Just Add Trouble (Hetta Coffey Mystery Series (Book 3)) (30 page)

I snaked my hand along the wall, found a light switch, and flipped it.

“Oh, God, turn it back off, or blind me,” Nacho wailed.

I turned to find my Aunt Lil, buck naked, sprawled on the bed and snoring to beat the band. One hand was still wrapped around an empty Bacardi bottle.

“What, or who, is that?”

“My aunt.” And my worst nightmare.

Nacho had his hand over his eyes. “For God’s sake, cover her up.”

I threw a blanket over my least favorite relative. She never stopped snoring. On the floor next to the bed was a leash attached to a rhinestone studded collar. I picked it up and handed it to Nacho.

“Here, take her iguana for a one-way walk into the desert.”

Nacho demurred on getting a collar on the large and angry lizard, so I coaxed the reptile back into my bedroom with a long line of lettuce leaves.

Trouble, cowed by such a ferocious looking creature, clamped his claws into my shoulder and stayed put.

I considered dumping Aunt Lil on the dock, but Nacho was afraid she’d roll into the water and drown. Not that I would mind, but Mother would never forgive me, and two bodies connected to my boat in less than two days might incite even the ever-so-practical Mexican judicial system to action.

“Looks like the old bag and her lizard are in for a boat ride, Nacho. When we start up these engines, half the residents on the dock are going to peek out to see what’s going on, and with what went down here recently, some will investigate.”

Nacho seemed lost in thought, then his face lit up. “How many Gringo boats, with people on them, are in this part of the sea at this time of year?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Say, twenty here, another twenty-five at the other marina, a few at anchor. On the Baja side, another fifty or so scattered between Santa Rosalia and Puerto Escondido.”

“And, if they had to, how many could, and would, come to Agua Fria if asked.”

“Depends on the reason. Free beer works. Cruisers love a beach party.”

“How would we contact them?”

“Ham radio. I can put out a call on the Sonrisa Net tomorrow morning, but why? What do you have in mind?”

“Safety in numbers. The boats can be a diversion, much like your pigeons, while I get to Paco.”

“Are you sure they won’t be sitting ducks, instead.”

“I think not. There is some element of danger, but not if I succeed in my plan. I have been working on this for weeks, before I was forced to change my original mission.”

Now it’s a mission? What am I getting into?

“Lucky for us, my tanks are topped off, and all systems were checked out before you kidnapped me.”

“I did not really kidnap you.”

“Oh, yes you did. And I don’t intend to forget, or forgive.”

“Hetta, haven’t you ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome?”

“Nacho, does the phrase, ‘Remember the Alamo’ have any meaning for you?”

Chapter 39

I started the engines and, just as I predicted, lights popped on in nearby boats. Within seconds, Smith was dockside, with, thankfully, Maggie trailing along behind. He spotted me on the flying bridge.

“Hetta? You’re here? And all right? Where have you been? Better yet, where are you going?”

“Agua Fria. Can’t explain right now, but we might need a little help over there. If we’re not in touch within twenty-four hours, call out the gendarmes and send them to Agua Fria.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you.”

“It would be better if you bring your boat over.”

“Can’t. Engine trouble.”

“Okay, then, hop aboard. Time’s awastin’ and we have to leave, pronto.”

“I’ll be back in a flash,” he said, jumping onto the dock. Then, back over his shoulder, he asked, “Don’t you want to take
Se Vende
?”

I looked over the side at my panga. “Nacho, do we need my skiff?”

“We’ll need something to get to shore.”

“
Se Vende
will slow us down, I have to tow her.”

Smith turned back and yelled, “Follow me. We’ll grab my dinghy and throw her on deck.”

Nacho and Smith were back in five minutes with the dinghy, and a little something else.

“Oh, no, you don’t, Smith. I’m allergic to cats.”

“Hetta, we can’t just leave him here. Mr. Bill’s boat trained, never leaves. And now that his owner is gone, there’s no one to take care of him. I have his litter box.”

“Where’s his owner?”

“Dead. She was Herbert’s.”

Nacho, having finished lashing down the dinghy, interceded. “We gotta go, cat or no cat.”

“Oh, ok, put him in…” I had a really mean thought, “my cabin. And Smith, just crack the door and toss him in.”

Nacho tilted his head at me, and I gave him a wicked smile. My aunt abhorred cats and with any luck at all, Mr. Bill had a hankering for lizard. From the size of him, I figured that fat cat could handle an iguana, no
problemo
.

“Can we please go now?” Nacho growled.

“Yep, help Smith with the lines.” Smith had boosted Maggie to the flying bridge, so I put her in the captain’s seat behind me. Not to be left out, Trouble joined us, giving the dog an affectionate peck on the nose when she sniffed him in hello.

With all the commotion, any vestige of a stealth exit was long gone.

Several other sleepy-eyed boaters emerged from their bunks, and as I was backing out of the slip, Smith yelled to them, “If you can come to Agua Fria, get underway. Hetta needs help. We’ll monitor channel eighty-eight if you want details.”

Nacho joined us on the bridge. “Will they come?”

“Some will,” I reassured him, “but remember, I can do ten, twelve knots and most of them can only do five, unless there’s wind. Which, right now, there isn’t.”

“But in the morning, after you ask for help, others will come from Puerto Escondido?”

Smith nodded. “My bet is there will also be boats from Conception Bay, and even the islands north of La Paz. Problem is time. When is it that whatever’s going to happen, well, happens?”

“It is imperative that we act before, or on, Christmas Eve.” He fingered my Christmas lights. “Can you turn these on?”

“Now? Sure, if you want us to cross the sea lit up like Las Vegas. That’s why Christmas boat parades are so spectacular, they light up the night sky.”

