“Sort of.”
“Shit, I was kidding. Where did you get it?”
“It belongs to a cop friend of mine.”
“Cop? Oh, that’s just great. Not that it matters. They take pictures of all the license plates when they cross the border now. If he’s sharp, he’ll be checking with the border station.”
“Oh, he’s sharp all right, but I don’t think his truck or I will be noted as missing until tomorrow morning. Jan’s out like a light, and Martinez planned to sleep for the entire afternoon and night. They are pretty much both down for the count. Martinez asked me to move his truck, so he won’t know where to look. I don’t think, though, he meant for me to move it into Mexico.”
“You think? What kind of cop?”
“Retired. Oakland Police Department. We have a history.”
“Oh, that Martinez.”
“You know him?”
“No, but when I had you checked out, his name popped up. The OPD has quite a file on you.”
“I never did any of it.”
“Not what I hear. Given your background, you wouldn’t, by some chance, have a gun or two on board your boat, would you?”
“Of course not. They’re illegal in Mexico. I left them all at home.”
“All? Sounds intriguing. Oh, well, we’ll make do with what I’ve got.”
“I had a potato gun, but it kinda blew up when we launched a Molotov cocktail at some guys in a panga.”
Nacho boggled the wheel a little.
Good, I like ‘em off balance.
Chapter 38
It was almost two a.m. when we finally pulled into the marina parking lot.
Nacho had me slide down and pull the hat over my face when he went through the guard gate, just in case the Mexican police had posted a lookout. He chatted briefly with the sleepy guard, then, as we drove in, he started laughing.
“I’m glad you find some humor in all this. What did the guard say? I couldn’t get a word of it.”
“He’s from down south, and they talk really fast and use a lot of slang. You’re gonna love this.”
“Good, I’m truly tired of stuff I don’t love.”
“Like me?”
I ignored his fishing expedition.
“What did the guard say that I’m gonna love?”
“The Mexican authorities have come to the conclusion that Herbert committed suicide.”
“What? Just like that, in one day?’
“Just like that. Guard says they found the kiddie porn on his boat and decided he wasn’t worth investigating. Case closed.”
I guess my mouth fell open, because he continued. “Don’t look so surprised. Maybe we need a little more of that kind of police work up north. Bad guy gets offed, no great loss.”
“In Texas we say some folks just need killin’.”
“For once, Texas is right.”
He killed the motor and we sat quietly, watching the boats and the lot for activity. Raymond Johnson sat in her slip, darkened. The intermittent blink of a dock box light going bad was all that illuminated the boats in their slips.
“I see Manga Manga is still here, Nacho. So’s Smith’s boat.”
“You know what Manga Manga means?”
“Isn’t that a Japanese comic book, or something?”
“Yes, but it is also a term for lolliporn.”
“And what, pray tell, is lolliporn?”
“What Herbert liked.”
“That’s disgusting. He had the nerve to advertise? I’m glad he committed suicide.”
Nacho chuckled quietly. “See? Justice is served.” He unscrewed the overhead light bulb in the Mazda and opened his door. “Stay here while I check things out. Give me your boat keys.”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“I want to stay with you.”
Nacho’s teeth, like those of the Cheshire cat, glowed in the dark. He reached out and brushed my cheek with the back of his hand again. “I told you I’d grow on you,” he said, his voice a little husky.
I’d like to say he had no effect on me at all. I’d like to say that the soft graze of his hand on my cheek didn’t give me a little thrill right where—
“No, that’s not what I meant. Not at all.”
He seemed amused by the uncertainty that I’d tried to keep from my voice. “Okay, come on, but stay right behind me, and no noise. Not a peep. How’s security around here?”
“There’s a security guard who makes his rounds, but it’s awfully cold tonight, so my guess is he’s holed up in his office.”
“Okay, then, let’s go.”
He started to step from the car, but I grabbed his arm and jerked him back in. “Quick, shut your door.”
“Wanna make out?” he teased.
