"Oh, why not? Can't hurt. While you have her on the phone, run that stupid hate crime thing by her, see what she thinks."
"Will do. Anything else you two want to tell me about? Other than harboring a dead guy, looking for his would-be killers, hiding from a villain who has vowed to do serious harm to Hetta, and Jan being jealous of another woman?"
Jan leaned in again. "I am not jealous. Chino's the one who's being pissy."
I pushed her away, "Nah, I guess that's it. Well, except for jailbirds suing me, the usual."
"Oh, good. Now I won't worry. Bye."
I said bye, Jan waved a hand into the screen, I signed off Skype and turned to Jan. "You have a lot of nerve accusing Chino of being pissy. You're the one who picked that fight, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you, but now that you've maligned me, I have to set the record straight. He had the nerve to say he's unhappy about me being alone on the boat with Rosario while you're gone all day."
"Well, he sure doesn't know you very well."
She smiled. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
"I mean, me being around has never kept you from cuckolding anybody."
18
"Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows." The introduction for the radio program.
Jan and I left Camp Chino Monday morning.
Rosario remained at the whale camp, thereby relieving Chino's worries about his proximity to Jan. Po Thang, declared parasite free, joined me and Jan on the return trip to Santa Rosalia via the jobsite.
As we drove on Mex 1, I summarized the situation. "So, let me get this straight. You're thinking that leaving Rosario at the camp will keep Doc Dish and Chino from getting any ideas about each other, and now that Rosario is there, he won't be alone on the boat with you all day, which should make Chino happier. And you didn't want him to worry, even though you were debating leaving Chino because, although you say you love him, you don't like the age difference or living with him in a whale camp. Do I have it right?"
She looked sheepish. "Put that way it sounds like high school stuff."
"Or middle grade, but with an attempted murder thrown in to keep it more grownup."
"Speaking of attempted murder victims, I think Rosario has developed a crush on Doctor Powell. Jeez, what is it with her? What does she have that has all the men panting?"
"You mean instead of you? Welcome to my world. Sounds like the story of my life with Jan."
"Oh, come on. You get plenty of attention. Problem is, they usually want to kill you, but hey, attention is attention."
"I have that effect on people. It's a gift."
"So, whaddya think? Did Safety do it?"
"I'm having my doubts. After all, Po Thang likes him."
Po Thang, on hearing his name, stuck his head over the pickup seat and gave Jan a lick.
She scratched the dog's ears and cooed, "And he doesn't like Doctor Diane, so his judgment must be pretty darned good, huh?"
"So, if we eliminate Safety as the one who tossed Rosario in the drink, we need a new bad guy. Guys. I still say it all gets down to following the money and that's where you come in. When you drop me off at the jobsite this morning, come on into my office, if we can both fit, and let's stir the pot some. See if we can make someone squirm."
"Hetta, you always make guys squirm. And not in a good way, if you know what I mean."
"It's a curse."
"So, Miss Sims," I said loud enough for anyone in the office building to hear, "you think you may have found a serious lead on our cost overrun problem?"
Jan looked startled, and hissed, "Hetta, I said you could make them nervous, not make me a target."
I lowered my voice. "Oh, so now that you're a target it's not so much fun, is it? You didn't seem overly worried when Dickless showed up because he doesn't hate you. Besides, you make a great target, what with your size and all."
"Listen, short stuff, I'm not having fun any more. Keep it up and I'll quit."
"Oh, relax. I'm trying to stir that pot we talked about."
"And speaking of pots, maybe you should cut back on the tortillas a tad."
"Yeah, well you could…get shorter, then you'd be fat, too."
This, of course, set us to tittering, which drew Safety to my office.
"What’s so funny? Or do I dare ask?"
"Oh, nothing much," I told him then let loose a piggy nose snort that sent Jan into gales of even louder laughter. I took a deep breath to control myself, then added, "Jan was speculating that if someone tried to, uh, killed that Rosario fellow, it was probably over some kind of conspiracy and cover-up related to the cost overruns on the job." Well, that was about the lamest segue I've ever heard.
Jan stopped laughing and shot me a look she meant would freeze my heart. And mouth. Safety turned so pale his freckles popped. Silence ensued, finally broken by an incredulous Safety. "Whoa, are you saying you think someone killed Rosario?"
Jan stood there with her mouth working like a guppy out of water. Since she was uncharacteristically speechless, I stepped in on her behalf. "It is a possibility."
Safety shook his head. "Might I remind you there is no body? And the police have practically declared his disappearance a boating accident?"
"Jan is a very suspicious person. She doesn't even trust the police back home, much less down here. Why—"
She cut me off. "Jan is here. Look Safety, don't pay any attention to a word Hetta says. She's been hitting the Nyquil of late, if you know what I mean. It's the stress. The first thirty-nine years of her childhood have been hard on her. Ouch!"
Some times a little pinch goes a long way.
