Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3)) (29 page)

“And you claim to be some kind of undercover cop or something?”

“I made no such claim.”

“You said, and I’m quoting here, ‘If I hadn’t gotten us out of there, I would have had to blow my cover to save your ass.’”

“Don’t miss a thing, do you?”

“Cover from what?”

“Look, I really can’t tell you, for your own good, I swear it. Also, you have to let me drive, because time is short and you drive too slow.”

“I have a strange sense of self-preservation. Besides, the last time I gave you the wheel, you drove us through a steel wall.”

“Exactly. The wall opened, didn’t it?”

Just like he knew it would. “How come you didn’t know about the ditch?”

“Turns out those yahoos from Texas, the Militia dudes, just dug it for the land owner. Who knew?”

The Shadow,
quierdo
? “Watch it, buster, those are my home boys. Not my fault they didn’t like you.”

“They didn’t like me because I’m Hispanic, pure and simple. Let’s not get into a political debate here. I got you and Jan across, unharmed.”

Jan!
“Nacho, I have to call Jan and let her know I’m not in danger.”

“You are in danger, though. I said if you and I can get to Paco before he gets to us we should be home free, but it’s a big
if
.”

“I know that, and you know that, but Jan can be kept in the dark. I’ll call, and lie. Tell her I left for, say, San Francisco, before she realizes I’m AWOL and alerts every law officer in the entire free world?”

“Sorry, cell phones don’t work out here.”

“Bummer. Okay, as soon as we get—wait just a damned minute—didn’t you call someone from right about here,” we were once again snaking along Mex 2 through surprisingly heavy traffic, “and tell them to do in Maggie if you didn’t call every fifteen minutes?”

“I lied.”

“You mean you really don’t have anyone backing you up? Holding Maggie hostage?”

“Nope. Just me and thee against the bad guys, for now.”

“Then why did you say you had the dog?”

“Opportune coincidence. I wanted to get you and Jan out of Sonora, dog was missing, it worked.”

“Bastard! I’ve been worried sick about her.”

“Sorry. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

As relieved as I was that Maggie was most likely safe, I was furious with Nacho. Whatever he was, he was a devious, underhanded, jerk. Albeit, a handsome, charming, underhanded jerk. Before I met Jenks, I’d considered jerkism a plus.

We switched seats. He picked up the pace, zigzagging around cars and trucks while explaining that the Christmas rush into Mexico was at fault for all the traffic. Jeez, I’d almost forgotten that Christmas was days away until Nacho mentioned it. Hardly of any importance at this point. Which was what? Exactly what point were we at? Maggie was no longer a factor, Jan was safe in Bisbee with Martinez there to watch her. Uh-oh.

“Nacho, if we don’t want anyone to know where we’ve gone, we’ll have to ditch this truck.”

“Why, you steal it?”

“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.

“What?” I whispered.

“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 tail 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?