Pushing to seated, I retrieved my filet knife from the deck, butt-scooted, my knee screaming in protest—oh wait, that was me!—to help him. Shoving Po Thang out of the way, I used my knife and made a bigger gash in the bag and shrieked loudly when a small white hand shot out and grabbed my tee shirt.
After I caught my breath, I said, "Johnnie, let me go. I'm here to help."
Big brown eyes met mine. "Mac?"
"We don't know where he is," I said, stretching the truth a bit.
"Water."
"In a minute. I've got to get to these other bags."
"Hetta," I heard Jan say. She sounded weak, and her voice raspy.
"Jan! Are you okay over there?"
"Not…so…good. Maybe…call…help."
Johnnie rallied quickly. "Give me the knife, you get on the radio."
Po Thang heeded Jan's distress, jumped back into Javier's boat, and was licking her face, which was a horrible shade of gray.
Pulling myself up to the captain's chair, I reached past the now-awake-and-cursing Javier, put out a Mayday call giving our boat names and coordinates, and requested medical assistance. I also relayed what I knew about Jan's injuries; she'd suffered a blow to her midsection, probably her ribs, and was having trouble breathing.
By the time I got the call out, Johnnie had cut slits in all but one bag, at least ensuring air could get in. There was movement in most of the bags, so I figured if Johnnie survived, most likely so had the others. I scooted over to another bag, cut a long slit in it and almost passed out again from the smell. Whoever was in there was way past needing a little oxygen.
Drawn by the scent of whatever makes dogs love to sniff really dead stuff, and sometimes roll in it, Po Thang bounded back, rocking both boats. I was way past yelling at him and figured if he wanted to stick his nose into that putrid-smelling bag, so be it.
"Café?" I heard from behind me and turned to see Nacho crawling out of a bag. "What took you so long?"
I would have hugged him, stink and all, but Johnnie called for help as she worked on another bag and was pulling Chino out by his feet. He looked disoriented, but was moving and breathing so I concentrated on the last bag. Wait a minute; Nacho, Chino and Johnnie accounted for three bags and we had two left.
The really smelly one—I was hoping for oysters—was being worried by Po Thang, who was growling loudly as he did so.
Using the knife to carefully open the top, I pulled it down and found Mac, unconscious, but breathing.
"Mac?" I screeched. "But you're dead!"
Johnnie screamed, "Mac's dead? Oh, no!"
"No, no, he's not. But we thought he…oh, never mind. Nacho, are you able to help Jan? She's in trouble over there. And find some drinking water."
Johnnie threw salt water in her husband's face and he finally opened those beautiful green eyes. "Lass," he said softly.
I have to admit I felt a stab of jealousy.
Trying to go see about Jan, I slipped on something, sending yet another wave of pain through my knee. Looking down, a bolt of fear tripped my heart. A long slimy tentacle was wrapped around my foot.
The other end was in Po Thang's mouth.
Someone was in for some serious tooth brushing.
Chapter Forty-five
Within an hour, our Mayday call brought a small fleet of pleasure boats, two Mexican Navy inflatables bristling with armed Marines, and even a helicopter. We'd decided to stay put on the advice of Johnnie, who had some human medical training as well as being a marine biologist. She was pretty certain Jan had broken a rib or two, and maybe even a nicked lung, so racing back to port in a bouncing panga didn't seem prudent until some real medical attention arrived.
The helicopter was full of PGR guys, called to the scene by Nacho, who actually managed to connect with them via Javier's cell phone using, maybe not so prudently, his speed dial. Two officiously dour types were lowered into Javier's blue panga, which, it turns out, actually belongs to the Justice Department.
Finding their own man, Javier, securely bound and loudly protesting he had been attacked for no reason whatsoever by two putas locas—I protested we were not hookers, but let the crazy part ride—didn't exactly bode well for us. Luckily the Pelicano's crew started singing like canaries and, along with Nacho's somewhat official status, saved me and Jan from being hustled off to a Mexican federal prison immediately. Later, who knows?