Jan and Po Thang left my office for the boat, once again sticking me with Safety for a ride home. And now that Safety was alerted that Jan and I were on the snoop, hanging out with him could prove dangerous, but certainly less life-threatening than hopping aboard Pedro's Van of Death.
Apparently prompted by our previous conversation, Safety talked about Rosario all the way back to Santa Rosalia: how smart he was, how nice, how educated, and did I really think someone killed him?
"I dunno. Can you think of any reason why someone would off the guy? What with him being so nice and all?"
"Beats me. I mean, what could Rosario know that could put him in that kind of danger?"
"I thought you might know, Safety."
"Nope."
"You do realize the project has been experiencing unexplained cost overruns, don't you?"
"Hell, everyone knows. I figured it was due to dealing with Mexico as usual."
"Mexico as usual will run ten, fifteen percent. We're looking more like thirty."
He turned slightly pink in the face, but redheads will do that. "Thirty? That's…uh…that's not right."
"Oh? What is right?"
"Ten percent."
"And you know this how?"
He shrugged. "Common knowledge. You know, the grapevine."
"Does this grapevine define whether that rumored ten percent is over and above the usual twenty percent in Mexico?"
He didn't answer and remained a little surly until we reached the boat and Po Thang licked him back into civility. Po Thang was ecstatic to see him, even though they'd had an ear-rubbing and licking session back at the jobsite that morning. No, Safety did not lick Po Thang's ears.
After Safety left, Jan and I pulled our dinner together. She was whipping up some Louis sauce for our Lobster Louis when she stopped in mid-wisk. "Safety's hiding something. I feel it in my bones."
"Oh, I think he'd seriously enjoy a feel from you. In his bone."
Jan guffawed. "From my point of view he seems to hang around you a lot, as well. Dang, I guess one of us is gonna have to sleep with him. Wanna flip a coin?"
I swatted her on the head. "Let's use our brains instead."
"Why didn't we think of that novel idea years ago?"
We took our salads and wine onto the sundeck, even though I was still edgy about being so exposed a
fter that little visit by Dickless. Several seagulls eyed our dinner with interest and cawed for a handout. We ignored them. If you feed 'em, next thing you know they crap all over you, kind of like a lot of men I've known.
"Chino called today."
"Yeah? Did you two make up?"
"Sort of. He wants me to go to Lopez Mateos next weekend for a visit with the relatives. Wanna take me over there?"
"Might I remind you that yesterday was the official start of Semana Santa?"
"I know, maybe we should play it safe and hunker down here."
"Where's the fun in that?"
Semana Santa, or Holy Week in Mexico is a Catholic tradition that has morphed into a free-for-all beach event in the Baja. Families from the States and all over Mexico converge upon Baja Beaches, and especially Conception Bay, for family reunions to beat all family reunions.
In many cases, several generations meet there, pitch tents, roll out the water toys and spend several days having a grand old time. For the most part it is an orderly (by Mexican standards) if noisy gathering, but the beaches, with tents five to ten deep, go from little pieces of paradise to something resembling Ft. Lauderdale at spring break.
The mine was scheduled to close at noon on Wednesday, allowing everyone to get home before the main influx of traffic reached us from up north. By the time the working stiffs up there left at noon and drove many hours to get to the beaches where the older generations had staked out a claim, most of the drivers had had a few cervezas. Quite a few.
I was told the town of Santa Rosalia is unusually quiet during this holiday week, with only restaurants, grocery stores, the ubiquitous depositos (beer wholesalers selling as an agency of a particular brand), OXXOs—the Mexican equivalent of 7-Eleven—and gas stations making a killing off the migrating celebrants.
The question was, were Jan and I willing to run the gauntlet of revelers past Conception Bay to get to Lopez Mateos, and Chino's own family reunion?
"I wonder how bad it's going to be on that stretch of beach. How come Chino's not picking you up, by the way?
"He's taking the back road, and he's going on Wednesday or Thursday. I can take the bus if you don't want to join us. If I can get a ticket."
"Are you two gonna fight?"
"No."
"Then I'll stay here."
"Okay, I'll pick a fight."
"Then I wouldn't miss it. We just have to be prepared for a bunch of traffic and tons of people on the way. We're good to go then, but I don't want to leave until Saturday. This boat needs a good cleaning and I figured to get it done on my days off."
"I forgot to tell you. The guy who washes your boat can't do it this week. He's gotta practice lugging a cross up the mountain to the cemetery. He invited us to join in the procession if we're here."
I looked at the dirt path winding up to the cemetery and imagined hiking it at night, by candlelight. "No way. I'd probably end up as a speed bump by the fourth station of the cross. On the other hand, if I did make it to the top it would probably constitute an Easter miracle."
"Saint Hetta? Spare me."
I was a little worried about leaving the boat unattended after that visit from Dickless, and told Jan so. "And even though I know now that Luján is lurking on this side of the peninsula, and that I don't have to worry about going to Lopez Mateos, or Magdalena Bay, I'd be a lot more secure if I knew exactly where the thievin' jackass is."
