Two Eyes Cenote tres rondas y un sonido

And terrible.

Like the first thought in Niño’s mind:
snap that little whelp’s neck.
Take another eye, or two, or a leg.
Splatter their sands with chunks of flesh and vital organs.

He does another visual sweep.
Cold eying the perimeters.
Looking for sicarios.

An excess of caution.
Over-due diligence, since Soto got himself locked up.

Thing about Niño, he wasn’t interested in undue violence.
Bad for business.
Hound was an honorable capitalist.
Business is number one.

But Juárez had disappeared into the ether one night.
He was willing to bet the ants had him. 

Shiners’ too busy thumbing their gold to care about a missing kid.
But it wouldn’t last long, he knew.
Place was heavily guarded
Only time to strike.

Someone has to pay the price.
Sad thing is, it’s always the innocents.

No hesitation from the hound, he vaults from the flat face of the dune, tearing down the embankments, forceful strides spitting up dust.

A long shadow casts out in front of him, sheathing the child like a hawk over a mouse.

His mouth cracks wide the long tunnel to his belly, piercing teeth readied for flesh.
Anticipation of blood blanching the mind.