At least, however, the Justice Department guys made a decision to have Jan and Chino 'coptered back to a La Paz hospital while they sorted out who was who on the boats.
Nacho had already instructed us—mostly me, since Jan couldn't do much talking—to only say we were asked by Javier to go to the scene of a nonexistent accident. Realizing we were being kidnapped, we sort of jumped him.
Needless to say, all our weapons were now hidden in a very secure place: in the bag holding a badly mutilated and very dead Humboldt squid that no one, save Po Thang, wanted anything to do with. I'd stowed it under a bench, and with all the other stink left on Nacho's boat, the stench was hardly noticeable. However, I had to hang onto Po Thang lest he drew attention to my stinky stash of guts and guns.
Once Jan, Chino, and the helicopter left, they moved Nacho, me, Mac, and Johnnie to Nacho's boat. Next to us, in the blue panga, Javier and the Pelicano crew members cursed at each other and whined to one PGR guy while the other one questioned us.
The Marines shooed all the pleasure boats away, but some were reluctant to leave until I assured them everything was going to be okay. I appreciated their loyalty, but told them I'd be fine and asked them to keep an eye on Raymond Johnson.
That injured knee was swelling badly and throbbing. One of the Marines, bless his heart, found a towel, put a handful of ice into it from a cooler on an inflatable, and Johnnie tied it around my knee. I remembered I'd thrown a first aid kit into Javier's panga when we left Raymond Johnson, so I popped a couple of Aleve. What I wanted was something much more substantial. Morphine with a rum chaser came to mind.
After questioning us for an hour, the Justice department agent in our panga made a call and told someone to find and seize Pelicano along with the sixth crew member who had taken off in his panga in hot pursuit of the mother ship. Finally convinced Javier and the other crewmembers were guilty of something, the agent had the Marines cart them off to La Paz in their souped up inflatables.
Two Marines stayed behind with us and piloted both Nacho's and Javier's pangas back toward the anchorage and my blessed medicine cabinet on Raymond Johnson.
I seated myself next to Mac, not totally convinced he was an innocent party, but because he had ended up in a plastic bag, we didn't rat him out to the agent in charge.
I knew the PGR agent couldn't hear me, so I leaned close to Mac. "I'm kind of glad you aren't dead, but I still think you're dirty in some way. Uh, you don't by any chance have some of that stuff you slipped into my tea on you, do you? My knee is killing me."
"Sorry, Hetta. I used all I was given."
I saw the PGR agent-dude eyeing us and shut up, but wanted to ask given by who. Whom?
Nacho also noticed us talking and turned an imaginary key on his lips, so we rode in silence, each tiny wave tormenting my leg into a blazing inferno. Johnnie patted my shoulder in sympathy, which was nice, but didn't do much to staunch the pain. Po Thang licked the area around the ice bag and whined. He was either trying to comfort me or he was thirsty. One really never knows with dogs.
When we arrived at Raymond Johnson, a panga was tied behind it.
"Oh hell, now what?" I grumbled.
Nacho went forward and said something to the agent, who gave an order to the marine, who moved to the bow and un-slung his gun. I glanced longingly back at Javier's panga, where my own arsenal was riding in that highly undesirable bag of slime.
Nacho took the helm and we circled my boat, but no one was in the panga, or on my deck. So, was someone inside my boat I'd locked up tight when we left with Javier? As soon as we touched the swim pl
atform, Po Thang bounded up on deck, grumble barking but his tail doing a gyro job as though he really couldn't make up his mind if there was a problem as he raced through an open door. A door that was closed and locked when I left.
Another case of fresh Hell?
Getting me out of the panga and up the ladder in any kind of hurry was out of the question, so I was relegated to waiting—something I do not take kindly to—while Nacho, the agent, and one marine boarded to see who was on my boat.
By the tone of Po Thang's bark, I knew he was a little confused whether he was encountering a friend or foe.
A Mexican man I'd never seen before, with Po Thang in hot pursuit, ran screaming from the main cabin, right into the arms of the PGR agent, who took him down. A marine pinned him to the deck with a muzzle to the neck. The man, his hands on his head, was praying loudly while Po Thang danced in for a lick or two. My guard dog: world class licker-to-deather.
