Just Different Devils

by Jinx Schwartz

  Chino took a bow. "At your servicio."

  Javier frowned at Nacho. "Why did you not suggest him?"

  Nacho sighed. "Because it was too dangerous. Look at what's happened."

  "Yeah," I said, "Just look at what...hey, exactly what has happened?"

  "I was drugged and kidnapped. People are missing."

  "And so you quite naturally decided to drag me into it, but not Chino?"

  He shrugged. "You had a boat, and were in La Paz. There was no plan for you to even leave the anchorage. A marine biologist, on the other hand, would have to go out in search of the Red Devils."

  I threw up my hands. "Squid, squid, squid. I'm sick of them. Anyhow, that slimeball, Artherrrr MacKenzie Gra-ham, said it was more to do with pearls."

  Chino coughed, almost spitting coffee. "Art Graham? What on earth has he to do with anything?"

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  "Art? Art?" I blurted when Chino called Mac, a.k.a Arther MacKenzie Graham, Art.

  "Someone throw Hetta a fish," Jan quipped, then added, "Art?"

  We were all staring at Chino, waiting to hear what he had to say about this turn of events. "I know an Art Graham. Actually Doctor Art Graham, a fellow marine biologist. Is that who you are talking about? He is here?"

  "Oh, boy, is he! But we had no idea he's a marine biologist. You know him?"

  "Yes, we met years ago, when I was studying in the UK. I attended one of his seminars in Glasgow, and then he visited me in Lopez Mateos to help with the whale count one year. And now you say he is here?"

  "Hell's bells," I said, "no wonder he couldn't show up in Mag Bay on my boat. He knew you would be there, Chino. This is getting weirder by the minute." I narrowed my eyes and zeroed in on Nacho. "I smell a common denominator here, and for once it isn't just me."

  Nacho stood, swayed a little on his feet and plopped back down. "Could I please have some water?"

  "How about a nice comfy waterboard?" I snarled.

  "I'll pass."

  Jan patted his hand and scowled at me. "Hetta, have a heart. The poor man has been through a horrible ordeal. I'll get him a nice glass of ice water, and then we'll waterboard him."

  Chino and Javier smirked, but Nacho knew we were fairly serious.

  "I can explain," Nacho said after he had a sip of water.

  "Oh, yes, you surely can," I told him. "From the beginning?"

  "We, well, I, hired Mac."

  "That doesn't sound like the beginning to me, how about you, Jan?"

  "Nope."

  Nacho rolled his eyes and looked to Chino and Javier for backup, but they gave him blank stares.

  "Okay, okay. As you have heard, giant squid have been killing divers."

  Chino shook his head. "The diablos rojas have been accused of attacking people. I have my doubts."

  "So does Mac, but something is going on. Anyway, about a year ago, two Mexican navy divers disappeared, then washed up on the beach, torn to shreds, bruised all over with dark round spots. All the signs of a squid attack."

  "Yes," Chino said, "and when I was sent the coroner's report and photos of these poor men, I expressed doubt. The cause of death was drowning, which I certainly was not qualified to contest. My misgiving, and I expressed so in my response, was that a hungry squid would not leave so much...uh, well...."

  "Meat on the bone?" I asked.

  Chino grinned. "Ah, Hetta, what a way you have with words. That is it. If you ever witness what is left of prey after a true attack, you will know what I mean."

  My stomach did a flip. "Uh, I think I'll pass on that experience."

  Nacho agreed. "I have no wish to witness such a sight. Anyway, we needed an expert in our investigation, and for obvious reasons, I did not wish to engage you in the investigation, Chino."

  "What obvious reasons?" I demanded.

  "Chino is local. If it turned out there was no squid to blame, whoever staged such a gruesome murder is very dangerous, and Doctor Yee would be a sitting target out there in that fish camp. Unless of course," he raised his hands and shivered in a campy I'm so scared move, "Hetta was visiting."

  "Jan, fetch the waterboard. It's right next to our jar of leeches."

  "So," Chino said, "you brought Art Graham and his wife all the way from Scotland?"

  "Wife?" Jan and I screeched, banshee-like, in unison.

  Chino, used to our outbursts, ignored us, but Nacho shrank away and Javier grabbed his belt buckle. "Yes, Johnnie is his partner. They work as a team."

  I caught Nacho giving Chino a shut up sign, but it was too late.

  "Mac is gay?" All of this information overload had me blurting before thinking, not at all a rare circumstance.

