Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series)

by Schwartz, Jinx

  Hetta Coffey holds a BS in Civil Engineering from ULB (Université Libre de Bruxelles) and has over twenty years of experience in the Materials Management field. She has been responsible for multimillion dollar Petrochemical and Mining projects in Japan, Mexico and the United States.

  The way it should read is: Hetta Coffey can BS almost anyone and graduated from ULB by virtue of them giving her a degree to get rid of her. Since then she has managed to piss off people in Petrochemical and Mining projects worldwide, and five of those so-called twenty years of experience she worked for Daddy during the summer.

  Like I said before, being nice in this industry is the kiss of death and that is why I was surprised Bert climbed as high as project manager for such a large job. Not that he isn't, on paper, qualified. And he had certainly showed me a not-so-nice side the day before. I anxiously awaited Jan and Rosario's report on him and the others.

  Meanwhile, I decided to check out Rosario's alleged dad's friends.

  One by one I looked at their Facebook pages, finding that most worked in high-tech. Some were married, some single. None of his friends seemed to be relatives. Bored silly with his friends' pages, I was about to chuck it when I hit on something interesting. The word, Baja, caught my attention, so I took a look at that friend's page.

  Baja Gamer's photo was an Avatar, with the cartoon-like image of a Don Quixote character taking on what looked to be an army of mechanical creatures. Most of the posts had to do with gaming, none of which I understood. However, the fact that Rosario was also a gamer made it apparent the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. Wondering where this Baja dude hailed from, I opened his album containing ten pictures and received a jolt; one of them was the faded snapshot Rosario had shown me of two love-struck teenagers, his mother and father, in Puerto Vallarta those many years ago when Rosario was still a twinkle in Russell's eye.

  WTF?

  I called Jan immediately and told her to pack a bag and that I'd be there in two hours to pick her up.

  "What's the sudden rush, Hetta? I said I'd be there by Thursday."

  Jan and I have a code. When there's trouble nearby, revert to pig Latin. "At-ray. O-nay English." I've never quite mastered pig Latin words when they start in a vowel. Besides, saying English-way didn't obscure a danged thing.

  "And-stay eye-bay."

  I heard a rustling as she moved about, then a door closing. "Ood-gay."

  "Ug-bays! Ug-bays! End-fray ot-nay end-fray."

  "Gotcha."

  I picked up the conversation in plain old English. "I need those bugs so decided to drive out. Start packing. I'll explain later."

  In a daring daylight raid, I removed the bug from Safety's computer while he was out of the office, then told Laura I would be back, but much later. If I were to pick up Jan, stop back by the office and get us to the boat before dark, I had to get a move on.

  Jan and Rosario were working in the office Jan set up in her and Chino's spare room. Rosario was staying in the other large trailer, while Doc Di now had her own, smaller RV. The place was starting to look like a trailer park.

  Rosario gave me the thumbdrive bugs and lamented he didn't have anything to plant in a telephone. "That's all right, these will do. Thanks. Okay, Jan, we have to get on the road. We're burning daylight."

  "I sent you the information you wanted on Bert, Ozzie, John and Safety," Rosario told me, "When you return to the boat, it will be waiting."

  "Nice work. Okay Jan, let's load up your laptop and roll. We have work to do. Rosario, would you get Po Thang rounded up for me?"

  As soon a Rosario left the office I plugged the bug I brought from Safety's office into Jan's desktop tower and shoved it further under the desk.

  Jan gave me a two thumb's up.

  Ten minutes later we were back on the washboard road from hell, headed out to Mex 1's blessed pavement.

  "Okay, Hetta, talk."

  "Rosario is scamming us. I don't know how yet, but he is." I told her about the Facebook thing and that I suspected Baja Gamer was none other than our boy Rosario.

  "But why would he tell us that fairy tale if he'd already found his father?"

  "I have no idea, but one thing is for sure, he can't be trusted. Did you manage to get those files he has on our Gang of Four?"

  "He copied me, so yes."

  I thought about this as we bounded along at a kidney scrambling speed. We had four computers involved, five if you count my office desktop. "I have a sneaking suspicion Rosario has much more on his laptop than he's shared."

  "I've had that feeling ever since you called a couple of hours ago. Which is why," she gave me an evil grin, "I sent our at-ray end-fray out to find Chino and tell him I was leaving."

  "What's that got to do with the price of rice in China."

  "Hetta, Hetta, Hetta. After all these years under your tender tutelage in wickedness, do you think I've learned nothing?"

  "You raided his computer?"

  "Faster than Po Thang can clear a fridge."

  We stopped back by the office and found everyone gone for the day. I couldn't do anything about bugging John Warren's office, because he was in a small trailer attached to the Mechanics Shop deep within the project's interior. That little visit would have to take place on the morrow.

  However, I downloaded Ozzie's bug and rebugged him and Safety before we headed to Bert's office. We were surprised to find it unlocked.

