at a now empty room, Clayton decided it was safe enough to check on Elaine now. “Yeah, thanks for the help there, Cowgirl!” he called Elaine out, ”… Elaine?” there was no response.

Slowly the confessional booth lowered down below the platform. Behind a laugh the priest walked from his confessional booth. "It's been awhile since you've been to confession hasn't it, my son?" Pulling his arms up conjured two knives that stuck out beyond his fingers. Slashing at Clayton's chest, the priest diverted all of his effort into blocking any retaliation with his off hand. "I've got too good of a deal here to let you and you're delusional air head friend take that from me." Holy Spirit help him; he swung his right knife hand with an open fist towards Clayton's chest. "You need to let Jesus into your heart my son." Flashing before Clayton's eyes came a long knife with the words "Jesus Saves" on it.

The elevator descended with the unconscious Elaine on it. Beer bottles lined the walls of the cellar of the cathedral that three men used as a gambling house. Sweaty fingers left imprints on the cards that they all marked. Everyone cheated down here, so it actually balanced the game between the gruff individuals. Stains from who knows where lingered on their worn clothing, as the heat caused their hair to appear as though they just came from bathing. "Look at this senorita; she looks just like Ileana."

"She does. That gives me an idea to make sure that guy upstairs gets whats coming to him." Resting between an assault rifle and an unconscious Elaine, the man turned around. "Ileana!"

A Filipina woman walked out from the kitchen into full view of the room. "I'm not done with lunch yet; you need to be patient."

"That can wait..." Two men dragged Elaine towards a table and took off her hat and poncho. Brandishing her holstered pistols, a feeling of awe came over the battle hardened men. "These are nice." The man calling the shots held the pistol in his hands like a sacred artifact. "Can you use these?" He asked the mild mannered Filipina girl. Sweat poured down from the man's underarms, even though air conditioning flowed through the room. The stench of uncleanliness over powered any corruption these men peddled. "If you go upstairs and help the priest, we'll let you go."

"What about her?" Gazing at her exact look alike Ileana took grief upon the poor girl. She reasoned that the similarities between the two struck her as uncanny, but how would she pass as a gunslinger?

"She'll be fine. We don't kill women; we'll just take her to the Corrazon for some special treatment." It hardly passed for reassurance, but what else could she do. She donned the holster and threw the poncho over. She tread up the stairs while putting on her hat; her hand shuck with a trembling force, she could only do enough to keep her heart from beating out of her chest.

Making good on their promise the three men dragged Elaine off.

Up the stairs the timid Ileana walked out from behind a pillar. She looked at Clayton and the carnage that surrounded the cathedral. She grabbed the pistols from her holster and struggled to pull them out. "Hello there..." She stuttered not knowing his name. "...friend. I see you used your skills in a very..." This all seemed so foreign to her. "...efficient way. It doesn't surprise me because you are so good at what you do, and I have great respect for you." Sweat poured down her brow, as she waited for the response to come from Clayton.

The after-chaos silence was broken by the laughter of a priest as he walked out from his confessional. He taunted Clayton about confessing his sins and then, of course, he brandished two long-bladed knives. Not wanting anymore blood on his hands, Clayton hesitated to shoot the holyman; that hesitation provided the priest with all the opening he needed. He lunged forward at Clayton and swung in an unexpectedly controlled manner. Clayton raised the assault rifle in an attempt to use it as a melee weapon as he had just seconds before, but to no avail; his attack was met with a ready block as a knife slashed across his chest. It tore through his clothing and sliced across his chest. “I aint your son, old man.” Clayton barked through gritted teeth while blood soaked into his shirt. Summoning his strength, he used he pushed the priest backwards, and the older, frailer man fell to the floor. Clayton then opened fire on the large, wooden cross which stood on the wall, which caused it to topple over onto the man.

The priest was conscious, but crushed under the weight of the holy symbol. “You son of a bitch. They’ll kill you, you know.” The priest snarled at Clayton.

”They might, but you sure as hell wont; not stuck under there, anyway. What’s the matter, father? Jesus could bear the cross, so why can’t you?” Clayton aimed the rifle down at the crushed man’s face ”Now, what did you do with Elaine? If she’s dead in there…” before the priest could open his mouth to answer him Elaine stepped out of the confessional, apparently as healthy as she ever was. There was something off about her, though; she was complimenting him? ”Yeah, uh, thanks. Did they hit you in the head or something?" Clayton gave her a curious stare, she was certainly acting strangely, "Whatever, let’s just get out of here before the cops come.” he was sure that once they were out of there she would be back to her old, "lovable" brand of strange, rather than whatever this was.