  "No, Hetta, not Johnny. J-o-h-n-n-i-e, as in female."

  "Oh." Eloquent.

  "They came from Scotland to help you?" Chino asked again.

  "No, luckily they were already here, working with some biologists in La Paz at the university. That is how we were introduced. They are sailing and working their way around the world on a two-year sabbatical."

  "So, just where is this wife?" I wanted to know. I'd never seen hide nor hair of her, either at the dock or out in the islands.

  "We do not know. They were helping us investigate the Red Devil attacks, and then Mac reported she was called back to the UK on a family emergency, but something did not seem right. Chino, do you know anything about their, uh, relationship?"

  "No, I have not seen her, or him, in years. Why do you ask?"

  "Rumor has it there was a ruckus on their boat the night before she left. Loud yelling, that kind of thing. And," he said, somewhat ominously, "there is no record of her flying out of La Paz or Cabo."

  Now Javier bobbed his head in agreement, then regretted it when I zeroed in on him. "Just what is your part in this, anyhow?"

  He pressed his lips together and gave his shoulders a twitch.

  Nacho and he exchanged a look. Javier sighed and tilted his head in a reluctant, "Oh, what the hell," gesture.

  "I guess we must share what we know. Javier is with the PGR, which is somewhat like the United States Department of Justice. What with squid attack reports, and the possible disappearance of a renowned Scottish scientist working on the investigation, it was only a matter of time before someone put the two together, and SECTUR, the Mexican Secretaria de Turismo, wanted to have answers before the story hit the headlines."

  "What you mean is they want it covered up?" I said, remembering that veiled threat towards me by the port captain's office. "And they want it bad enough to hire someone like you, who walks a fine line on the tightrope of legal? Right, Nacho?"

  "Yes. But of course, Café, that is why I then hired you."

  Jan laughed and slapped Nacho's knee. "Nacho and Hetta, como dos gotas de agua, verdad?"

  "Did you just call us goats?" I demanded.

  "No, I said you and Nacho are like two drops of water, two peas in a pod."

  I guess I can't really argue with that.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  "And to think, that rat Mac asked me to marry him!"

  Jan scoffed. "I think he was being facetious, what with him having a wife and all."

  "A missing wife," I reminded her.

  We were on a tiny patch of beach around the corner from the anchorage, where the Parque Nacional guys wouldn't likely spot us. I'd tucked the dinghy in behind a mangrove and let my dog run wild.

  Beside himself at being off the boat, and free, he raced round and round the playa, then into the water and back out again. Only after a good half hour of this exercise in pure joy did he begin anointing whatever vegetation was available. We watched him carefully, garbage bag at the ready for the big event.

  "That's circle number three, so a squat and number two is eminent," Jan noted. "Don't make eye contact or he'll never settle on a spot."

  In my peripheral vision I saw him hunch and grin. "Bingo. When he comes back I'll go bag the goods."

  "So, while we await his nibs to unload,
what do you make of Mac now after all we learned this morning?"

  "Danged if I know. Nacho and Javier seem to suspect he may have done in the wifey poo."

  "I certainly wouldn't be surprised. There but for the grace of a 9mm, go I. I'm convinced he planned to dump me and take my boat. But where? And why?"

  "I disagree, Miz Hetta. If he was gonna dispense with you, why didn't he do so while you were drugged? After all, when you didn't show up in Mag Bay, it would have taken days to search for you, and he could be long gone."

  "Good point. So, we're back to ground zero. When we get back to Raymond Johnson, I'm going to Google Dr. Johnnie Graham, and Mac. And, don't forget, he told me all this skullduggery is connected to pearls, and all he needed was a few more days grace. I got the idea all would be revealed after that. Also, he did send Nacho back, as promised."

  "Wonder where Mac is now?"

  "Pelicano, according to what Nacho said, doubled back and dumped him onto his own boat. My guess is Mac is on Pelicano. Let's go up to the top and see if we can spot that danged shrimper." I pointed up at a sheer rock cliff.

  "Go ahead. I'll wait here."

  "Chicken. There's a path and Po Thang has gone up it before. We can follow him."

  "Hetta, we're in sandals."

  I grabbed my backpack and pulled out two pair of thick socks. "My motto: be prepared."

  "Socks and sandals? How very Berkeley. Someone call the fashion police!"

  The climb up the steep path wasn't for sissies.

