Just Add Trouble

by Jinx Schwartz

  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 by 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?”

  “Nacho don’t got one, and we’re sticking to it.”

  Chapter 40

  What we needed was a plan not to stick to.

  I peeked in on old Aunt Lil, who was, unfortunately, still breathing. Mr. Bill sat on her chest, purring in unison with her snores. The iguana was stretched out on the end of the bed, unharmed, and asleep. That cat obviously has no taste when it comes to people, but then he did belong to Herbert. Any hopes I’d had for feline lizard control were dashed.

  I rejoined the men and looked behind us as, even from almost mid-sea, first light silhouetted the tips of the Tetakawi mountains against the eastern sky. We were over forty miles out, but the lack of air pollution in this part of the world makes for spectacular visibility.

  As the sun rose, Nacho, Smith, and I pored over a charts of the middle sea. Nacho tapped Agua Fria, then asked, “Is there another place, near by, but not visible from Agua Fria, where we can rendezvous with the other boats?”

  “Here,” Smith pointed. “If this weather holds, and it is supposed to, this little anchorage is good. Only two miles or so north of Agua Fria.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “The cruisers call it Vagabond Cove, after a boat that sank there.”

  “Okay, so we want the cruisers to rendezvous at Vagabond Cove by tomorrow afternoon, right?”

  Nacho nodded. “Yes. When will we arrive there?”

  I punched a few buttons on the GPS, brought up the menu of preloaded waypoints and cursored down to Vagabond. “At this speed, late afternoon. I can put on a few more turns, get there earlier.”

  “Perfect. That will give us almost twenty-four hours for the other boats to arrive, for you to organize your parade, and for me to, uh, do what I have to do.”

  Nacho and I went topsides, leaving Smith to catch a nap on the settee. The morning air was chilly, but windless, and the Sea of Cortez was as glassy as I’d ever seen it. Nary a ripple or swell disturbed the surface. To the northwest I could make out the outline of the Three Virgins, the volcanoes near Santa Rosalia. We were joined by a huge school of dolphins, probably a hundred or more, that chattered, jumped and entertained us for a good twenty minutes before getting bored with our relatively slow speed. The veered off and went about the business of feeding on fish.

  The dolphins gone, I turned to Nacho to share my thoughts. “Let me summarize this brilliant plan of yours. We all get in parade formation, with me out front standing in for Rudolph. We turn on our Christmas lights, blast Elvis singing “Blue Christmas” on the loud hailer, and cruise right into a drug lord-controlled harbor. With a fleet about as militarily effective as the Swiss Navy. What’s to keep said bad guys from blowing Dancer, Donner, Blitzen, and Raymond plumb out of the water?”

  “Me, of course. I—”

  “Hetta! Help! I need you down here,” Smith hollered.

  Nacho and I ran down the stairs, expecting to find the boat filling with water or smoke, but it was worse.

  Auntie Lil was awake.

  Wrapped in a bed sheet that she was having trouble holding onto, she was bent over, her head in the fridge and her withered hindquarters bare.

  “Aunt Lil, for heaven’s sake, go get dressed. There are men here.”

  Without changing position, she asked, “Where’s your tomato juice?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Oh, well, then. Just get me the vodka. Cut out the middle man, so to speak.” She straightened and turned to face us.
The sheet, thank all the stars in heaven, did its job. Her steely gray hair stuck out in all directions. Black mascara smudges bruised her cheeks and she had, apparently without benefit of a mirror, smeared bright red lipstick across her lips. Alice Cooper would no doubt applaud her maquillage.

  Incongruously, a Queen Elizabeth-style handbag hung from her way-too-bare arm. Her jaw worked and she smacked her lips in a way I knew all too well, an involuntary movement, the result of popping pills. That handbag held an addict’s dream list of pharmaceuticals, most of them prescriptions from a plethora of doctors she played like the lottery, and undoubtedly enhanced by an all-inclusive trip for two to a Mexican farmacia. I would have dumped the bag’s contents overboard while she slept, but I had no way of knowing which pills were recreational, and which were actually necessary to keep her alive. It’s against my nature to waste a perfectly good recreational drug.

