Just Add Trouble Page 21

  As the line of cars inched forward, I held my breath. The car in front of me was given a green light, and moved on. There was no one behind me, and no one on the Mexican side seemed to care that I had stopped altogether. As luck would have it though, a uniformed man looked up, pushed away from the official looking pickup he was leaning against, and began walking my way.

  I had to make a move.

  Rolling forward, hands clenched on the steering wheel, my hopes began to dwindle. Then, miracle of miracles, he was called back to his truck. The second his back was turned, Trouble sailed through my window and landed on my head. Sliding on the slick scarf, he ended up on my shoulder and squalled into my ear, “Oh, boy! Oberto.”

  “What took you so long? Never mind, just shut up, bird, we’re almost home free.”

  To let me know he was not pleased with the day’s events, he pulled out a few strands of my hair before hopping onto the passenger side seatback. As he roosted, another bout of yelling and cursing broke out on the US side, with what sounded like shots fired.

  “Oops, look like we’d better be heading…Oh, crap.” I’d drawn a red light that said Alto and a loud bell rang, whatever that meant. And, evidently roused by the brouhaha on the US side, two Mexican feds stood directly in my path with their hands held out in an unmistakable “halt” position.

  I grabbed Trouble and stuffed him into the glove compartment, where, luckily, I’d also stashed some jerky from that handy Dollar Store. After one loud squawk, he discovered the jerky bag. I turned up the radio to muffle the sound of shredding plastic.

  While one officer leaned on my hood, the other strolled up to my window.

  I sat in silence, leaving the ball in their court.

  “Buenas tardes, señora. Do you have anything to declare?”

  I do declare that I am scared pee-less. “I only have my clothes.”

  “And this is your truck?”

  “Yes.” My bladder constricted, like it always does when I lie. I suffer from guilty bladder syndrome.

  “And where are you going?”

  “San Carlos.”

  “On vacation?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “Ye…well, I am meeting my boyfriend there.” No use asking for unwanted attention.

  “Please, wait here.”

  Now what? Drug dog? Or worse, parrot dog? Having heard stories of how these border crossings work, I fished a twenty from my wallet and slid it onto the dashboard in full view. A little mordida in the right palm can grease a lot of skids, and if I ever needed greasing, it was now. Personally, I like a country where a small bribe works, unlike ours, where the price is much, much, higher.

  The guy returned and motioned me into what I surmised was secondary inspection. I was devising a plan. Okay, get out, walk around to the other door, throw it open, let Trouble out, then take my chances they wouldn’t see him fly away?

  Scenario two? Trouble attacks border cop and we both get shot? I was about to go for plan three, bald-faced bribery, when the man asked, “Can you give my friend a ride? He is also going to San Carlos.”

  Just what I needed, a hitchhiker. But then, driving through Mexico alone at night wasn’t such a good idea, either. And if I refused, would they search the car?

  “Sure, why not.” I reached over and unlocked the passenger door, then turned to the officer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other one on his cell phone and hoped he wasn’t chatting with US Customs, or the border patrol. I had a sneaky feeling I was a wanted woman, by both.

  “Well, I guess I’d better get rolling as soon as your friend…”

  The door opened and Nacho jumped in. A sharp instrument poked my ribs as, with an evil grin, he growled, “Drive, Red.”

  Talk about the rock and the hard place. If I screamed to the Mexicans for help, I might end up in a Mexican jail. If I somehow managed to make a successful break for the US border, I’d be flirting with a vacation at Club Fed.

  I drove.

  Chapter 36

  “Did you miss me?” Nacho asked, a grin on his handsome face. He still had a small bandage on his forehead.

  “I thought you were in jail where you belong. Or better yet, dead,” I said, blowing garlic breath in his direction.

  He did a nose twitch. “So you did think of me, even though you underestimate my survival instincts.”

  “Likewise. Want some jerky? There’s a bag in the glove compartment.”

  Nacho scoffed. “Oh, yeah, like I didn’t see that bird of yours fly through the window? How stupid do you think I am?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?”

  “Just shut up an drive. Bird stays put.”

  “But he’ll suffocate.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll let him out, but if he comes after me again, I’m going to wring his scrawny little neck and then roast him, with a little garlic, for dinner.”

  I started to reach in my pocket, but Nacho grabbed my wrist. “Not so fast, Red. How do I know you’re not armed.”