  Canadians, you gotta love their trusting little souls.

  Since I didn't have to get to the jobsite at the crack of dawn to download the bugs, Jan and I worked late into the night. As promised, Rosario had forwarded the dirt on our men. Or rather, he forwarded his version.

  Then we compared what he sent with what Jan stole from his computer.

  TILT!

  32

  It is discouraging how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.—Noel Coward

  "We should have seen this one coming," Jan said. "No man is that honest. Well, except Chino and Jenks."

  We were enjoying a relatively late breakfast of Jan's famous pecan waffles. "So, do we now have a Gang of Five? You think Rosario is a colluder in this scheme and for some reason they tried to off him?"

  Jan shook her head. "I don't see it that way. From some of the file dates I found in his computer, Rosario started digging stuff up on the other four as soon as he arrived at the jobsite."

  "But why? Job security? Or blackmail? And maybe that's why they tried to kill him? And why would they? Okay, Bert hired his friends and while that's not exactly ethical, it isn't a crime. Yet. A handpicked clique, as it were."

  Jan nodded. "A cahoots clique."

  We went onto the sundeck with our coffee and watched pangas speed out of the harbor to check their nets. They were trailed by pelicans and gulls looking to steal an easy meal. A huge blue heron glided in and landed less than daintily on my swim platform, prompting Po Thang to bark furiously and lunge toward the bird. The bird totally ignored him, which drove the dog more nutso.

  Jan shushed him and laughed. "How do you think that bird knows Po Thang can't get to him?"

  "Oh, but he can. All Po Thang has to do is jump onto the dock and out onto the swim platform. He hasn't figured it out yet."

  Po Thang reluctantly gave up his barking and returned to Jan's side. She rubbed his ears and said, "Or, maybe he doesn't want to figure it out."

  "Like Rosario doesn't want us to know that Ozzie is deep in debt due to hospital bills for his youngest kid?"

  "Or that Safety couldn't get a job anywhere else because he's committed a felony? Never mind that the felony was driving related and no one was badly hurt."

  We were on a roll, so I added, "Or that John Warren is stuck with an underwater house that is only worth one third of the seven hundred grand he paid for it?"

  Jan gathered the breakfast dishes Po Thang had so graciously cleaned. "And then there is Bert. His wife has left him and is cleaning out everything he worked for. His dream of retiring i
n Mexico is quickly biting the dust."

  I followed her into the galley and grabbed my backpack. "Thanks for the great breakfast. Wish I could stay, but I have the devil's work to do. I'll be late. I have to wait for the office to clear so I can download bugs."

  Po Thang, when I grabbed my pack, ran for his leash. "Not today, boy. You stay with your Auntie Jan." He didn't look all that disappointed.

  "Call me if you come up with anything new, okay?"

  "I will, but Hetta, we already know something very helpful. Those four have at least one thing in common. They all need money. Badly. And a lot more dough than working at the mine will earn them. All we have to do is find out how they're stealing it."

  "Gee, that's all?"

  "I do know another thing."

  "And that is?"

  "Why are they still here?"

  "Jan, you said that you knew something, and then asked me a question."

  "Think. If you had somehow managed to steal, say, a half-million bucks, would you take it and run? After all that's only a little over a hundred thou each when you divide by four and that's chump change. We know they need much more to bail themselves out or retire."

  A bright ray of light penetrated my heretofore thick skull. "They're waiting for a big payoff of some kind!"

  "Bingo."

  I put down my bag, called Laura and told her I'd be late and we went back to work on the computers, searching existing purchase orders for any pending cash layouts of mega proportions. It didn't take long to zero in on an agency in Monterrey supplying the big Caterpiller 777Gs. Five of them, to be exact, at 1.7 million each.

  "And," Jan added, "get this. A wire transfer for almost seven million bucks was approved by Bert yesterday."

  "Whoa, no project manager can approve a cash layout like that. What are the rules for who signs for what amount on this project?"

  "Hang one." She attacked her keyboard with enviable speed while I refilled my coffee cup. "Okay, got it. Over ten thousand requires three signatures: the Purchasing Manager and Project Manager on site, and the Comptroller in Mexico City."

  "Okay, there's two of our Gang of Four. Who signs the delivery ticket and writes up the Material Receiving Report here for large equipment."

  "It's a joint effort. John Warren, the equipment manager and your BFF, Joe "Safety" Frances, who wears two hats: Safety Engineer and Operations Manager."

  Later that day while Jan continued following the moola, I went to work with a mind to visit the equipment yard. My mission was two-fold: place a bug in John Warren's computer and take a look at those brand new 777Gs listed on the material receiving report.

  As soon as I reached the office, I checked out a company truck and drove to the Mechanics Shop, all the while keeping out a sharp eye for ChaCha and her friends. Lucky for me, they were working on another part of the site, or perhaps were all in traction.

