"Please. I'll put the phone on vibrate."
"Yeah, well don't even tell me where you're gonna stick it."
Santa Rosalia is a small town, with nosy neighbors. I stood out like, well, a redheaded Gringa in a sea of Latinos, even on a dark street. In spite of all the people milling around outside the hospital a half-block away, I was sure to be noticed if I loitered, so I went back to my pickup and moved it a block. I still had a clear view of what I guessed was Bert's house, and the pickups parked outside it.
Po Thang was thrilled to see me and whined for a walk, but I knew he was bluffing. Realizing I wasn't falling for his ploy, he finally curled up in the passenger seat and went to sleep. I must have dozed off, as well, because the vibrating phone in my bra jarred me awake. As I dug out the phone, I glanced out and was gratified to see all four pickups still in place. Some sleuth I am. My first stakeout and I fall asleep.
I gave Rosario the numbers and after a very slight delay, got my answers. "These vehicles are assigned to Osvaldo, Bert Melton and John Warren."
"Thanks. One more question. Do you know why Safety is allowed to drive his personal vehicle on site when no one else can?"
"Yes, I do. His dually is rated as a 4X4 and his job requires such a vehicle. There is one on order, but it had not yet arrived. At least while I was still there."
"Okay, thanks. Can you put Jan back on?"
"What are you up to, Hetta?" Jan demanded when Rosario handed her the phone. "Whaddaya mean, surveillance?"
I told her about my crappy day with Bert and Safety and how I'd gone looking for Bert's house and found all the pickups out front.
"And how is this your concern?"
"I don't know. Seems fishy."
"Or a weekly poker game?"
I hadn't thought of that.
"You're probably right. It's just that—oops, gotta go. Someone opened the front door. Call you back later."
I hung up and slid down into my seat. Po Thang, however, thumped his tail and woofed softly. I put a warning finger on his nose. "Do the words, dog pound, mean anything at all to you?"
He stopped woofing, but that tail still let me know he'd spotted a friend.
Sure enough, Safety, Ozzie, Bert and John Warren, the guy who'd taken me for a ride in the big dirt hauler, walked onto the porch. I couldn't hear what they were saying but tension practically resonated off the group. Safety said something to Bert, poking his finger at the project manager with each word, then turned and strode off the porch.
Po Thang's tail went berserk so I clamped his muzzle with both hands hoping Safety would leave quickly. Instead of heading for his truck, though, he walked to a small house next door, used a key for entry and went inside. Lights came on. A couple of minutes later, Ozzie and John went in the other direction and into another small house.
Bert reentered his own home and shut the door.
Po Thang snorted and I realized I still had his nose in a death grip. "Sorry, boy," I told him and gave him an ear scratch apology. He licked my hand in forgiveness. "So what do we have here? A gang of four?" I asked him. He twitched an ear.
My phone vibrated. "Jan, I told you, I'm on sur—"
"Corazón, have you missed me?
"N-Nacho?"
"You rang?"
"Yes, but I can't really talk right this minute. I'm kinda busy."
Po Thang went berserk at the same moment as someone tapped on my window.
Crap! Busted!
30
The ordinary man is involved in action, the hero acts. An immense difference. —Henry Miller
I need me a hero!
The tap on my pickup window frightened me only slightly less than Nacho's phone call. How can a guy who calls you corazón—literally my heart, but really meaning my love—instill such a frisson of both fright and lust just with words?
Dreading I'd been busted by one of what I now referred to as the Gang of Four, I yelled at Po Thang to shut up and reluctantly turned to see who was out there. I knew it wasn't Safety from Po Thang's frantic reaction.
Nacho waggled his cell phone at me and leaned down, an irresistible macho Latino smirk on his criminally handsome face. I hit the window button and it slid open as Po Thang lunged across me, came face to face with Nacho, cowered, and jumped into the back seat, all his bravado gone.
"I see you haven't lost your touch, Ignacio," I snarled, using the given name I know he hates. "You can still terrorize helpless women and dogs with a single look."
He laughed softly. "You do not look terrorized and surely you do not refer to yourself as helpless. Although, I am always pleased when you require me."
I sighed and unlocked the passenger side door. "Get in. I can't be seen lurking out here."
Nacho walked around to the other side of my truck, opened the door, and poked a warning finger at Po Thang, who had summoned the courage to let go with a less than hearty growl. He used the same finger to point to my missing overhead bulb. "I see you have been reading mysteries and taking notes."
I started the truck and rolled down the hill, away from prying eyes in the houses lining the street, especially the three housing my Gang of Four. At the bottom of the hill, I stopped and killed the engine.
"How did you find me? Are you following me?" I demanded.
"Always."
"Oh. Uh, Nacho, Jenks said I should contact you because of Lujàn, the guy he called you about. One of his men is dead, and I think he might be trying to frame me for it. A friend heard the police are asking around about me."