  “Only with popcorn. If you feed Trouble, you won’t have to eat him. Here,” I dragged a handful from my pocket, “have some, share with Trouble. He has no morals and readily accepts handouts from even lowlifes like you.”

  Nacho ignored the insult. “Don’t mind if I do. You always carry popcorn in your pocket?”

  “Only when I’m pigeon hunting.”

  “I wondered how you snagged them. From where I was watching, I had a ringside seat to the little scene you set up over there. How did you know it would work?”

  “I didn’t. How did you know I’d be coming across the border?”

  “I didn’t. It’s pure karma. So how did you spring the bird?”

  “They let me visit with Trouble alone this morning, and I slipped the lock on his cage.”

  “So, when they opened the door to the room, out he flew. The pigeons were diversionary. Brilliant.”

  I shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  “Well, it worked out, for both of us.”

  “Karma sucks.”

  “How Zen of you. Oh, Hetta Coffey, why didn’t we meet under different circumstances?”

  “You mean, like, when you weren’t a slimy meth dealer? When was that? When you were, like, ten?” I dug into my other pocket. “Here, more popcorn. Let the bird out.”

  Trouble blinked a couple of times, let go of a piece of jerky he’d been shredding and hopped onto Nacho’s outstretched, popcorn-filled, hand. I held my breath, waiting for a howl of pain, followed by flying feathers, but Trouble grabbed a piece of popcorn and flew onto Nacho’s shoulder. Nacho flinched, but Trouble didn’t attack. Both Nacho and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Afraid of a little bitty bird, big bad Macho Nacho?”

  “No, but you scare the hell out of me. Pull over.”

  “So you can dump me in the desert? I think not.”

  “Hetta, pull over, now. We have to talk. Believe me, it’s in both our interests.”

  I found a wide spot in the road. There was little light left, but I could still see Nacho clearly enough. He turned to face me and his hand shot out. I winced, but he only handed me a breath mint, then he gently stroked my cheek.

  “Like I said, Red, different time and place….”

  “You have got to be kidding. Are you putting a hit on me? After kidnapping and terrorizing Jan and me? Are you nuts?”

  “You’re right. Look, I’m sorry I put you through so much, but right now I’m going to level with you. I’m not a drug dealer.”

  “Yeah? And I’m Julia Roberts.”

  “I like you better. You’re sassy.”

  Jeez, I was starting to like this lying sack of crap. Okay, this lying, charming, sack of crap, handsome in a criminal sort of way. With whom I was parked in a dark car, in the middle of the Mexican desert. “Convince me.”

  “That I like you better than Julia?”

  “That you’re not a drug slug.”

  “I can’t right now. You ha
ve to, well, trust me.”

  I snorted. “Sure I will, what with all you’ve done for me in the past.”

  “Actually, I’ve done more than you think. I’ve gone to bat for you at least three times.”

  “Like?”

  “Like, at San Francisco Island? Paco wanted to kill you and your boyfriend, right then and there, just for some gasoline. He was tweaking on meth, almost losing it by the time we got to your boat. To make matters worse you could be the poster child for how not to deal with a tweaker. You pushed his buttons like you do everyone else’s. Not a loveable trait, by the way. If I hadn’t gotten us out of there, I would have had to blow my cover to save your ass.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Okay, how about this? Why do you think no one came after you when you motored out of Agua Fria? You saw something you shouldn’t. We had fast boats and guns. Would have been a turkey shoot.”

  Don’t bet on it. You haven’t seen Jenks in action. “You said three times.”

  “San Carlos. My guess is Paco found your boat. My, uh, sources, tell me there was an incident. “

  “Incident? My sources tell me there was a murder. Herbert bought it. Probably on my boat, which, I might add, you led both Paco and Herbert to. Coincidence? Let me be the judge.”

  “Okay, okay, so maybe not three, but now we gotta team up to save both our butts, and some other innocent folks.”

  “Gee, Lamont, why don’t you just conjure up The Shadow?”

  “Caught that one, huh?”

  “You think you’re playing with kids here? Pray tell, Mr. Cranston, why should I be interested in saving your butt?” Cute as that butt may be.

  “If I tell you, I have to kill you.”

  Trouble liked that. “Kill you. Kill you.”

  “Put a lid on it, Trouble.” I handed him a jerky strip.

  “Very dated and overused catch phrase, Nacho, you can do better than that.” Besides, I like to use that one myself.

  “You know, Hetta, I don’t think jerky is that good for parrots.”