  “No vodka,” I stated, drawing an amused look from Nacho.

  “What kind of ship is this?” my aunt wanted to know.

  “A dry one. No booze on board. I’m trying to quit,” I lied. During the night I had cleared every single bit of booze from the main saloon into the far reaches of the engine room.

  “Well, then, I insist that you take me to shore.”

  “My pleasure, believe me. In a few hours you’ll have all the shore you can stand.” In the middle of nowhere Baja.

  As if her vision suddenly slammed into focus, she noticed Smith and Nacho. Putting on what she thought was a coquettish smile, she batted her eyelashes. “My goodness, Hetta, I sure like the looks of your crew. But you really must remove your cat from my room.”

  “It’s not your room, and it’s not my cat. Now, please, go get dressed.”

  “I can’t find my clothes. I must have left them in the taxi. I had a most dreadful row with the driver over Iggy, who escaped his duffel bag when I wasn’t looking, and climbed into the man’s lap. Gave him quite a start. The taxi man, not my iguana. Man almost wrecked us. Such a careless driver.”

  “You were naked in the taxi?”

  “Of course not. That taxi driver dumped us in the parking lot and took off with my suitcase.”

  “Then put on the clothes you arrived in.”

  “They’re soiled. I have no idea how.”

  Oh, I do. “Then I’ll give you some sweats. Come on.”

  I led her into my stateroom where Mr. Bill and Ignacio, Iggy, were curled up together, still napping. I felt a familiar tickle in the back of my throat and headed for my medicine chest, and the antihistamines. Unless I dumped Mr. Bill soon, I would be flirting with a full blown asthma attack. As much as I liked cats, an extreme allergy to them was the only thing I had in common with my aunt. To make sure my dear aunt didn’t take all my medicine when hers ran out, I stuffed my inhaler and meds into my jacket pocket. When this little caper was over, I would have to de-cat my quarters.

  I threw a pair of sweats at Lil. As my mood darkened, my already stretched tolerance for my least favorite relative thinned. “Here, put these on, and stay out of the way.”

  “Your mother would be appalled, you talking to me that way. You have no respect for your elders.”

  “Respect is earned.”

  “You’ve always hated me, and now you’ve stolen my sweet little bird and sold him off.”

  “Trouble!” I yelled. He sailed into the room, but took one look at the now awake iguana and cat, and sailed back out. “See, he’s here, and he’s all yours. I’ve waited years to give you the bird.”

  Okay, lame and immature, but it made me feel better.

  Back on the flying bridge with Nacho, I sulked. What I wanted was a drink, but could I have one? No. And why? Because I had to keep booze from a woman I hated. I wanted Jenks, but where was he? In Kuwait, while I sailed into disaster. And why? Because that’s what I do.

  Nacho wisely, kept silent while I steamed. The antihistamine hit my blood stream, and empty stomach, taking the edge off my anger and making me a little high. Runs in the family, I guess.

  “Nacho?”

  “Yes?”

  “What are you going to do when we get to the other side?”

  “I told you.”

  “No, you gave us a vague indication. I want details.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Then give me one good reason to put myself, and others into danger.”

  “Okay, I will. When this is over, you’ll be glad you did. For the rest of your life, you will know that you unselfishly put yourself into danger to save others.”

  “That is the worst reason I’ve ever heard. I am selfish, and I want to stay that way.”

  “Then do it for me.” He said this softly, not looking at me, but at the horizon. “Help me save you. I don’t want you on my conscience.”

  “Like you have one.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Something in his manner set me to ruminating on the past three dizzying days. Seemed that one minute I was worrying about getting Jan across the border, and the next I was running through it. I’d committed several punishable crimes. I was consorting with a known drug dealer, pursued by another, I’d…a little light went off in my head. “Nacho, you rat bastard. You sicced Paco on me, didn’t you?”

  “I’m afraid so. At the time, I didn’t think it would come to this, but it has.”

  “You owe me the story.”

  He sighed. “After you took my truck, Paco realized the GPS with all the border crossing waypoints was missing. I told him it was in my truck.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “No. I had hidden it until I could get it into the hands of the right people.”

