The call came again. "Raymond Johnson, Raymond Johnson, Watchfire." I considered not answering Denny's call, then decided this was a stellar chance, if someone was watching and listening to me on my own webcam, to let them think I was playing by their rules. Well, actually, I was, but I'd most certainly do something really nasty to them later.
"Denny, RJ here, switch Zero Five." I like channel five because most boaters don't have it pre-programmed in their radios and they have to take the time to change manually. No use in everyone easily knowing my business.
"So, Hetta, I saw Robert. Any news from your Aunt Lillian yet?"
"Nope. My guess is she hitched a ride out of town, unless she found a spare broom."
"Ha! Maybe, but I still think you might want the local cops to be on the alert. You know, just in case."
"No! Uh, I mean, uh, not yet, okay? She's only been missing for one day, and I'm sure if she got picked up I'd hear from my new best friends with the siren and flashing lights."
"Yeah, I guess. Oh, well, let me know if I can help. You gonna come ashore and take Po Thang for his walk?"
"Ummm, not today. I'm dead on my feet. Not enough sleep."
"Okay. If you change your mind, stop by. Or if you like, I'll bring you out that stack of books I've read, and you can pay me with coffee."
"Can I take a rain check? I think I'll crawl back in bed, and besides I already have a whole TBR list on my Kindle. Thanks, anyway."
We signed off. It was true that I had a backlist of To Be Reads loaded into my Kindle, but I wondered how long I could put him off before he got suspicious that something wasn't right in my end of the harbor.
I reached for my Kindle, not that I could concentrate on a novel, but my conversation with Denny triggered a memory. Something I knew about, I guess, but never utilized. My old Kindle, which I meant to replace soon, was not only loaded with books, it had email capabilities. Yee haw.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
So, now I had a way to send an email, sort of.
I had never used the keyboard on this Kindle, and had no idea how. Normally I'd go online and read the how, but that was out, because if they could watch me on my own webcam, maybe they'd hacked into my computer, as well? Jeez, where was Jenks, my techie guru, when I needed him?
I feigned restless boredom for the camera, pacing the cabin, then picking up a paperback or two before throwing them down. Then, as if I'd thought of something, I picked up my Kindle and sat at the dining table. Oscar, anyone?
With my Sat system chugging away, I had WiFi throughout the boat, and more importantly, on my Kindle. I cursored to Turn Wireless On, then waited until it showed me some bars. I gave myself an imaginary high five when four lovely bars popped up. I was, as we say in Texas, 'in bidness.' Problem was, I still had no idea how to send an email on this clever little device that I had heretofore only used to read books.
The keyboard keys were so small that I was sure a pen or pencil eraser was called for, and I cursed myself for stubbornly refusing to learn to text message. Something about it, like a typing course I once flunked, ticked me off. I think watching all these people bent over their phones, tapping with their thumbs like monkeys peeling a banana had something to do with it.
If I were four, instead of forty, I probably could have sent a message in seconds, but I was being watched, and I was supposed to be reading. So, I tried to look like I was reading for awhile, all the time trying to figure out how, and what message, to send Jan as a warning. My thumbs were getting a warm up changing pages of an unread novel while I composed an email message in my mind, and figured out how to send it. There was nothing in the menu giving me a damned clue.
I stared at the screen, cursing myself again. When I got the Kindle, Jenks was the one who discovered it was email enabled, but I wasn't interested. After all, I have a computer, who needs anything else? Then I spotted something on the menu: Experimental. Isn't that what Jenks said? It was experimental on this model?
I hit enter and, voila! There it was. Yahoo! I wanted to kiss fellow Texan, Jeff Bezos's shiny head, then do a happy dance. The dance could wait, however. No use entertaining the freakin' peeping Tomases on the other end of my webcam.
Okay, now I had Yahoo. Yahoo MX. Crappola, everything was in Spanish.
I realized I was hunched over, not at all the vision of one enjoying a good bodice ripper. I made a cheese sandwich, opened a beer, picked up my Kindle, and boldly walked out the door to the back sundeck, and out of camera range. Settling in, I experienced a moment of triumph, hoping my actions made them sweat for a change.