“In your dreams. Look,” I pointed to a dark shape moving our way. The marina dog, aptly named Marina, slinked towards us, hesitantly wagging her tail and no doubt wondering if there was food in the offing. She often met cars as they returned from forays into the local restaurants, and was usually rewarded with leftovers. Problem is, Trouble was in the car and had a nasty habit of attacking poor Marina on sight. All we needed was a noisy dog and bird altercation.
Explaining the problem to Nacho, I grabbed Trouble, stuffed him back into the glove compartment, and jumped out of the pickup to give Marina a couple of pieces of popcorn before she started barking at us. She was as grateful for the stale popcorn as if it were Chateaubriand. Hoping for more, she trailed Nacho and me down to the boat.
As we approached Raymond Johnson, Nacho stopped, motioned for me to stay put while he boarded. He reached out to unlock the door, found it open an inch or two, and backed off.
“It’s open.”
“Maybe the cops left it that way. Wouldn’t you think there would be, like, yellow crime scene tape all over the place?”
“Case is closed, remember? Stay here, I’m going in.”
Marina and I stayed put. I found a few morsels of popcorn deep in my pocket lining, buying her company for a little longer. Not that she was worth a damn as a guard dog; she’d been kicked and rocked too many times. Marina avoided danger at all costs, having learned that people offer food, but also pain. Incompetent attack dog or no, she was still a comfort.
“Come on in,” Nacho whispered.
I reluctantly boarded, and even more reluctantly stepped inside the dark saloon. I expected to smell…what? Mayhem? Blood? What I got was a snoot full of Pinelen, the Mexican version of pine-scented disinfectant that, like most Mexican household products, was over the top, smell-wise. My sniffer also detected Zote, a bar soap advertised to serve a dual purpose as catfish bait. Go figure.
“Someone has cleaned your boat,” Nacho whispered.
My eyes stung from the fumes, and I could hardly breathe.
“Let’s open some windows before we pass out. I have to get Trouble, but I need his cage so he doesn’t go after Marina. Oh, hell, I gave his cage to Oberto’s guy.”
“How about we lock Marina in one cabin and Trouble in the other?”
“I don’t think I can get Marina on the boat.”
“Let me handle it.” Nacho rummaged in the fridge, then under the sink and left me to open hatches. He was back in a flash, with poor Marina struggling to escape a garbage bag. Why she wasn’t squealing to high heaven, I don’t know, but all she did was kick and whimper.
I put a bowl of water and an open bag of potato chips in the forward cabin. When Nacho let her loose she went for the chips, evidently forgetting she was captive, for not another sound was heard. Probably the luxurious experience of a warm carpet under her for the first time was enough to set a stray to dreaming.
I went after Trouble, who was getting cranky by now. He was tired of being stuffed into the glove compartment, and protested when I tucked him in my pocket. Luckily there were tiny crumbs of popcorn left to keep him busy until I reached the boat again.
As I stepped aboard, Nacho grabbed my arm and put his finger to his lips.
“Listen.”
From behind my master cabin door came a scratching sound, and what sounded like heavy breathing.
“Someone’s in there, Nacho. Think the cops left a guard?”
“Not a very good one, judging by the snores. Stay back, I’m going in.”
“Be careful, they may have a gun.”
“Worried about me, corazon?”
“No, I just don’t want more blood on my carpet.” He grinned, opened the door and stepped inside.
With a huffy hiss, something very large ran between his feet, slithered over mine, and into the saloon. Stunned, I shrieked, pushed Nacho forward as I jumped back, almost mashing the popcorn out of Trouble when I collided with a wall.
Trouble squawked, Nacho cursed, I squealed, and something hissed.
Much as I didn’t want to, I turned on a light.
In the center of the main saloon, a furious five-foot, spiny iguana was letting us know he meant business. Spines on his back stood straight up, sharp teeth glinted in his open mouth. As his head bobbed rapidly, his pendulous dewlap swayed. Worse, his long striped tale whipped from side to side. As he gave us the evil eye, he turned his flank towards us and bowed up, his dewlap puffed even larger. This was one pissed off lizard.