He smiled. "Rounding up the usual suspects?"
"I guess, and I'm scared."
"A rare admission from Hetta Coffey. But, mija, Lujàn will no longer be a problem for you."
The pit of my stomach went a little wonky, whether from fear, or maybe hope? "Did you do him?"
"Such talk. No, the cabrón still lives, but he has relocated rather than face murder charges of his own man."
"Luján killed the guy in the hot spring?"
"I cannot say. However, if he agrees to stay far away from you, his henchman's death will be ruled an accident."
"You can do stuff like that?" Despite my best efforts tears of relief stung my eyes.
Nacho took my hand. "For you. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico."
I jerked my hand from his. "Well, nothing is going to happen with you and me, so there."
"You wound me, corazón," he gently brushed a tear from my cheek with the back of his hand, "but I see a fire for me in your eyes."
Doodness dwacious.
Jenks. Jenks. Think Jenks.
I was back on the boat, full of burning questions. Well, something was burning. My cheek, for instance.
Holy Moly, how can Nacho have such an effect on me? I'm in love with Jenks, for crying out loud. No wonder Jenks doesn't want Nacho within ten miles of me. However, Jenks was the one who told me to call him, right? And what harm can a little lust do, so long as I don't act on it?
After I jerked my hand away, Nacho had stepped out of the pickup and vanished into the shadowy night from whence he came.
I had one more thing to do before this extremely long and eventful day and evening ended, for when I opened my email I found out I was an aunt, sort of.
"How's daddyhood?" I asked the Trob when I called. I'd poured a large glass of wine for myself, and a small amount for Po Thang, to settle our nerves. Po Thang was still trembling after his encounter with Nacho, and so was I.
The Trob sounded like he was stifling a yawn when he answered. I know he stays up late, so I was surprised when it sounded as if I woke him. "Babies are cute, but they sure make a lot of noise."
"Earplugs and nanny," was my advice; what do I know about babies?
"Allison doesn't want a nanny. Says it's not good for bonding."
I could not believe the word, "bonding", came out of his mouth. Next thing you know, he'd be trying to get in touch with his feminine self. "Uh, well, send me pictures, okay?"
"I will,
but she's not very pretty."
"What? Allison would murder you if she heard you say that about your own baby."
"She says it, too. She says the baby looks like me."
Now that is unfortunate. At a loss for something to say other than, well at least she'll be smart, I changed the subject to why I called. "What can you tell me about Safety?"
"Who?"
"Joe Francis, here on the site. The Safety Engineer."
"Never heard of him."
"What? When I met him my first day on the job he gave me the definite impression he not only knows you well, but also that he knew you had hired me and why."
"Sorry," Wontrobski said as he yawned into the phone. "Don't know him."
"Interesting. By the way, I'll be billing you for Topaz Sawyer's visit to Santa Rosalia. She's a cop and I want her here to pick her brain."
"Whatever."
Sometimes I love my job.
I hung up with the Trob and replayed in my mind the conversation I had with Joe Francis, a.k.a. Safety, that first day on the job. I have the ability to do that, almost to the very words spoken. I had warned Jenks when we first met that I rarely forget a conversation and if I get two pieces of information that do not match, my brain receives a flashing TILT signal like the one you get when you shake a pinball machine too hard. So far Jenks had never given me one single reason to doubt anything he told me. However, I now knew for certain the same could not be said for Safety.
When I'd thankfully exited Pedro's shuttle of doom on that first day at the Lucifer mine, Safety was waiting, and walked toward me. I immediately noticed he was tall and lanky, like Jenks, but with reddish hair worn long and curling out from under a gold hardhat plastered with stickers like MINERS DO IT IN THE DARK and MINERS DO IT DEEPER.
His freckled face was painted with a welcoming smile, and I couldn't help but notice his orange vest almost matched his hair. According to the name on his hat, he was Joe "Safety" Francis. I also recalled the frisson of surprise, and okay, the tingle of a warning, when he removed those sunglasses and momentarily transfixed me with bright blue Robert Redford eyes.
I recovered quickly and resorted to my usual smart mouth. "Let me take a wild guess here, Joe. You're a miner?"
He'd grinned crookedly—perhaps purposely bolstering that Redford personation?—stuck out his hand and told me everyone called him Safety. Then he said, if I remember correctly, "He said you were a fast study."
When I asked who he meant, he said, "Your boss."
I said something snarky in return, but then I shook his hand and followed him back to that big old dually truck of his, where I found a hard hat on the passenger seat. My hat was white, with only my name and no clever stickers.
When I made some smarty pants comment about why my hard hat was white while his was gold, he offered up an equally quick, "Because I'm a guy?"
I countered with a zinger which brought another grin and he said, "Your jefe also said you could be a pain in the ass."
