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el doesn't like the place and he's the one who directed them off the freeway towards it; even what he can see of it from the outside seems even less of the kind of place his mariachis would have chosen to disrobe themselves of the pesos stuffed into their clothing. they always preferred it soft and dark, secretive, with the glow of candles in coloured jars and the guitar mingling with the smoky air, smooth skin and sighs.
they told him they were heading in this direction, anyway.
the older boy, zeke, grins wolfishly and crinkles his eyes, laughing with short, self-assured whufs as they climb out of the low-slung car, but el can see in the stiffness of his usually lazy saunter that he's not entirely sure of his surroundings. the kid, casey, doesn't make any pretense - but he's been sullen for the past few days they've been on the road, since they moved back down from the border again.
the neon sign flickers in the increasing dusk, but it's the only vivid thing in sight, the dust rising to drag down the sun and smother it, dull dried blood spreading along the horizon, and the huge arched entrance to the bar torn and blackened like the exhaust pipe of a most fucked-up, souped-up car.
"should we...?" casey hesitates, leaning toward it, tottering a little, as if involuntarily, in the wheel-spun dusty car yard (expansive but for the fact it's full of trucks...) but zeke seems to have lightened up instantly and abruptly grips casey, despite the obvious abandonment of the place for miles around, around the upper arm, jerks him back. as if casey had a habit of wandering mindlessly into situations about as safe as minefields.
el frowns, takes a couple of steps closer himself. his guitar case has left the car with him, of course, and he flexes his fingers against the familiar worn grip of the handle, weighing it up, ready to drop and snap it open at moment's notice.
the boys stand together, silent as they watch him step closer, slowly, the crunch of gravel underfoot loud, the jingle of his silver chains measured and soft. closer to the massive building el can hear the obscenely rhythmic buzz of the neon sign, and when his eyes adjust to the dark he sees its innards coated with a thick layer of ash and soot. a putrid stench emanates from the charred bar, the only light shed from inside it from the mirror ball hanging in the center, spinning laxily, reflecting the red light of the setting sun like droplets of fresh blood.
they're still in the same spot when he turns back around, two tiny figures mismatched in size, the only movement their hair blown awry by the sudden wind that's whipped up, zeke's hand still clamped firmly around casey's wrist. el quickens his pace and they don't offer resistance when he suggests they get the hell out of here, wheels spinning in the gravel and the building looming behind them like a gaping maw, blackened, threatening to fall upon them.