I called him away but he ignored me, as usual, and dashed back inside. His barks stopped instantly. Frightened for him, I tried to stand, but the pain quickly reminded me not to do so. Mac did stand, but was waved back down by the second marine's gun barrel.
Agent Pablo, standing on deck, shouted an order to whomever was below, and Jenks came out, hands in the air. He spotted me and grinned.
"As usual, Hetta, never a dull moment."
Chapter Forty-six
It was dark by the time Jenks and I managed to get rid of everyone.
Jenks was at first insistent that I go with one of the pangas, accompanied by Mac, Johnnie, Nacho, the PGR agent—who by now we were calling Pablo—and the Marines, into La Paz. I stubborned up on him, convincing him since swelling was going down some I wasn't hurting so badly anymore, and we'd return together into port the next morning on Raymond Johnson.
I was lying about the pain, but I longed to be alone with him.
Johnnie agreed it was probably just a sprain, maybe a ligament problem, but icing and anti-inflammatories should do the job until I reached La Paz. I did have a pretty good gash but not big enough to require stitches.
Before everyone left I asked to speak privately with Mac, mainly about the pearls he'd left on my boat. I also still suspected he was somehow guilty of something other than kidnapping me and stealing my boat. And then there was the wife thing.
"Why were those guys holding Johnnie?"
"So I would be forced to help them. They needed someone to convince people of squid attacks, I was the expert, and when Javier saw I was going to exonerate the squid, he took Johnnie so I would change my report and do as he told me. I soon learned there were no deaths at all. Not one. The stories were totally fabricated by him and his mates to ensure no one stumbled upon those oyster beds until he could harvest them."
"But the body with the kilt?"
"Pure fabrication. I think they were setting the scene so when I actually did die, along with the others, they could easily dispose of all of us and no one would be looking because we were already reported as missing."
"So, Javier went rogue. I wonder why? Other than greed, of course, which I can totally relate to."
"His father and grandfather were pearl men back in the day before the oysters died off, and Javier was raised hearing of how the Mexican people were robbed by foreigners. When Javier got wind of the new discovery he wanted to harvest as many pearls as possible before the outsiders learned of the new beds and moved in for the steal. Pelicano's captain is his brother and everyone involved is, as far as I can tell, family."
"A family affair. So, in truth, they are guilty of a little kidnapping and pearl theft only because they got caught before any killing started?"
"Yes. Dreams of riches make people crazy."
I stole a crazed glance at the galley, where all those pearls were. "Really?"
He gave me that great grin of his. "Really."
Po Thang was mighty unhappy about being barred from my bedroom, but finally gave up whining and went off to pout.
Jenks had dozed off and I was in an anti-inflammatory, wine, and codeine haze. I know, I'm not supposed to combine all that stuff, but the pain in that knee was much, much better. Or at least I didn't give a damn that it hurt, because having Jenks back on the boat was happy-making all on its own.
I tried to get out of bed but couldn't figure out how without putting any weight on my knee. Sliding off one side of the mattress, I ended up flat out on the carpet.
Jenks looked down at me. "You look like you could use a hand there."
"I could use a sky hook," I growled.
He picked me up—no easy feat, but he did it easily—and asked, "Where to?"
"The head. Just get me there. I can manage the rest on my own."
He looked relieved. "Can do. You hungry?"
"Not so much, but I haven't eaten much today, and we got a mite busy down here before we could cook anything."
"I'll check out the galley, so yell when you need me to come get you."
By the time I managed the toilet and threw water in my face and brushed my teeth, Jenks was back, waiting outside the bathroom door.
"I'm putting together a nice steak dinner. That okay with you?"
"Perfect. And more wine. I need lots of wine."
He gently placed me into a deck chair—no easy task considering that gravity thing—where I tried to make up with Po Thang for locking him out of my bedroom and thereby perpetrating gross animal neglect. I was hand-feeding him bits of chicken breast Jenks found in the fridge when, in mid-bite he suddenly growled and the hair stood up on his neck and back. Rushing the rail, he stared into the dark while barking his, I'm trying to sound really furious and dangerous but I might be scared, bark.