"Oh my head..." She adjusted her hat and thought for a moment. "Yes, downstairs they hit me in the head, but I took out my gun, and then I told them if they left the room and promised to give up crime there would be no violence. You know how I'm always trying to reason with people so we can avoid violence." She smiled a little at the last comment, trying to cement how she thought Elaine acted. Nervously she pointed her gun towards the priest. She wanted to look as though she wanted to force information out of the priest, but it looked as though the weight of the cross bearing down on the old man ushered him closer and closer to the gates of eternity. "What do you know about the drugs in the city, sir." Her hand could barely hold the off balanced pistol steady; teetering with Elaine's custom pistol and her handcrafted explosive rounds, Ileana may actually be more dangerous than Elaine.

Light peeked into Elaine's eyes, bringing her back to consciousness. Aw, so you are the chica giving us so much trouble.” A well groomed man with slicked back hair a firmly pressed pin stripe suit stood over her. He suavely turned around to pay her a compliment. “I never should have underestimated you being as intelligent as you are beautiful.”

“That’s what I keep telling everyone!” Elaine could not care less about the betrayal. “But why Estaban. Why are you evil? You're good looking!” Transitive morality and relative beauty played through Elaine's one track consciousness.

Silence came over the man while he peered out the illuminated window. “Because I am not Esteban.”

“Shock!” Elaine shouted out.

“For it is I who am really Esteban.” A well dressed man walked into the room. Black stripes adorned his white suit. Other than that he looked identical to the man in the black suit with white stripes. The two men wore the same expression upon their faces as they looked over Elaine.

“So, he’s your evil twin?”

“No..." His voice trailed off as he clinched his fist; his face peering down to examine the gripped hand. He looked up, and with a crack in his voice muttered. "...he is my evil clone.” Feeling empathy for his other self, Esteban brushed flakes off of his clones shoulder pad. “You see I cloned myself because being as evil as I am was not enough. I needed to be twice as evil." He looked down at Elaine. Her mouth wide with shock at the revelations the man poured upon her. "But now my dear, I must keep you quiet the only way a soap opera star knows how.”

“By marrying me and living happily ever after. Oh wait I have a guy with a guitar coming.” Elaine pushed her chair to the side, trying to turn to the door she expected Clayton to come from.

“No, my dear. By giving you amnesia…” Estaban turned suddenly to gauge Elaine’s reaction. “…and then putting you into a coma.”

“Wait, maybe we should hear her out on the marriage thing.” Other Estaban walked over and placed his hand on the original’s chest, pleading for a moment of clarity.

“You are a clone; you cannot feel emotion or love.” Brashly Estaban turned Other Estaban’s hand from his chest.

“I may not know love, but I feel that one of us is a humungous jerk right now.”

"How dare you!" The white suited Estaban lowered his shoulder and shook his head downward, bringing it up in front of his clone. "I will not listen to this from you, my most beloved evil clone."

"But you must..."

"Say no more..." With a quick wrist white suited Estaban brought his hand across the face of his clone. "I loved you like an evil twin, and this is how you repay me?"

"I am sorry..." The offending clone held his cheek. "How may I make it up to you?"

"You know what you must do."

"You know I can beat both of you up right?" Inquisitively Elaine interrupted their conversation. "I'm kind of a badass whose also a super genius."

The two men exchanged looks and knew what needed to happen.

Clayton could tell something was off about Elaine. It was both a combination of new and now missing traits that just made her seem like a different person entirely. Gone were the fake accent, the newly acquired limp, the demented disposition and the blatant disregard for human life; in their place was what seemed to be an entirely new, entirely sane person. Maybe this was what she was really like underneath the bravado. He had to admit that there was something strangely adorable about the way she appeared to be trying to sound like a comicbook vigilante. Clayton wondered if this whole mess was about the drug trade and the men who thrive off it, why she hadn’t she just been upfront about it. Maybe it was some sort of new hipster irony; he could never understand that sort of thing. He raised an eyebrow as the new and improved Elaine questioned the priest. As much as he wanted to believe this was her idea of a joke, she was just acting to strangely to let it slide.

“Hold it!” Clayton interrupted the interrogation, “I don’t know if you have multiple personalities, or what, but just what the hell are you doing? What happened to your accent? When did this bizarre ultraviolent quest to marry a Mexican soap star become about drugs in the city? But most importantly, when did you forget to hold a gun? What’s going on here, Elaine? Wheres the tough guy attitude and complete disregard for human life?”

“Mexican soap star… You only came here to meet the Estaban?” the priest let out a chuckle from underneath the crucifix, “All of this shooting and killing just to meet the Estaban. This is just like you crazy impatient gringos.”