"Don't be silly, Hetta. You'll never be secure."
"Thanks, I really needed that."
She smiled. "But anyhow, I'll call Chino, tell him we're coming over and ask if his cousins have heard anything new about Dickless. How's that?"
"It will have to do. Come on, Po Thang, let's take a walk while your Aunt Jan calls your Uncle Chino."
"Woof."
Jan was just hanging up the phone and had a frown on her face when Po Thang and I returned from our potty run. Yes, both of us. I try to use the marine facilities as much as possible to cut down on my black water pump-out fees. Life without sewer lines can get a mite complicated.
"What? Why so glum?"
"You ain't gonna like it. Chino's cousins heard that Dickless has something going down in Conception Bay. Shady real estate deal of some sort, no doubt."
"Conception Bay? I really didn't want to hear that. Makes sense though, with so many disputed properties down there. Lujàn doesn't build or sell anything he doesn't expect to steal later on. Oh well, at least it's safe for us to go visit with Granny Yee in Lopez Mateos. And with the hordes of people at Conception this weekend, what are the odds of running into that dirty rat bastard, Luján?"
I should'a bought a lottery ticket.
While we were making plans for our run over to Lopez Mateos, Jan commented, "Granny Yee likes you. Says if it wasn't for you she'd probably be dead, along with that entire village she lived in. Ya know, though, we never heard one bit of news about that super meth factory you blew up in the Baja."
"Of course not. Bad for tourism. Besides, I didn't blow it up, Nacho did. I only helped to distract the bad guys."
"Wonder where Nacho is now? Hell, I wonder who Nacho is now."
Nacho, a.k.a. The Shadow, or Ignacio, is indeed a shadowy character, but handsome in a criminal sort of way, and one of our favorite topics of discussion.
He shows up in my life periodically, usually when I'm up to my ass in alligators, and helps pull me from the swamp. We don't know who he really is, or for whom he works, but I imagined his card should read:
Lamont “Nacho” Cranston
Shady undertakings our specialty
www.nachomuchomacho.com
Se Habla Espanol
After a recent encounter with him on the Arizona border, he gave me his actual card, the one I was supposed to burn, eat, or whatever those undercover guys do. It reads:
L. Cranston Pest Control
1-800-got-bads?
We get what’s bugging you.
I didn't burn or eat it, as instructed, for a card like that is way too priceless to destroy. Besides, who knows when I might need him?
Fairly soon if Luján doesn't leave me the hell alone.
19
Nobody goes there anymore because it's too crowded.—Yogi Berra
I looked forward to going with Jan to Lopez Mateos for the weekend for several reasons, not the least of which is Chino's large and boisterous family make really good fish tacos and never run out of cold beer. As an added bonus, I love delving deeper into their family history. Proud of my own genealogical roots, my ancestors were pikers when it came to adventurous voyaging onto North American shores.
Doctor Brigido Comacho Yee, better known as Chino, is a descendant of a couple of men stranded in Magdalena Bay when their Manila Galleon sunk there in the late fifteen hundreds.
Comacho was a Filipino businessman who was moving his business from the Philippines to Acapulco in Nueva España. He and his family boarded the galleon, taking with them a few slaves, his head jewelry designer—a Chinese man named Yee and his family—a fortune in jewelry, silver coins, silks, Chinese porcelain and spices.
According to a written account passed down through the generations, Gómez Pérez Comacho and his family survived the ill-fated voyage of the galleon; a hobbyhorsing, rat-infested vessel dubbed a “flying pig” because of her rotund shape. Comacho thought of her as a fat pig. With her round belly engorged with over two tons of cargo, and a forty-foot draft, the ship was a nightmare to navigate. Because she could not sail into the wind their ship, as well as the other galleons in their fleet, first voyaged north and east from the Philippines, striving to stay as near thirty degrees north latitude as possible. On this voyage, however, they had been driven far to the north in their quest for favorable winds.
They were badly off course and schedule before finally sighting land and turning southward. Plodding along the shore, they could only pray for northerlies to push them safely to Acapulco, but the treasure-laden ship sunk, stranding them in the uninhabited area
of Magdalena Bay on Baja's Pacific coast, and generations later Chino is still looking for the shipwreck. He was elated when I dredged up an astrolabe—the ancient precursor to the GPS—with my anchor.
The son of a panga fisherman, Chino became fascinated at a young age with the influx of migrating whales each year, and especially their birthing grounds. Hired as a guide and boat driver to a British marine biologist expedition studying the migratory habits of those whales, he astounded the scientists with his knowledge. Chino, who later tested at genius levels, was an autodidact, self-taught in English, French, and German, and had read every book available to him on whales. He knew as much or more about the subject as the scientists who ended up mentoring him because he’d lived with the whales all his life.
Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series) Page 12
