Just Needs Killin (24 page)

Jan yelled at Chino, "Moto's crotch is moving!"

He leaned toward us. "What?"

"Moto. His crotch is moving away. We have to follow it."

Chino looked confused, once again, by his seemingly demented Preciosa
.
"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Hetta chipped Moto's crotch, and now it's moving. Oh, never mind, just follow us."

"And turn on your fishfinder," I added. The old panga we were on didn't have one, but Chino's panga was state of the art.

As we motored slowly, following a now zigzagging pattern, Chino reported painting two moving targets about fifteen feet under us. We followed for ten minutes, keeping up easily. They were headed directly to the ship wreck site.

"This cannot be random, like a fish swallowed Moto's suit or something. Mr. Fujikawa, I think your grandsons are swimming down there, and are afraid to surface, thinking Luján is up here in their panga."

His face lit up, and I saw that seventeen-year-old sailor. "We must alert them. How?"

"Stop the panga, I have an idea." I rummaged in my pocket, found a dog treat and threw it overboard. After looking at me for approval, Po Thang followed, splashing us all in the process. He paddled around on the surface for a minute, then dove. He was down so long I began to worry, and when he finally surfaced, I could tell he was frustrated to come up empty-mouthed, but the dog treat either sank too deep, or disintegrated.

Undaunted, he dove again, and this time he came up accompanied by two very tired, but happy divers.

Jan and I both had a lot of 'splainin' to do.

But first we had to find that toilet Abuela Yee had one of the cousins toss overboard into the bay. Her generation of Mexicans still don't get the green thing, and use large bodies of water as garbage dumps. Luckily Jan knew where they dumped most of the time, and it was only twenty feet deep.

Po Thang zeroed in on it pretty fast and we dragged the toilet to shore, retrieved the vase, and I reluctantly turned it over to Chino, along with the gold bars (okay, all but one) I'd snatched from Kazoo's cabin and managed to save from the
Nao de Chino
. As Jan said, it was the least I could do after sinking the man's ship. And since this gold wasn't from a galleon, he could sell the bars and get a new research vessel.

I hate it when I do something noble.

After losing my summer job due to me sinking my work place, I went back to Guaymas and took the
Raymond Johnson
to La Paz, where it was hot as hell, but my air conditioner worked just fine. Once we were settled in at Marina de la Paz, Po Thang and I drove back north, to spend the rest of the summer at the fish camp.

My new summer job entails cleaning fish and patting handmade tortillas into perfect rounds. I'm getting pretty good at both, and am considering opening a taco stand.

Chino came back from Santa Rosalia one day with a newspaper in hand and gave it to me. The article, on page three, was headlined: BAJA REAL ESTATE BROKER FOUND BEHEADED, FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED.

Jan, who was reading over my shoulder, snorted. "Ya think?"

It went on to identify the victim as Ricardo Luján, but that was about it. Everyone in Mexico knows when someone gets his head removed, it is at the hands of a cartel. And, everyone in Mexico also suspects it is because the victim either had it coming, or was, at the very least, involved in the drug trade. And besides, some folks just need killin'.

On another front, Chino's cousins reported spotting a mysterious submarine that surfaced one night near where the
Nao de Chino
sank, so we figured the Japanese were retrieving their gold. Not that anyone who knows what actually took place that night wants to talk about it for fear of losing fingers, or worse. And since Jan is the only person who knows I sank Chino's boat, I keep a sharp knife handy, just in case she even thinks about ratting me out.

The missing airliner Ishikawa was reportedly aboard has never been found. However, before Dickless went headless he told Fujikawa's fingerless buds where in the Baja desert they'd dumped Ishikawa's body. Fujikawa must have confessed the sad truth of her husband's demise to his widow, for Chino received a small box of ashes to scatter in the lagoon where Ishikawa learned to commune with whales instead of canning them.

We received news from Japan that Mr. Fujikawa went to that place where Japanese mobsters go to meet up with the many they had a hand in sending there ahead of time. He probably got better treatment here on earth, as he was buried with full military honors and, in my vivid imagination, many three-fingered salutes.

Jan and I, as a reminder of our summer adventure, now wear silver coins around our necks, as I managed to hang onto twenty of them I'd stuffed into my drysuit before we bailed out of
Nao de Chino.
We're still looking for a fence for the other eighteen. Chino was suspicious of their origins, but I told him I bought them on eBay.

And then there is Nacho. He never returned my calls, but one day when I left my bi-monthly meeting at the mine, a camera identical to the one I'd handed off to the panga driver the day Po Thang was returned to me was in the driver's seat in my pickup.

I soon discovered it couldn't be my lost camera, because the lone photograph I downloaded into Jan's computer was taken earlier on that day I got my dog back, and before I handed over my own camera. The photo showed a man, and Po Thang, sitting cozily side by side on the balcony of what I recognized as the resort where this whole mess started. It was shot from behind, and captured a Kodak moment, which I would call it if it didn't show my age. The man and dog, their heads nestled together ear to ear, were the picture of contentment. Just by the back of his head, I recognized Nacho.

Photo shopped across the bottom of the picture was a message: DON'T EVER CALL ME AGAIN!

Jenks, who is due in any day for a one month stay at the fish camp, is bringing me a new laptop, as mine now resides with the fishes. I'm on pins and needles awaiting his return. He says he's heard some disturbing rumors, and that I might have some 'splainin' to do.

Fabio returned to Ensenada right after
Nao de Chino
sank. His annoyance at being the captain of a ship lost at sea was tempered somewhat by Chino paying his entire salary for the summer, and a promise of his part of the cannon loot once they were raised. His parting words to me were, "Do not ever call me again."

Am I starting to detect a pattern here?

Hasta luego!

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]

Note from the author
: I love hearing from readers, so please feel free to contact me at any time. And should you spot a boo-boo in this book, let me know about it! I have some pretty darned sharp readers, and appreciate the input.

Books by Jinx Schwartz

The Hetta Coffey series

Just Add Water, Book 1

Just Add Salt, Book 2

Just Add Trouble, Book 3

Just Deserts, Book 4

Just the Pits, Book 5

Just Needs Killin', Book 6

The Hetta Coffey Boxed Set, Books 1-4

Troubled Sea

The Texicans

Land Of Mountains

All available at http://amzn.to/o0gXOy

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/OegHma

Twitter handle @jinxschwartz

Twitter page: http://bit.ly/peOlj6

  Website: http://jinxschwartz.com

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As always, my first reader and hubby, Robert "Mad Dog" Schwartz, is my first line of defense. His unflagging patience with the techie stuff that has me screaming at my computer is priceless.

Holly Whitman has been the editor of every one of my books, and she keeps me out of the ditch when my story heads there. Thanks, Holly, once again for your wise input.

Also, I have beta readers! Thanks so much, Mary Jordan and Barbara Novak.

And then there is Donna Rich, who has the final, final, say. And very sharp eyes.

Just Needs Killin'

Published by Jinx Schwartz

Copyright 2014

Book 6: Hetta Coffey series

All rights reserved.

The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to persons, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning to a computer disk, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without express permission in writing from the publisher.