Just Deserts (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 4) (24 page)

From the sounds and smell, I knew I was in a hospital and hoped it wasn’t one affiliated with a federal prison on either side of the border.

A hand rested on my arm, and I instinctively knew it was Jenks’s. Okay, two for two. I was alive, and so was Jenks. However, I resisted opening my eyes, because I feared some part of me was missing. Not my arm, at least.

On the bad side, however, was I facing life in a Mexican jail for vehicular manslaughter, or life in an American prison for the same? Nope, I’d just as soon go back to sleep.

“Hetta, I know you can hear me,” Jenks whispered.

“No, I can’t,” I mumbled, surprised how much that small effort hurt. Oh, yes, sleep was definitely better, so I went back out. This time though, I actually dreamed.

I was back on the boat in the Sea of Cortez, lying on the warm deck, naked, hand in hand with Jenks. Bright sunlight warmed my eyelids, washed my svelte (hey, this is
my
dream here) body. The boat rocked gently in a slight, cooling breeze. Wavelets slapped the bow, sea gulls skreighed, a fish splashed.

Then somehow Nacho pulled alongside in a fishing panga. “…and the authorities on both sides of the border, at the highest level, want this kept under wraps. Hetta need not worry,” I heard him say.

Jenks asked, “But what about the, uh, bad guys?”

Bad guys? Come on, let’s call a spade a spade. “Terrorists,” I croaked, and opened my eyes.

Both men stared at me, then Nacho glanced back over his shoulder at the closed door to my hospital room. “Ah, Café, you are awake, after all. Jenks and I were discussing the, er, situation.”

“Is she dead?”

“Who?” Nacho pulled an innocent smile.

“Sonrisa, with the bomb.”

“We know of no one named Sonrisa, and no bomb. That bump on the head has stirred your overly vivid imagination.”

“But—"

Jenks cut me off. “No buts. Never happened.”

Okay, I can be a little dense at times, but I finally got it. “What never happened?”

They both smiled.

The boat rocked gently in a slight, cooling breeze.

Wavelets slapped the bow, sea gulls shrieked, a fish splashed. We were back on the boat in the Sea of Cortez, lying on the warm deck, naked, hand in hand. Jenks snored softly as bright sunlight warmed my eyelids, washed my body.

This time though, it was real, not some hospital drug dream, and Nacho was not in the picture. In fact, we had not seen him since that day in the hospital. My guess is he had a whole heap of covering up to do. We will probably never know who Nacho is, or who he works for, but two-to-one his employer goes by a well-known acronym. Maybe it’s better we don’t know, for he’d most likely have to kill us. I still have his card, even though he told me to memorize the phone number and tear it up, just in case I need to be sprung from another fine mess involving dope dealers, smugglers, and suicide bombers.

No report ever surfaced about Sonrisa’s attempt to detonate herself at a US Border crossing. It was as though she did not exist, therefore she could not die. Jenks and I put our heads together and came up with a theory that Sonrisa was meant to take a kamikaze dive out of Ted’s plane after it was hijacked, most likely into Fort Huachuca.

Who was she, and why would she do it? The only hard evidence of her was an embroidered shawl Rosa found in her room. The Arabic writing, when transcribed, read Safiyya. I looked up that name and learned that Safiyya was Muhammad’s aunt who saved Muslims from destruction in the battle of the Trench when she heroically killed a Jewish spy. Muhammad’s eleventh wife was also named Safiyya.

I Googled Muslims in Mexico and was astonished to find a site claiming Muslim extremists were actively converting poor Mexican Indians to their religion, then recruiting them to do their dirty work. Perhaps Sonrisa found a home with them, one she had never had as an outcast in her own country. I gave Border Patrol agent Ted Ramos the photo I’d snapped of Rosa and Sonrisa on the road the first day we met them. Maybe the government types could figure out who she really was.

Ted and Nanci Burns learned more details of the raid at Rancho Sierra Coronado. Rosa and Lupe were held hostage in a storage shed, but never knew why. I knew, but was not allowed to tell them, that Sonrisa was sent to their winery on a mission to steal the cobalt rods.

Newspapers reported the roundup of more East African Muslims in a San Diego INS raid. A human smuggling ring, linked to a local mosque, and a group of Lebanese-born  Mexican citizens had been operating out of an undisclosed location in northern Sonora. The Africans were deported, smugglers jailed.

The strike in Cananea is nearing its end, as is my contract. The office scuttlebutt is less about strikes and more about the mysterious disappearance of El Ratón. No one but me knew of his connection to a smuggling ring and a terrorist group. Too bad he escaped to Lebanon before my buddy Nacho could get his hands on him. Or did he?

Doctor Brigido “Chino” Yee and Doctor Sister Jan Sims are still counting whales in the Baja, but now they live in a fancy RV complete with satellite TV, high speed Internet, and, best of all, indoor plumbing. Chino’s love life has taken a turn for the better.

My new Uncle Fred called from Mazatlan, where he and Aunt Lillian have rented a house on the beach. Although I’d last seen my aunt’s car in Mexico, engine running, body sprawled across the hood, I reported it stolen from a side street in old Bisbee. Auntie collected the insurance money, and the car probably has a new and happy home with some Mexican who is less than squeamish about a few bloodstains.

Dr. Craig Washington bought a restored miner’s shack in Bisbee, and has opened a mobile large animal practice operating on both sides of the border. His new partner, in more ways than one, is the cattle rancher we’d met at the golf club. Turns out he owns a huge spread near Bisbee. For the first time ever, Craig is with someone who has more money than he has, and who actually treats him well. Of course, they are deep in the closet, but for them it is a good and comfortable closet. Vinny enjoys the run of Craig’s new digs and is actively seeking a partner of his own.

Booger Red was the extremely reluctant recipient of Craig’s implanted tracking chip, and I would have dearly loved to watch that operation. I heard there were only a few injuries. At least Ted and Nanci can rest easy the big bull won’t surprise them, or any of the many Europeans who flock by the bus load to sample their wine, now that they won another prestigious international award for their Bull Nose Burgundy.

Jenks got over being displeased with me, but not before declaring I could give Jimmy Carter lessons on creating international disasters.  He will return to Dubai for a few weeks, but until then he is all mine, and when my contract ends, I’ll meet him in Paris.
Oh, là à!

A seagull landed on a rail and awked for a treat, waking Jenks. He turned onto his side, pulled me close, and made me very happy.

My Jenks is a man of few words, but very, very, good deeds.

~The very end~

About the Author

Award-winning author Jinx Schwartz has spent most of her life traveling the world for work and pleasure. She spends as much time as possible afloat in the Sea of Cortez and pulls many of Hetta's adventures from her boating experiences there. When not in Mexico, Jinx finds herself high and dry on the Arizona border.

You can reach her at [email protected]

Check out her website at: ww.jinxschwartz.com

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Twitter: @jinxschwartz