En Mexico | Erase Una Vez

What followed was not a shootout. It was a symphony. The Mariachi, blind but not sightless, moved through the dark like water. He had memorized every step, every shadow. He used the guitar as a shield, the case as a club. He reloaded by feel, fired by sound. When the lights flickered back on, ten men lay dead, and the Mariachi stood over Barrillo's body, his face expressionless.

"She was the one you shot in the plaza. You said she was a mistake." Erase una Vez en Mexico

One evening, a young boy approached him. "Mister, is it true you killed General Barrillo with a guitar?" What followed was not a shootout

The sun over the Mexican state of Jalisco was a white-hot bullet. In the dusty plaza of Santa Cecilia, a blind man tuned a guitar that wasn't there. Tourists threw coins into his empty case, mistaking him for a beggar. He was neither. He was a ghost waiting for a war. He had memorized every step, every shadow

"I'm counting on it being more than that," said Agent Sands of the CIA. He sat down on the bench next to the blind musician, his sunglasses reflecting the dying sun. Sands placed a photograph on the Mariachi's knee. "General Barrillo. He's meeting with a cartel boss named Marquez. They're planning a coup against the Mexican president. I need you to play a private concert for Barrillo tomorrow night. Inside, you'll find a silver-plated revolver in the piano."

"You should have done the math, Sands," Ajedrez said. "The Mariachi doesn't play for hire. He plays for justice."

From the kitchen doorway, a shadow emerged. A woman with a jagged scar across her cheek and a .44 Magnum in each hand. It was Ajedrez, the former federal agent Carolina had saved before she died. She had been following the Mariachi for months.