My cellphone rang back in the cabin. Should I answer it? What if it was them? They had my cell number, obviously. Maybe, if it was someone else, I could further convince the kidnappers that I was going along, and buy some time to figure out the Kindle? I was desperate to send that message to Jan without endangering Po Thang.
I made it to the phone on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"There you are. No email this morning?" Jenks's voice brought tears to my eyes. I turned away from the webcam.
"Oh, hi, Jenks. Sorry about missing my morning email. Uh, Tel Mex went down for a few hours. I guess it's fixed now, huh?"
"I guess, since we're talking on it. What are you and Po Thang up to today?"
"The usual."
"Is everything all right? You sound…strange."
"Sorry, I was reading and got caught up in it. You know how I am when I'm engrossed in a really good book."
"Yeah, I do. Okay, just wanted to check on you. I gotta run. Love you, bye."
I wanted to bawl, but whispered, "Love you too. Bye."
Well, that was depressing, but at least I got another chance to make the bastards believe I was following orders. I took the phone with me back on deck, just to jerk their chain, and was tempted to call Jan, but decided to give the email thing on Kindle a chance.
You're an engineer, Hetta. Figure it out!
And I did. Sort of.
My first challenge was putting in Jan's email address. I liberally cursed the entire country of Mexico while doing so. Because I had to figure out how to do numbers, find @ signs and the like, it was a chore, but made more so by Jan's email address, which included caps, numbers and then, instead of something simple, like yahoo.com, I had to conjure up the prodigy.net.mx. After a harrowing, sweaty, hour of struggling with a tiny keyboard that any ten-year-old would master in five seconds, I was pretty sure I sent Jan an email reading: danger dog and aunt kidnapped being watched one eight hundred got bads question mark msg hetta trouble call mom tell her not to come to Mexico we will bring aunt home.
It would have to do, since I used up all my patience with numbers and caps on the damned email address. And forget punctuation. I've always found it overrated anyway. Jan's a smart cookie, I told myself. She'd figure it out, right?
Right. And if things went the way I hoped—which they rarely do, but hope springs eternal—a cavalry charge would soon be coming my way.
His name is Nacho.
Okay, so Nacho is not the cavalry, and I'm really not sure what he is, but he gets me out of jams. He also proclaims to have the hots for me, but the first time I met him he was on the verge of killing me and Jenks for a can of gas, so I guess he can be a mite on the unpredictable side. Since that time Nacho has kidnapped me, embroiled me in a plot to blow up a meth lab, and the last time I saw him he took off with a girlfriend of mine, Topaz Sawyer. Who says romance is dead?
He gave me his card a while back, which I was supposed to burn or eat or whatever, which I didn't do because who could destroy a great card like this?
1-800-got-bads?
We get what’s bugging you.
Jan and I think Nacho is handsome, in a criminal sort of way. We don't know who he works for, or what he does, but we've concluded he's either a narco, narc agent, or something in between. He is Hispanic, but goes by Lamont Cranston, a.k.a. The Shadow, which I know because I stole his wallet, along with his off-road pickup, once upon a
time. Is it any wonder he's so enamored with a charmer like me?
What I do know is that he said if I ever gave out that phone number to anyone, ANYONE, he would kill me, so I figure when Jan calls him he'll come running to do the job, but maybe liberate my dog first? Oh, and my aunt.
I went back inside, exhausted by my efforts to send a simple email, and plugged my Kindle into the charger. To celebrate I made chocolate chip cookies, then ate the entire batch while they were still warm, chasing them down with a hefty glass or two—okay, a half-bottle—of red wine. All that chocolate and wine was so comforting, I crawled into my bed and slept for ten hours straight. When I woke, someone was pounding on the hull.
"Hetta, Hetta? You in there?" Denny called from the swim platform. I could see his sandaled feet through a porthole near my bed. With my dinghy tied to the boat, he knew I was aboard, so there was no use pretending I wasn't.