Nacho and I practically tripped over each other in our hasty retreat. We backed into my darkened master suite and slammed the door.
“What in holy hell is that?” Nacho asked. “Some kind of dragon?”
“Iguana. Big one. Had one as a pet when I was a kid, but much, much smaller. I can’t figure out how he got into the boat.”
From behind us came a growl. We froze. Now what?
I snaked my hand along the wall, found a light switch, and flipped it.
“Oh, God, turn it back off, or blind me,” Nacho wailed.
I turned to find my Aunt Lil, buck naked, sprawled on the bed and snoring to beat the band. One hand was still wrapped around an empty Bacardi bottle.
“What, or who, is that?”
“My aunt.” And my worst nightmare.
Nacho had his hand over his eyes. “For God’s sake, cover her up.”
I threw a blanket over my least favorite relative. She never stopped snoring. On the floor next to the bed was a leash attached to a rhinestone studded collar. I picked it up and handed it to Nacho.
“Here, take her iguana for a one-way walk into the desert.”
Nacho demurred on getting a collar on the large and angry lizard, so I coaxed the reptile back into my bedroom with a long line of lettuce leaves.
Trouble, cowed by such a ferocious looking creature, clamped his claws into my shoulder and stayed put.
I considered dumping Aunt Lil on the dock, but Nacho was afraid she’d roll into the water and drown. Not that I would mind, but Mother would never forgive me, and two bodies connected to my boat in less than two days might incite even the ever-so-practical Mexican judicial system to action.
“Looks like the old bag and her lizard are in for a boat ride, Nacho. When we start up these engines, half the residents on the dock are going to peek out to see what’s going on, and with what went down here recently, some will investigate.”
Nacho seemed lost in thought, then his face lit up. “How many gringo boats, with people on them, are in this part of the sea at this time of year?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Say, twenty here, another twenty-five at the other marina, a few at anchor. On the Baja side, another fifty or so scattered between Santa Rosalia and Puerto Escondido.”
“And, if they had to, how many could, and would, come to Agua Fria if asked.”
“Depends on the reason. Free beer works. Cruisers love a beach party.”
“How would we contact them?”
“Ham radio. I can put out a call on the Sonrisa Net tomorrow morning, but why? What do you have in mind?”
“Safety in numbers. The boats can be a diversion, much like your pigeons, while I get to Paco.”
“Are you sure they won’t be like sitting ducks, instead.”
“I think not. There is some element of danger, but not if I succeed in my plan. I have been working on this for weeks, before I was forced to change my original mission.”
Now it’s a mission? What am I getting into?
“Lucky for us, my tanks are topped off, and all systems were checked out before you kidnapped me.”
“I did not really kidnap you.”
“Oh, yes you did. And I don’t intend to forget, or forgive.”
“Hetta, haven’t you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”
“Nacho, does the phrase, ‘Remember the Alamo’ have any meaning for you?”
Chapter 39
I started the engines and, just as I predicted, lights popped on in nearby boats. Within seconds, Smith was dockside, with, thankfully, Maggie trailing along behind. He spotted me on the flying bridge.
“Hetta? You’re here? And all right? Where have you been? Better yet, where are you going?”
“Agua Fria. Can’t explain right now, but we might need a little help over there. If we’re not in touch within twenty-four hours, call out the gendarmes and send them to Agua Fria.”
“Wait, I’ll go with you.”
“It would be better if you bring your boat over.”
“Can’t. Engine trouble.”
“Okay, then, hop aboard. Time’s awastin’ and we have to leave, pronto.”
“I’ll be back in a flash,” he said, jumping onto the dock. Then, back over his shoulder, he asked, “Don’t you want to take Se Vende?”
I looked over the side at my panga. “Nacho, do we need my skiff?”
“We’ll need something to get to shore.”
“Se Vende will slow us down, I have to tow her.”
