Just Needs Killin (9 page)

I'd call it Plan B, but since I never had a Plan A, I guess it was just a plan.

The definition of a plan is: A series of steps to be carried out or goals to be accomplished.

Okay, then, let us start with goals to be accomplished.

Ultimate goal: Take down Lujàn, once and for all. Note to self: define "take down."

Steps to accomplish feat? I have no freaking idea.

Accomplishing lofty goals is kind of like playing pinball for me. For instance, I'm an engineer, but it wasn't a bar I set for myself. I just ricocheted through several schools in several countries until I found one that kept my interest, which is why it took me
for
ever to graduate. However, reaching a goal by bouncing around barriers, or sometimes right through them, usually gets the job done for me these days, although, at times, leaves me, and everyone around me, somewhat the worse for wear. But, hey, why mess with a working system?

Every plan needs an accomplice. Preferably an unsuspecting one.

"Jan, wanna take a boat ride?"

"Sure. Where we goin'?"

"La Paz. Gonna put the boat in a nice safe marina for the summer, and join you and Chino on the treasure hunt in Magdalena Bay."

"Cool. But didn't a couple of marinas in La Paz get wiped out in a hurricane a few years back."

"Yeah, that's why I'm going there. What are the odds of that happening again?"

"In your case? I'd say pretty darned good."

"Look, hurricane season is a long time from now, so I've decided to come spend the summer with you guys if you want me. Much cooler during the summer at Mag Bay, and besides, you'll have the privilege of dog sitting when I drive up to Santa Rosalia a couple of times a month."

"Sounds very reasonable. Which means you're up to no good. You are never reasonable. What gives?"

Sigh. The woman knows me all too well. "I'll tell you on the way to La Paz."

"When do we leave?"

"ASAP. Have Chino and a couple of his electronically talented cousins bring you over. And ask them to bring an extra truck. I see no reason to leave a perfectly good Sat system on my boat when we can use it on
Nao de Chino
. That way we'll have fast Internet and even television. Plug more airtime into the expedition budget, okay? It won't be cheap, but at least Chino won't have to spring for that new communications system he wants for the summer, right?"

"So, Missy Generous, how much are you gonna gouge him for renting your system?"

"You wound me."

"Yeah, yeah. How much?"

"Half the price of a new one."

"Piracy!"

"Aargh, matey."

Not convinced I wasn't still being watched, or somehow bugged, even though I gave those lowlife-dog-napping-so-and-sos my camera, I inspected my boat, over and over again, with the scrutiny of the paranoiac I am, and found nothing, but was still taking no chances. I drove into Loreto, bought a cellphone from Telcel, then found an Internet café and used their computer to send out an email with the new number to Jenks, or anyone who might want to call me on a Mexican number.

I dropped into the port captain's office and told them my VHF radio was acting up, but I was leaving Puerto Escondido for La Paz, and might not be able to call them when I exited port.

At the marina office in PE, I cancelled myself from the slip waiting list because I was leaving for La Paz.

The next day I drove to Mulege, dropped Po Thang off with friends there, telling them I was leaving for La Paz with the boat, but would pick him up in a few days. He wasn't happy getting saddled with a couple of Dalmatians for company, but it was for his own good.

Jan and the wrecking crew arrived, and we carefully dismantled the Sat system, with me diagramming and tagging each and every part and wire. I also made sure Chino's cousins knew we were leaving for La Paz before they took off for home. By the next day, thanks to the cousin's chinwagging ways, everyone in the Mag Bay area would know where we were headed. 

We said our goodbyes to the fleet at PE during the morning net, telling everyone we were going to take maybe ten days cruising down to La Paz, then we headed south. We passed the resort where this whole disaster started, made a sharp left, went out to sea for five miles, then turned north, and made a beeline for Santa Rosalia.

If Lujàn and his spies were keeping tabs on me, they wouldn't be able to locate my boat for days, thereby giving me time to sneak up on him and knock his Dickless self in the dirt.

Sometimes I am absolutely brilliant.

"Ya know, Hetta, this is plumb dumb."

So much for my brilliance. "Why?"

"Lujàn has about a bajillion people in the Baja who feed him info for a few hundred pesos. He gets wind of properties in dispute and moves in to snatch them. When permits are applied for, he knows, and can buy up the property next door, stuff like that. He'll know we're in Santa Rosalia an hour after we get there."

We were about fifteen miles southeast of Santa Rosalia, where I'd planned a late arrival so no one in the marina office, or the port captain's, would know about us until mid-morning the next day, when I had to check in. "But, we'll catch the bus to Puerto Escondido, get my pickup and Po Thang, head for Lopez Mateos, and join Chino on the research vessel. No one will know where I went."

"And then what?"

"I figure, what with Chino's family's deep roots in the Baja, maybe they'll know where that pig, Lujàn, is lurking."

"And then?"

"How about we hire
American Hoggers
, have them round him up, and grind him into sausage?"

Jan got a dreamy look on her face. "I love that show." She shook her head to clear what I knew were fond memories of her days as a goat roper. Of course, roping goats is a far cry from those two Texas gals—Jan's heroes—on
American Hoggers.
Those tough women crash through snake-infested underbrush hot on the tails of baying hounds, and then pounce on two-hundred-pound porkers sporting six inch tusks, hog-tie them, and haul them off to a local sausage factory.

"But," she said, "won't work down here. You're right, though, we need to remove the dog-stealing, beheading bastard from our lives. Don't you just hope he had to deal with Lil himself while they had her?"

"He didn't. Lil didn't tell me much, but she did say she and Po Thang were together in a nice apartment, and the food was better than mine. The only person she saw was the kid who brought meals. She bribed him to sneak in hooch."