  John Warren was surprised to see me when I walked into his office, but he didn't seem at all upset. Why should he? He had no idea I was on to his gang. He offered me coffee, which I quickly accepted because on my previous visit I'd noticed the break room was out in the shop. As soon as he left I planted the bug and was seated and browsing through a brochure for the 777G when he returned.

  "So, Hetta, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

  I had a story ready. "You remember my friend, Jan? You met her at the dock awhile back."

  "Who wouldn't?" he said with a smile. "Not often you run into a tall blonde around here."

  "Well, I told her about my ride in one of these," I shook the brochure at him, "and she wants to know if you'd take her for a spin."

  He frowned. "I don't know. You'd have to clear it with Bert."

  I stood and put my empty coffee cup in the trash. "Great. I'll ask him. Well, gotta run."

  I left him with a puzzled look on his face, he probably wondering why I drove all the way out there to ask a question I could have asked on the phone. Purposely taking a wrong turn, I entered and circled the large fenced equipment yard looking for those new machines. Not there. On my way out, John waited by the gate.

  Rolling down my window I tried to look sheepish and said, with an eye-roll, "Jeez, I'd get lost going around the block." I gave him a wave and sped off.

  Now I had to figure out how to retrieve that bug from his office.

  Back at my desk I pulled up the overall organization chart and identified the Comptroller, that third guy who had to sign off on a multimillion dollar cash layout. Julio Vargas was based in Mexico City and when I fired off that info to Jan, she answered back she was way ahead of me and was on Vargas's tail. Maybe I should give her a raise.

  With time to kill before everyone left me to retrieve all three bugs in my office building, I decided to do a little more looking into Rosario's Facebook connections. Convinced that Baja Gamer and Rosario were one and the same, I looked at Gamer's friends. There weren't many, only fourteen including Russell. Most were gamers from different parts of the States with one exception: Julio Smith, Mexico City. Julio Smith?

  Julio's avatar was a Neptune-like, King of the Sea character. He had twenty-eight friends scattered all over Mexico and the States. One of them was Russell Madadhan and another was a little sister, Isabel Smith Vargas. ¡Carumba!

  I sent another email to Jan: the comptroller is Julio Smith Vargas. Mother's name is Vargas, father is the Smith. BTW, he's a Facebook buddy of Baja Gamer and Rosario's dad.

  And they say the social media is a waste of time.

  Over a fabulous dinner of beef Stroganoff with homemade noodles and fresh asparagus, Jan and I discussed this ever more confusing situation.

  "Okay, who is scamming whom here? And how?"

  Jan shook her head. "Danged if I can figure it out. The more I learns the confuseder I gets."

  "After dinner, let's make boxes. You know, like connect the dots. Sometimes that helps."

  "Can't hurt. By the way, Rosario called today. Wanted to know what he should do next."

  "I'd like to tell him, the little rat. We now have seven men, if you include Rosario's father, possibly all involved in an undefined criminal activity, who are either working together...or not."

  She shook her head. "Not working together. They think Rosario's dead."

  "The Gang of Four think he's dead because they most likely are the ones who tried to kill him."

  "What if they didn't?"

  "Huh?"

  "What if the little turd faked his own death?"

  "Jan, you are a genius. I think you just solved the whole thing."

  "I did?"

  "Think about it. If you are dead, how can you possibly be accused of stealing something after you died?"

  "You think Rosario is gonna steal the money himself? How can that be? He was a fairly low-level clerk."

  "Yabbut, maybe a high-tech clerk with a buddy way up in the organization? Someone in the financial end, like Vargas. How did Rosario get his job in the first place?"

  "Good question. Let's get to work."

  We were on a roll.

  Rosario was hired out of Mexico City.

  In Mexico, all roads, especially the crooked ones, lead to Mexico City.

  And there is nothing they like better than to play a little game called Get the Gringo.

  33

  Life is a dead-end street.—H.L. Mencken

  And we rolled to a stop.—Hetta Coffey

  ChaCha's husband's shop was easy to find. She'd told me it was on the hill not far from the hospital, and on the road leading back to Mex 1. She said they lived next door.

  I showed up on her doorstep unannounced, but in Mexico that doesn't mean anything. She had told me to come by sometime and now I was here. Mexicans don't ask why you came, they just seem glad to see you.

  Ushered into a spotless living room that shall remain spotless into the next century because the white furniture and white carpet were entirely covered in plastic, reminiscent of my grandmother's house in Texas. Grans didn't go so far a
s to cover the floor in plastic, but lamp shades and chair seats remained factory fresh until the day she died.

  When ChaCha's husband wandered in, I saw the need for plastic. Lots of plastic. He was covered, head to toe in black grease and smelled of gasoline and diesel fuel. When I held out my hand in greeting ChaCha slammed a clean towel into his greasy mitt and wrapped it up before he could shake.