"Just a minute. Coming," I yelled, hoping he heard me over the generator's hum. I was still dressed in the rumpled, melted chocolate-festooned clothes I'd passed out in the night before. My mouth tasted like yesterday's red wine, and my hair? I ran my fingers through my bed-head, put a Listerine breath strip on my tongue, and headed to the main saloon. To make certain my watchers didn't think I had a chance to tell Denny anything, I just stuck my head out the door and yelled for him to join me.
I was brewing a pot of coffee when he entered. "Oh, good. Dammit, I forgot to bring you those books. I haven't seen you around, so thought I'd swing by and check on you." He looked around, "Where's Po Thang?"
"Uh, Jan took him with her to the fish camp."
"Really? When? I've been on my boat for a couple of days straight, didn't see either of you at the dock."
Damn! "Well, uh…she called last night and asked me to meet her in Juncalito early this morning. I took him over there in Se Vende, just at daybreak, since it was such a beautiful morning."
"Oh." He once again scanned the darkened, gloomy, cabin. "How could you tell?"
"You take sugar, right?"
By the time Denny left, I'd told enough lies to run for Congress.
I stared at my cellphone, anxious for it to ring. I'd even taken it to bed with me the night before, just in case the SOBs called, but they didn't. I cursed the lack of caller ID on my throwaway TelCel phone; I would dearly love to call them back and tell them they could have the whole damned camera, but not before I saw Po Thang safe and sound on my boat. Were they delaying, watching to see if I gave a clue anyone else knew about Ishikawa, Lujàn, and the photos? In this digital age, I could splash those photos all over the Internet in a nanosecond if they didn't have my dog as insurance against it. And by the way, I hadn't been on Facebook for three days now. Were my friends missing me? Or was the cyberworld the same as the real one; out of sight, out of mind?
While I was trying to convince myself that my Facebook BFFs were frantic with worry at my absence, the phone finally rang.
"Hetta!" Aunt Lillian screeched. "If you don't give them what they want, they're going to kill me."
"Really?" I said, striving not to sound too elated with such a grand idea.
"I heard that tone in your voice, young lady. You do what they say, you hear?"
"Is Po Thang with you?"
"Yes, but what do I care about a damned dog. Get me out of here."
"Is there someone there I can talk to?" Maybe I could cut a deal? Like, they off Lil in exchange for the camera?
There was the sound of a scuffle, a bark, a curse, and then dead air.
Hearing that bark made my heart sing.
For the webcam's benefit, I yelled into the phone, "Hello? Hello? I'll give you whatever you want, just give me my dog. You can keep the aunt."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My generator had been running non-stop for three days, and was already overdue for an oil change. I'd burned through at least a hundred bucks worth of diesel, and running so low on food I was eyeing the Alpo. It sort of looked and smelled like corned beef hash. Maybe with a little ketchup….Worst of all, my wine was now depleted. What in the hell was the hold-up with these guys? Not another word since that lovely chat with dear Aunt Lil.
I spoke with Jenks when he called, both times lying about the Internet being wonky in Mexico, and that's why I hadn't emailed him.
For the benefit of my tormenters, I cooled my jets, seemingly just waiting for them to contact me again. I tried to use the Kindle for incoming mail and failed miserably, then to make matters even worse, I somehow killed my Kindle, along with any chance of sending another email.
So now I was wine-less and new-book-less, which for me is a grievous state of affairs. Desperate, I read Pat and John Rains's Mexico Boating Guide, all four hundred pages of it, wishing me, my dog, my boat, and Jenks were in any other place mentioned in the cruising guide but this one.
And, as I was sitting outside, already feeling sorry for myself, a familiar scent rose from the sea, bringing with it memories that moved me first to tears, then bawling out loud. My dad told me many years ago, when we were out fishing and I commented on it, that it was a school of fish we smelled, but couldn't see. It is Jenks's favorite ocean fragrance, and reminds him of fishing with his father.
I wanted my daddy.
I wanted Jenks.
I wanted my dog.
Most of all, I wanted to be anywhere but where I was, and out of this situation I had no control over.
When I came unhinged, it took me by surprise.