  “Which you did.”

  “Yes. All the drugs will be stopped, and the carriers arrested.”

  “Why did you need me?”

  “Paco traced the truck to Lopez Mateos, then learned you had left in it. These small towns, people talk. By the time he arrived in Santa Rosalia, you were gone. He returned to Lopez Mateos and began stalking Jan, hoping she would lead him to you. In a way, she did.”

  The idea of a psychopath stalking my best friend turned my blood cold.

  “While Paco was in Lopez Mateos, I decided to make a run for it. Take the GPS and hightail it for the border. I was in Santa Rosalia to catch the ferry when I spotted Jan at a pay phone. I maneuvered close enough to hear she was talking with you. When she headed for the marina, I followed. I was sure Paco was nearby, and I couldn’t just leave her unprotected.”

  “How gallant of you.”

  He ignored my barb. “You know the rest. We were lucky to escape Santa Rosalia. Paco must have nosed around and learned where we went, and by then he knew I was…well, not one of them.”

  “But he couldn’t blow the whistle on you without getting himself in deep caca.”

  “Correcto. Now I will finish off the villain, save the villagers and, more importantly, my Marlo Lane.”

  “Oh, gosh, Lamont, I’m sooo relieved.”

  “You know, Marlo, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

  “I tailor my wit to suit my audience.”

  Chapter 41

  Super hero on board or no, I had no intention of staging a one-boat parade, just in case The Shadow got his cape shot full of holes.

  Smith, unlike moi, was a legally licensed ham operator. He tuned in the Sonrisa Net and pleaded for other boats to join us at Vagabond for a parade into Agua Fria.

  “Think they’ll come?” Nacho wanted to know.

  “Some will, for sure,” Smith reassured him. “Even if we only have five boats with lights, we’ll make a splash. Hetta, do you really have Elvis’s Christmas music? I’m impressed.”

  I nodded, and said, “Let’s hope we don’t impress a bunch of bad guys into blowing us out of the water.”

  Nacho grinned. “It will not be that way. By the time you enter the harbor, I will have neutralized any serious firepower they have.”

  “How about the unserious firepower? And how do you
plan to disarm them?”

  “I will walk from Vagabond Cove to,” he tapped the chart, “here. I stashed a few heavy duty weapons near this spot. If all goes well, and I’m sure it will, I will at least have the few men at the lab under control. It is the guards in the village that you need to distract, and there are probably only about three or four. They will be as astonished as the villagers when your parade arrives.”

  “I’ll go with you, Nacho,” Smith offered.

  “No, I need you for another operation. While everyone is watching the parade, a volunteer, namely you, will go ashore and bring as many willing villagers as you can out to the boats. Tell them it’s a party.”

  “And what, pray tell, will keep the guards from grabbing Smith?”

  “Their job is to intimidate the locals, not engage outsiders.”

  “How do we know the villagers will be willing to come to our so-called party?”

  “You will offer them gifts for their children.”

  “I do have a few things onboard that Jenks suggested I bring. Crayons, pencils, writing tablets. We trade them for fish and lobster.”

  “Perfecto.”

  “Other boats will have stuff, as well. If these folks are virtual prisoners, though, won’t the guards stop them from leaving the beach? If folks can just up and leave, why haven’t they?”

  “The guards know that the villagers will do nothing to jeopardize the children. The people have been told that, after Christmas Day, it will all be over, but for now, all of the children under twelve are held at the school. They live and sleep there, under guard.”

  “This just gets weirder and weirder. This meth gang is planning to wipe out the entire village? Kids and all?”

  “Oh, no. After the adults are murdered, the children will be transported out. Kids are valuable commodities on the black, or should I say, white slavery, market. The lolliporn trade sells pornographic photos, and even the children themselves, to people like that,” he looked like he’d bitten into a lime, “Herbert.”

  Smith did a double-take. “The Herbert who was murdered?”

  “No,” I drawled, “the Herbert who cut his own throat on my boat, then dragged himself into the desert and put a bullet into his perverted brain. Those Nazis really know how to commit suicide.”