“Christmas boat parade? Do the other boats have lights?”

“Most. Why?”

“That is what we will have, a parade, right into Agua Fria harbor.”

“Gee, and here I was afraid that, after being rudely snatched by a crazed Mexican, I’d miss the parade. Now, I guess, I get to lead one.”

“Yes,” Nacho seemed pensive and answered as though talking to himself, “that will work very well. I can think of no better way to interrupt Weeweechu.”

“Weeweechu?”

He looked a little startled, as though he’d forgotten we were not privy to his innermost thoughts. “It is a code name. When will we arrive on the Baja side?”

“Never, if you don’t start talking. When I ask for help, boaters will come, but we have to warn them there may be an element of danger involved.”

“What kind of danger?” Smith asked. Maggie was tucked into his jacket, and Trouble sat on his shoulder, gently grooming the dog’s ears.

I looked at Nacho. “Yeah, Nacho, I think it’s time we knew what we’re getting into.”

Nacho sighed. “You are right. The villagers at Agua Fria are being held captive, forced to manufacture crystal meth in a super lab behind the village.”

“What?” Smith and I cried in unison.

Trouble stopped nibbling Maggie’s ears and perked up. “What? What?” he screeched.

I recovered a little from the shock. “And you want us to drive right into this disaster? I think not.”

“Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Nacho quipped, trying, unsuccessfully, to insert a little humor into the situation.

“I gave at the office.”

“Look, it’s not as bad as you think. I already decided, in advance, and by myself, to stop the, uh, mayhem the gang has scheduled. With your involvement, though, my plan—”

I put my hand to my ear. “Hello? Professor Whitman, from Planning 101? He’s on the phone and wants you back in class, Nacho, for it is you who got me involved.”

Smith threw up his hands. “Hetta, shut up. Nacho, explain.”

I shut up, and Nacho ‘splained. “The villagers are being paid quite well for their work, but they still have no choice but to cook meth. The gang in charge of the operation has created, as Hetta well knows, a landslide to block the road so relatives cannot visit. The only phone line is cut. Anywhere else besides Baja, this would raise questions, but it is not unusual for villages to be cut off after natural disasters. The problem is, another disaster, far worse, is about to befall this village.”

“What more can happen to these poor people?” I was thinking of Chino’s grandmother.

“This gang knows they cannot hold off outsiders indefinitely. They will, very soon, leave for good. Christmas morning, as a matter of fact. Most of them have already split, overseeing the second half of the scheme.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“Not if they leave no witnesses.”

Smith’s mouth dropped open. “You’re shittin’ me. How many people are we talking about?”

“Maybe a hundred or more.”

I re-hinged my own jaw. “How can they get away with killing so many folks?”

“As far as we know, it is the first time anyone has planned to make an entire village disappear, but with the new government crackdown on crack, the guys running the lab plan one last, big shipment in many, many separate loads. And this stuff is ninety-percent pure Mexican ice. We’re talking not hundreds, but thousands of pounds. By the time it gets to the end user in the US, we’re talking a billion dollars here. And this outfit controls its own chain of distribution. No outsiders, no sharing the wealth.”

“And over a hundred innocent people die.”

“Not if we get there in time.”

“The drug slugs are just going to stand by while we anchor off their beach and, like a grade B movie, save the villagers?”

“Actually, most of the bad guys are off on Christmas vacation.”

“Say what?”

Nacho shrugged. “Christmas is a big deal down here. I, myself, am supposed to be in LA. As is Paco. That is why the time is perfect for us to make a strike, because, starting Christmas Day, the village of Agua Fria goes up in smoke, and operation Weeweechu begins.”

“Weeweechu?” I asked for the second time, but was ignored.

Smith looked from me to Nacho. “Who’s Paco?”

Despite Nacho’s warning glance, I answered. “Probably the guy who killed Herbert.”

“Well I’m confused all to hell.”

“Ain’t we all? Nacho, want to fill our friend in? After all, he volunteered to get in on this little counterplot of yours. Oh, wait. If you tell him, you’ll have to kill him.”

Nacho narrowed his eyes at me, then gave Smith the story he gave me about Paco, and his murderous mission.

Smith took it all in, then asked, “If this Paco was over on the Sonora side of the sea, and killed Herbert, why would he be back in Agua Fria now?”

“Because he didn’t find me, and now he has to cover his ass. How, I’m not sure. He didn’t get what he came for, so he has to create some sort of story before the boss finds out he’s lost his…”

A little light went off in my head. “GPS?”

Nacho actually smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“So, since you didn’t, I get to live?”

Smith lost his patience. “What are you two talking about?”

Nacho clammed up, so I elaborated. “Our friend Nacho here, who claims he’s not a member of the drug gang, but has yet to prove it, has a GPS, which he took from Paco. In this little device is a list, with coordinates, of all the safe places to move drugs across the border, into the States. Even through iron walls. This Weeweechu is going to be something like the Berlin airlift of meth, except on foot, by truck, and maybe a mule or two. Am I getting warm, Nacho?”

“You are very, very warm.” He said it all sexy-like, making me blush.

Smith was too worried to notice our little flirtation. “I’m still a little lost here. Won’t the border patrol stop them?”

I had the picture now. “Oh, Smith, I think we’re talking blitzkrieg here. Hundreds of crossers, all at once, on a major holiday—Pearl Harbor comes to mind—along the entire border. Safety in numbers, right? With all those runners, more meth will get through than not. Right, Lamont?”

Nacho grinned. “‘Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!’”

Smith shook his head. “You two are nuts. Okay, I’m in, because it’s not like I have a choice right now. What’s the plan?”