No big buildup to a Texas hissy fit like normal; one minute I was scrounging in the larder for Velveeta mac and cheese, found none, and suddenly something between a scream and a holler escaped me.
Stomping to my backpack, I yanked out the camera and waved it wildly in front of the webcam, spewing obscenities and spittle. Then, as quickly as the fit hit, it subsided, and I went from loco to deadly calm.
With what I hoped was a Jack Nicholson grin, I slowly and dramatically—exaggerating each move like a silent movie evil dude—waved my camera in front of the webcam, then plugged it into my computer and hissed, "If I don't hear from someone in charge, or get my dog back today, I'm going to download these photos onto Facebook, and share them with every newspaper in the world. Your time starts now!"
Those guys from AA were certainly right; going cold turkey on my boat is downright dangerous.
The phone rang a little over two hours later. I snatched it up, and completely blowing that deceptive cool I'd managed to portray during the final act of my Oscar-worthy psycho performance, screeched, "Now listen to me you sonsabitches, I am sick and tired of your crap. Give me my damned dog and you can have anything you want."
"Querida, you have made my dreams come true. Anything?"
Nacho? Crap, what timing.
"Uh, could you call back later? I'm expecting a very important call."
"Someone more important than me? I am wounded."
"I'm hanging up now."
"Look out your door."
I rushed to the slider and opened it. A panga was alongside, and in it, the most wonderful sight I could imagine.
Po Thang went plumb nuts when he saw me. Barking, whining, and rushing from one end of the panga to the other, he rocked it so much the poor driver, who was standing, almost fell overboard. Po Thang then jumped into the water himself, and dogpaddled to the back of Raymond Johnson, where I rushed to meet him. Like a good boy he waited on the swim platform for his normally mandatory rinse off, but right then I couldn't care less about a little salt water on my deck; I had my dog back.
I was nuzzling wet, salty, stinky fur when the panga pulled alongside Se Vende.
Crap, I'd sort of hoped I hadn't seen my aunt in it.
"Give the camera to the panga driver," she demanded, "and get me onto that boat of yours. I need a shower and a drink."
Knowing full well she couldn't get on the boat without my help, I left her where she was and went for the camera, blocking Po Thang's entrance into the main saloon with a "no" hand sign
al. I mean, salty decks are one thing, carpets? Quite another.
Unplugging my camera, I waved it in front of the webcam. "You've got what you want, okay? I'll make you a deal, though. Keep the old lady and I'll put five hundred dollars with the camera." I slid the webcam's port shut and picked up my cellphone, willing it to ring in my hand. I delayed returning aft for a minute or two, in case my tormentors took me up on my offer, but no such luck. Sighing, I went back out and handed over the camera to the panga driver, who looked familiar, and very nervous.
I contemplated starting Raymond Johnson's engines and taking off, leaving him stuck with Lil, but his pleading eyes changed my mind. He was just a poor schmuck who was paid a few pesos to deliver the goods, and pick up the camera. Why make everyone miserable?
After I yanked auntie aboard, I watched as the panga streaked across the harbor and headed south. It was then I made the connection; the driver was one of the guys who gave me and Jan a ride back to PE from the resort the night of the luau.
Coincidence? You be the judge.
If I had any doubts that Lujàn was involved in the kidnapping of my dog, they disappeared with the panga.
So, we were back to square one, only worse. I was stuck with Lil, and so far as I knew, my mother wasn't even coming to get her. I fired up Skype and called Jan.
"Hetta? Oh, thank God. Are you all right? Po Thang? Lil? I've been worried silly—"
I cut her off. "Everything is fine now. Looks like you got the job done. Standby, I'm going to turn on the camera." I opened the port and suddenly I was looking into Jan's distraught face, which, even distraught, still looked good.
"Can you see me, Jan?"
"Yes. Tell me what happened. After I called Nacho…oh, by the way, he was not pleased to hear from me, you know."
"I could care less if he wasn't pleased. You did your job and he did his. Did you reach my mother?"
Just Needs Killin' (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 6) Page 7