  “Gee, of all the scuzbuckets, in all of Mexico, I have to draw the one with a degree in avian nutrition? Okay, back to what we’re doing. What are we doing? Or rather, what are you doing that makes me a necessary, albeit reluctant, part of a team. I thought I was, once again, your hostage. Or is that not a pistol in your pocket?”

  “Oh, it is. But I am also very, very glad to see you.”

  “Be still my heart. Not mutual.”

  “That could change. After all,” he practically purred, “the Shadow has hypnotic powers, able to cloud men’s, and perhaps women’s, minds.”

  Doodness dwacious. “Ha!” was my clever retort.

  “I could grow on you.”

  “Kinda like fungus?”

  “I give up. Just drive.”

  “Where to?”

  “San Carlos. We need your boat.”

  “What for?”

  “We’re going to Agua Fria.”

  Chapter 37

  “You want me to take my boat, and you, to Agua Fria? Hey, I have a great idea. I drop you off in Hermosillo, you grab a plane to Loreto, then rent a car, and drive to Agua Fria. Be sure to use Budget Rentals and give me as a reference. They love me there. Oh, wait, I forgot, the road is mysteriously blocked. I wonder how that happened?”

  “Dynamite. Works every time.”

  “Just for laughs, mind you, say I do decide to go along with this insane plot of yours—and this is assuming my boat isn’t impounded or some such—don’t you think old Paco will recognize Raymond Johnson? What with him leaving blood all over her decks and all?”

  “We’re gonna sneak up on him.”

  “Oh, of course. A forty-five foot motor yacht won’t be noticed in the Agua Fria harbor.”

  “Leave that part to me. Look, Paco’s a loose cannon, trying to cover his ass before the big boys at Agua Fria find out he managed to lose his…never mind.”

  “He lost his never mind? I hate it when I lose mine. Let me take a wild guess here, if you tell me what he lost, and evidently you found, or took, you’ll have to kill me.”

  “You’re a fast study.”

  “You want to know how fast? Give me one good reason why I should not just stop this car, and get out. You won’t do Jack-do-do, will you? I think you’re full of it.”

  He grinned. “Pot calling the kettle black, if you ask me.” That was the second time I’d heard that recently, first from Jan and now Nacho. I tried to think of a suitable comeback, but failed.

  Nacho seemed to ponder his options, then sighed. “Okay, there is nothing to stop you from walking away. I won’t kill you, or even hurt you, but if you don’t help me get Paco, you will never be able to sleep another night without fear.”

  “That a threat?”

  “No, querida, that is the truth.”

  Querida? Beloved? Yikes, did that sound sexy or what? I acted like I didn’t hear that little term of endearment and scoffed, “Your version of the truth.”

  “No, Paco’s. There is nothing more dangerous than a psychopath on meth. If somehow Paco gets me, he’ll come after you on general principal. In his fried brain, you are a loose end. No logic, no reason, that’s just the way he works. He leaves nothing to chance, no witnesses. The gang he came from, and still has ties to, MS-13, is the most dangerous in the world. They never, ever, stop until they get someone if that someone has been fingered for execution.”

  “Execution? Me?”

  He nodded. “And me. My guess is he hasn’t dared call for help from his compadres yet, because if he tips his hand, they’ll want details. Once he talks, though, even if they kill him for what he’s done, they’ll still come after me. And you. And your entire family. That is the way they work. Help me get Paco first, and our troubles are over.”

  “What the hell is MS-13?”

  “Mara Salvatrucha 13. Started in El Salvador, apparently at that address, 13 Mara Salvatrucha, then branched out all over. They even have ties to al-Qaeda, with plans to smuggle members into the US. Recently, they’ve been making a strong play in Baja, in the meth trade, but we won’t let that happen.”

  “You have a mouse in your pocket? Or do you actually have backup? Other than me.”

  “Royal we. Never you mind. We’re not totally alone in stopping MS-13, but it when comes to Agua Fria and Paco, we’re pretty much it for now. Let’s go get Paco.”

  “By get, I assume you mean kill.”

  “Without doubt. No other choice. And I have to do it very soon. Before Christmas.”

  “Killing someone right before Christmas could put you on Santa’s naughty list, you know.”

  He grinned. “I’ll chance it. There’s so much more to this whole thing, but first things first. Paco.”

  “So you are sure he ran this little murder mission on his own.”

  “For both our sakes, I hope so. Actually, I’m banking on it.”

  “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?”