Starglow Basin Man from Sayula

The sunlight is filthy. Noxious. Filthy and noxious also describes Osiel– filthy, noxious, dirty and rank. It’s a long way through the desert.

The sky looks strangely red through rising dust. It’s a strange piece of terrain anyway. No-man’s-land. The desolate stretch of dry hills and deep canyons with a dearth of wolf.

Not what he left behind in Sayula.

Ocho. That was his sobriquet. Eight names. Eight bodies. Eight more casualties in the war on drugs. Best to get out before it goes down.

He heard plenty about the brothers, @Juárez and @Soto from Guanajuato. Knew competition would seek to divide this land.

But now Osiel was in Naaghai. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

there's a man too close to encampment. soto watches him from a spire of shale, his frame concealed by the sun's high glare and long casting shadows.

he's in no position for petty territory disputes. plus, making oneself known defeats the purpose of lying low. sangre's still half dead. he's hardly any better.

vigilance, anticipation, and feeling like the last thread of an unraveling yarn have all done their mark to soto. he's exhausted, and hopes to whatever long dead and twice beheaded mexican goddess that this stranger just keeps on walking.

And so the ocelote does– nearly.

Until over the rise in a crumbling bluff he finds himself statued in the sand. He hears breathing.

Someone’s hiding. “Salga, lobo.”

it's not enough to remain still.  his traitorous breathing gives him away.

he wasn't born yesterday. not even the sweet brogue of his natal tongue can lure him out.

not when he's in such a tight spot and has sangre to think of.

soto recoils as quietly as he can. the man may seek him out, but he may not. soto's willing to play conservatively until he knows what kind of deck he's facing.

It’s the wrong choice.

Now its become a game: who can outmaneuver the other.

“Él se esconde. Él esta asustado.”

Osiel’s out in the open. He has no need for caution and still his stalking is slow, methodic. Teasing out each lumbering step.

“¿Por qué, lobo?” He senses he is close. Now the man from Sayula ducks his head into hidden hovels, nosing for his compañía.

soto has many more enemies than friends.

he hasn't lived this long mistaking the former for the latter.

the man's step is languid and confident as he calls into the gorge. cocky.

soto wishes he wasn't beat half to shit.

el gallo's right. he's hiding. for good reason too.

soto wracks his brain. this could be a strongman from a rival cartel, come to extinguish guanajuato's final fragile branch.

soto's not taking chances. he holds his breath and waits for el gallo to come closer.

then he'll show him what a man cornered is capable of.

It’s all gone quiet now. The ocelote’s steps pool to the twisted trunk of a downed ironwood, breath slowing in kind.

He stops short of the hollowed depression, ragging scores with claws across the compacted loam. Baiting.

Then he pushes down into his withers, greeting the unknown man with a leering stare and grapple of teeth; making to unearth the stowaway.

so much of his life has been whittled away by passing seconds.

biding time.

the man comes close; soto can smell the sour mix of sand and salt on his breath.

he rises with teeth as his foremost weapon -- a restrained show of arms to dissuade this jaunty man from advancing further.

the unspoken lingers in his golden gaze: what do you want?

The man’s jammed himself into that cavity. And now Osiel can see why.

Copper, metal. Flesh, peeled and devoured. Rank with blood. It left no room for the tongue’s imagination. The ocelote would leave this man to his death…

If it were not for that scent. Seasoned with the bitterness of spice and the sweet rose. The blood eyes widened.

“Nombre a su proveedor.”

he tenses. waits for the blow that will undo him. 

instead the man’s demeanor changes; protracting as if fed some new knowledge. 

he could not know. soto’s eyes widen, then close. if this is how he goes, third-partied by some jackal from sinaloa —

he could almost laugh. juárez.

and now he waits for the lifeblood to be cut from him.