Smith turned back and yelled, “Follow me. We’ll grab my dinghy and throw her on deck.”
Nacho and Smith were back in five minutes with the dinghy, and a little something else.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Smith. I’m allergic to cats.”
“Hetta, we can’t just leave him here. Mr. Bill’s boat trained, never leaves. And now that his owner is gone, there’s no one to take care of him. I have his litter box.”
“Where’s his owner?”
“Dead. She was Herbert’s.”
Nacho, having finished lashing down the dinghy, interceded. “We gotta go, cat or no cat.”
“Oh, ok, put him in…” I had a really mean thought, “my cabin. And Smith, just crack the door and toss him in.”
Nacho tilted his head at me, and I gave him a wicked smile. My aunt abhorred cats and with any luck at all, Mr. Bill had a hankering for lizard. From the size of him, I figured that fat cat could handle an iguana, no problemo.
“Can we please go now?” Nacho growled.
“Yep, help Smith with the lines.” Smith had boosted Maggie to the flying bridge, so I put her in the captain’s seat behind me. Not to be left out, Trouble joined us, giving the dog an affectionate peck on the nose when she sniffed him in hello.
With all the commotion, any vestige of a stealth exit was long gone.
Several other sleepy-eyed boaters emerged from their bunks, and as I was backing out of the slip, Smith yelled to them, “If you can come to Agua Fria, get underway. Hetta needs help. We’ll monitor channel eighty-eight if you want details.”
Nacho joined us on the bridge. “Will they come?”
“Some will,” I reassured him, “but remember, I can do ten, twelve knots and most of them can only do five, unless there’s wind. Which, right now, there isn’t.”
“But in the morning, after you ask for help, others will come from Puerto Escondido?”
Smith nodded. “My bet is there will also be boats from Conception Bay, and even the islands north of La Paz. Problem is time. When is it that whatever’s going to happen, well, happens?”
“It is imperative that we act before, or on, Christmas Eve.” He fingered my Christmas lights. �
��Can you turn these on?”
“Now? Sure, if you want us to cross the sea lit up like Las Vegas. That’s why Christmas boat parades are so spectacular, they light up the night sky.”
“Christmas boat parade? Do the other boats have lights?”
“Most. Why?”
“That is what we will have, a parade, right into Agua Fria harbor.”
“Gee, and here I was afraid that, after being rudely snatched by a crazed Mexican, I’d miss the parade. Now, I guess, I get to lead one.”
“Yes,” Nacho seemed pensive and answered as though talking to himself, “that will work very well. I can think of no better way to interrupt Weeweechu.”
“Weeweechu?”
He looked a little startled, as though he’d forgotten we were not privy to his innermost thoughts. “It is a code name. When will we arrive on the Baja side?”
“Never, if you don’t start talking. When I ask for help, boaters will come, but we have to warn them there may be an element of danger involved.”
“What kind of danger?” Smith asked. Maggie was tucked into his jacket, and Trouble sat on his shoulder, gently grooming the dog’s ears.
I looked at Nacho. “Yeah, Nacho, I think it’s time we knew what we’re getting into.”
Nacho sighed. “You are right. The villagers at Agua Fria are being held captive, forced to manufacture crystal meth in a super lab behind the village.”
“What?” Smith and I cried in unison.
Trouble stopped nibbling Maggie’s ears and perked up. “What? What?” he screeched.
I recovered a little from the shock. “And you want us to drive right into this disaster? I think not.”
“Where’s your Christmas spirit? " Nacho quipped, trying, unsuccessfully, to insert a little humor into the situation.
“I gave at the office.”
“Look, it’s not as bad as you think. I already decided, in advance, and by myself, to stop the, uh, mayhem the gang has scheduled. With your involvement, though, my plan—”
I put my hand to my ear. “Hello? Professor Whitman, from Planning 101? He’s on the phone and wants you back in class, Nacho, for it is you who got me involved.”
Smith threw up his hands. “Hetta, shut up. Nacho, explain.”
Just Add Trouble Page 22