I told him the Trob was always right. And now that I thought about it, Safety never said the name, Wontrobski. He said "boss" and "jefe", which is boss in Spanish. I was the one who mentioned the Trob by name.
Oh, yes, the lowdown snake had, without a shadow of a doubt, intimated he not only knew the Trob, but was on the Trob team. When I'd told him that despite my job title of Liaison Materials Engineer, I don't liaise well with others, I think he thought I was joking.
Well, buddy, the joke's on you and it starts, right now.
31
The trouble with conspiracies is that they rot internally. —Robert A. Heinlein
I called Jan immediately after talking with the Trob. It was late, but I'd promised to let her know I was safely back onboard.
After sharing my suspicion that not only one, but four men from the project were somehow in cahoots, I ended with, "And now that I think of it, Safety looks more like Howdy Doody than Robert Redford."
"Oooh, someone almost had a crush, didn't they?"
"Certainly not," I huffed.
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Okay, enough about Safety, then. Let's discuss your big birthday party."
Jan's parting dig didn't put me in the best mood the next day at the office. I'd get back at her later when she returned to the boat for Topaz Sawyer's visit, but for now I had bigger fish to fry.
I once again left early to beat everyone into the office, and downloaded both Ozzie and Safety's bugs and replaced them. Rosario had given me a set of earphones for my computer so I could listen to the bugged conversations with no fear of anyone overhearing, so I put off dealing with both until later.
As Safety had been out of the office most of the day before, I didn't expect much from his side, so I played back Ozzie's bug first. Nothing new there, except one little tidbit where he seemed to be arguing with someone. I had no way of knowing who that someone on the other end was, as I didn't have the phone bugged, just the office, so I only heard half the conversation. And, it was in rapid-fire Spanish.
I forwarded the conversation to Rosario for translation and also asked him if he couldn't do something about getting me phone bugs, as well.
I did find some good news when I checked my Facebook page. Russell Madadhan, the guy we were pretty sure was Rosario's long lost father, had friended me back. Now I was able to check his friend list, maybe get more info on his family and the like. The last thing I wanted to do was scare him off. Eventually I'd let Rosario know, if in fact this guy was his dad, but for now I was still checking him out.
Most of Russell's one-hundred and seventeen friends were men and when I had time I'd see what they were all about, maybe find that all important link to a misspent youth in Mexico. My hope, of course, was to ultimately reunite him with his son, Rosario, but since he didn't know he had a son, I thought I'd better tread lightly rather than do something like post a photo of Rosario on his Facebook page and say, "Look familiar?"
Checking his timeline, I was relieved not to find any messages like, "Yo Russ, we miss you back here in San Quentin," or the like.
I decided, now that we were such good friends, to send him a private message: I am living and working in Mexico right now, so Facebook is my lifeline back to the Bay Area. Thanks for being my friend. I love Mexico, but where I live there are few Americans. He didn't post often, so I didn't have great expectations of an answer anytime soon. I hoped, since we had zero friends in common, he didn't think I was some nut case and get me suspended by the Facebook police.
I also had an email from Topaz Sawyer saying she'd arrive on Monday and was so excited about a trip to sunny Mexico. She wanted to know if she should bring her bikini. I'd checked the water temp the day before on my boat's depth sounder: 69.5. It looked like a trip to Conception Bay was in order while she was visiting, as Geary was reporting seventy-three degree water, which is still too cold by my standards.
I guess a warm up in the hot spring was still way out of the question?
I fired off an email to Jan telling her of Topaz's arrival and asking her to beat feet over here by Thursday night and bring extra bugs I'd try to place on Friday morning. And to put Rosario on a mission of digging deeper into the backgrounds of my Gang of Four.
Now that I'd handed out assignments, I listened to Safety's bugged conversations and gleaned very little except that it was working.
Not knowing what to expect as a result of the tiff with Bert the day before, I was dreading his arrival. I was ready with an apology, but hoped Safety, when he'd seen Bert the night before, had explained I hadn't meant Purchasing with a Capitol P, thereby not besmirched Ozzie, a guy he'd personally hired. I'd seen what looked like Bert and Safety having their own set-to on the porch and wondered what that was all about.
Much to my relief, Bert headed straight for my office, said he was sorry he'd been rude and asked me to please forgive him. After he went on to his office I let out the breath I'd been holding.
I glanced out to see that
Laura had visibly relaxed as well, and Safety gave me a smile and a thumb's up. The tension in the building disappeared like magic. Even Ozzie offered a cheery good morning greeting.
Of course, all of this nice stuff raised my suspicion level a few notches, so I fired off another email to Jan, urging her to help Rosario expedite those background checks.
All I had at my fingertips were the standard resume-type stuff companies print on brochures for investors and for bidding on jobs. Useless fluff meant to impress. For example, mine reads:
Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series) Page 19