"Jenks," I yelled. "Can you turn on the deck lights? I think someone's coming."
Flood lights brightly bathed the area around us with an intense light just as the blue panga pulled up with the PGR agent who had questioned us earlier in the day, Pablo, on board.
"Hush," I ordered Po Thang, an exercise in futility at best.
I waved at Pablo as he brought the boat alongside the swim platform and cut his engines. "Hello, Hetta. I came back to check on you. Is your knee better?" As he was talking, he was stepping onto the swim platform, a little too aggressively for my druthers. Common nautical courtesy requires a, "Permission to come aboard?" request.
"I'm fine," I said, but something didn't feel fine and it wasn't just my knee. Po Thang and I both smelled a rat.
Jenks walked up behind me and put his arm on my shoulder. "Jenks, I think—"
But Pablo was already on deck, brandishing a large handgun. "Where are they?" he demanded.
"Gee, Agent Pablo, I might be projecting here, but aren't you supposed to be one of the good guys? Where are what?" I asked. I had a sneaking feeling I knew what he was after, but I was stalling for time to think.
"Don't play dumb with me," Pablo growled. "The pearls, as you well know."
Po Thang growled as well.
Jenks took a step in Pablo's direction and the agent aimed the gun at Po Thang, who rumbled even louder. "Hold it right there or I'll shoot the dog. I prefer to kill Miss Coffey for being such a troublemaker, but she knows where the pearls are and I don't have time to search the boat."
"If I knew anything about any pearls I wouldn't tell you because you'd just kill us anyway. Did your partner in crime, Javier, tell you there are pearls on my boat? Even if there were he probably took them for himself."
"He did not. Trust me, he would have told me."
Uh-oh, I didn't like the sound of that. Past tense and all.
"You do realize the other boaters can see everything happening on this deck, don't you?" I said, hoping like hell someone was watching. Unfortunately, it was way past Baja midnight—eight at night—and everyone was probably tucked into their bunks.
"Turn off those lights," he ordered.
"The only switch is below," I lied. "I can't walk worth a damn, so Jenks will have to turn them off."
Jenks cut his eyes at me and gave me an almost imperceptible nod. He was reading my mind.
Pablo looked uncertain what to do next then grabbed Po Thang's collar so fast my dog didn't have time to snap off a finger or something more personal. "Where is the switch? I will turn them off myself, and I will take this cur with me to ensure you do not do anything stupid. I will kill him. You have my word on it."
"Oh, I believe you, even though I'm sure your word ain't worth spit. By the way, Pablo, what part of the US are you from?"
"None of your concern," he spat, confirming my belief he was a gringo. "Do not move, or the pooch buys it."
He backed down the stairs, dragging the furiously struggling Po Thang with him. I winced as I heard my dog's body thump down each stair step. He'd stopped barking and was yipping in pain and frustration.
As soon as they disappeared down the stairs, headed for the light switch in my cabin, I whispered, "Jenks, Nacho's panga! Guns in the black garbage bag!"
Jenks didn't hesitate and with his long legs and reach was back on deck within seconds, dragging the stinking mess behind him. I reached in and grabbed a double handful of squid guts and threw them at the top of the stairs. The smell almost knocked me over.
Pablo must have heard us moving around because he rushed back up the stairs. He'd evidently lost his battle for control of Po Thang for just as he reached the top stair, my dog barreled up behind him and head-butted the backs of the agent's knees like a short, furry linebacker committing unnecessary roughness. Pablo's legs buckled and he went down face first into a pile of slime. Unfortunately, he never lost the grip on his gun. He was quick and well-trained, rolling into a defensive prone position, pointing that mean-looking barrel at us.
I had scooted back and had both hands in the bag again when he managed to get to his feet. "You going to slime me to death, Red? Now where are those damned pearls?" All vestiges of any Mexican accent were gone.
Just Different Devils Page 23