"She told you that?"

"Naw, but I know her. She called him 'a polite young man whose manners belied his station in life.' That means he brought her booze."

Jan smiled. "Underwear money, right?"

As the sun lowered toward the horizon, we were running on a glassy sea, with a slight southerly behind us. The air was so clear we could see the tip of the Tetakawi peaks in Sonora, seventy miles away. Under these ideal conditions, we'd spotted several whales, lots of dolphins that ran with us for awhile, a giant manta ray, and even a shark. Had we not been on the run, it would be an ideal cruise.

Five miles from Santa Rosalia, Jan decided it was all right for us to have a drink. Docking was going to be a breeze, even after the sun set. The port was fairly well lit, the entrance clearly marked with working—always a miracle in the Sea of Cortez—entry lights. If my old dock was available, I'd glide in there.  Piece of cake.

But, as Jan had asked, then what?

I sorted options. They were not great. To successfully get lost, we really needed to hide a forty-five foot yacht, and David Copperfield is all booked up in Vegas.

I spotted a light on the horizon, grabbed binoculars, and identified the Santa Rosalia/Guaymas ferry heading across to Sonora. "Jan, you remember that guy we met in San Carlos."

"You mean in Mag Bay?"

"No, over on the other side. San Carlos, Sonora. We met him in a bar."

She gave me a look. "Can you, like narrow that down? I can think of maybe a hundred off the top of my head. Did we sleep with him?"

"Very funny. No, but he was telling us about a free marina in Guaymas. I drove out there one day. No electricity, no water, no nothing. But what it does have is no employees. Only a guard."

"So?"

"So, we stash the boat there and ask our new best bar buddy to watch it for me. What do you think?"

She drained her drink. "I think it's gonna be a long night."

We arrived in Guaymas early the next morning after tailing the ferry all night. I have to admit it was kind of comforting to keep another boat in sight, even if I did have to kick my boat's engines in the butt to keep up.

Jan and I didn't take formal watches, but we spelled each other. Neither of us really got more than a couple of hours of sleep, but we slid into the free marina without fanfare, parking behind
Island Lady
. Bart heard us coming in and helped with our lines. He remembered Jan, of course.

I didn't know this guy from Adam, but since he was Canadian, I trusted him. I mean, everyone knows there is no crime in Canada, right? I'd bet those Mounties have nothing to do but look good.

Anyhow, Bart jumped at the chance of earning three hundred a month to keep an eye on
Raymond Johnson,
so long as I got back before July, when he went home for the summer.

There was no cell signal in the tiny cove, and my Sat system was being installed on
Nao de Chino
, so Bart drove us into Guaymas to buy airline tickets, then I called Jenks on my Mexican cellphone. I'd read that Carlos Slim slipped to second place in the Forbes Richest People in the World list, and figured calling Dubai via Telcel might help him out in the ratings.

After we bought Bart lunch, dinner, and some gas for his car, he agreed to take us to the airport the next morning. It would have been so much cheaper for Jan to sleep with him, but she balked. I think I liked her better as a hooker.

When I called Jenks, I'd told him
Raymond Johnson
was safely at a dock in Guaymas, and I was returning to the Baja to work on what I now dubbed the Great Galleon Hunt. He didn't seem surprised that I'd changed my destination to Guaymas, although he did lamely grouse a little about me and Jan crossing the sea by ourselves. Again. I guess he's used to my whims by now. Or maybe he was just relieved I'd be occupied and out of trouble for the summer. He had no idea I had a killin' in mind.

At O-dark-thirty the next morning, we packed up, secured the boat, left all kinds of written instructions and contact numbers for Bart, and headed for the airport.

The airline insisted we be at the airport one hour prior to our departure time. As expected, the only person in the terminal was a security guard. While we waited for anyone else to show up, like the guy who sells coffee, or any airline employees at all, Jan and I contemplated DO IN DICKLESS possibilities.

I printed, in large block letters: FIND HIM. KILL HIM.

When I wrote down the 'kill' part on my notepad, Jan frowned. "Ya know, Hetta, I think I'm a witness to what might be legally considered premeditated conspiracy to commit murder. And, in Mexico, I don't suppose you could claim insanity or self-protection, like you normally do."

"Those cases never went to court."

"And this one better not, either. Mexico doesn't have a death penalty. They figure their prisons are a much more severe form of punishment."

I tore the note into tiny pieces. "Here, eat this. No paper trail." I glanced at my unplugged computer. I was pretty sure my watchers were no longer able to see or hear what I did, but was taking no chances with that mini-cam. Jan had run a scan and rooted out the dastardly virus planted by Lujàn's guys, but I was still antsy.

"And no witnesses," Jan added, with a TAKE THAT! look at the now debugged computer.

"So that means I have to off you? Dang, you were growing on me."

"Nope, I am signing up for this one. If I'm going to live in Mexico like, forever, I want that piece of crap either in prison, or dead. Preferably dead. Now, there you go, I am no longer a witness, but a full fledged co-conspirator."

I gave her a high-five. "Thelma and Louise!"

"Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!"

"Bonnie and Clyde!"

Jan lost her wide grin. "Uh, Hetta. Didn't all of them, like, die?"

"We all die."

"Yabbut, they died young."

"See, we have nothing to worry about."

She swatted me. "Get serious. It just ain't all that easy to off someone and get away with it."

"We're talking
Mexico
here, for crying out loud. You know, the country where over sixty
thousand
people have been murdered by the cartels, and not one person prosecuted? Jeez, it's worse than Chicago."

"That's because the prosecutors and judges prefer to live? But we don't have buckets of money like the druggers do. We only have our brains."