  The unstable volcanic rock rained down in a mini-avalanche of pebbles as Po Thang raced ahead, then back, and danced in place as if to say, "You got a problem there? Get a move on, Maggots, I haven't got all day, you know. Chop, chop!"

  Panting, dusty, bruised, and thirsty, we finally reached the summit where we collapsed onto a flat rock and reluctantly shared our water with our doggie drill sergeant. After catching our breath for a few minutes, we plodded on a blessedly level trail along the top of the cliff to the other side of the island. From there we could see forever—all the way to San Francisco Island, the bajo, and parts of the anchorage.

  Pelicano was nowhere in sight, nor were there any other boats on or near the bajo. which we easily identified by the yellowish color of the shallow water.

  "Wow! What a view." Jan walked to the edge and pointed back to where we could see my boat. "And there she be."

  Sure enough Raymond Johnson looked like she was floating in light blue glass. "Let's backtrack as close as we can for photos, because I am never, ever, climbing up here again. I'll post 'em on Facebook."

  "Better than those bazillion pictures of Po Thang you've got on there already."

  "Oh, good idea! Why don't you take one of Po Thang and me with the boat in the background?"

  Po Thang and I grinned and struck poses for our millions of fans as Jan captured the moment in time. Just as she took the last one, her phone dinged, startling her. "Whoa, we got cell service up here! I'll post those photos on Facebook right now."

  While she busied herself with her phone, I checked mine. Three bars. Biting the bullet, I made a very expensive call to the Trob, because I wanted to talk to him far away from the three men on our boat. He answered on the second ring and I quickly outlined what had happened, who was involved, what we suspected, and the entire situation at present, assuring him I was safe, even though he didn't ask. Matter of fact, he didn't pose any questions at all, saying, "Okay," after each detail.

  When I hung up, Jan patted me on the shoulder. "That was very concise, straight to the point, and not one single lie or obfuscation. Either you're losing your touch, or you are really skeered."

  "I'm skeered. We are not out of the woods yet, until Mac is behind bars. He's got partners in crime, and we don't know who they are. Let's Google Johnnie Graham while we have a signal. I wanna get a look at Mac's wife."

  "Jealous?"

  "Very funny. I'm worried about her. Her husband is a freako psychopath and she's missing. Maybe we can find an e-mail address or something? Who knows, she might actually be back in Scotland, but what with Mac doing his Jekyll and Hyde act, she also might be fish food. Which would be pretty danged ironic for a marine biologist."

  "Okay, but first, let's call Doctor Di. The international marine biologist club is fairly chummy, so maybe she knows Johnnie, or has heard something about her. Chino is hopeless when it comes to dishing the dirt. He takes everyone at face value."

  I was batting a hundred today. Not only did Chino's former assistant know of Doctor Johnnie Graham, she knew the couple personally. Evidently these Jacques Cousteau types swim in a rarified pool. She told me about Johnnie's brilliant career, her work with Mac—a fabulous man as well as scientist—and ended with, "Why do you ask?"

  I knew that was coming. "I sort of hoped you had a telephone number, or some kind of contact address. Jan and I are doing a little work for Chino." So much for that obfuscation thing.

  "Hang on, I'll get what I have in my computer."

  I counted the pesos rolling by as I waited. Oh, well, Carlos Slim was probably running a little low on yachts. That thought reminded me of something I'd read recently, that one of the reasons he was one of the richest men in the world wasn't only his monopoly of the communications industry in Mexico. Or that his rates are exorbitant. What really fuels his coffers is the twenty billion bucks a year that head south over the US border, sent to families of migrants, both legal and illegal, so they can have a cell phone and keep in touch.

  Doctor Di broke into my deep thoughts on a world of finance that totally escapes me. "Okay, Hetta, here goes. You have a pen?"

  "Uh, no. I'm on a bluff at Partida. Can you send me a text message with all the info? "

  "Sure thing. You and Jan having fun out there?"

  "How did you know Jan is with me?"

  "She just posted a picture on Facebook, and it showed the location."

  Now there's something I need to remember, should I continue my wont for steadfast equivocation.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Since we were already at the top of that dastardly cliff, we took more selfies, and pictures of Raymond Johnson resting below. Po Thang, always ready for his close up, grinned and drooled for us and we clicked off even more great shots of boats in the background.

  I was making a video surely destined for National Geographic when a sudden movement under the clear water caught my eye. I zeroed in just as Bubbles pirouetted behind Raymond Johnson, making a loud splash probably intended to call her BFF out for a romp.

  Unfortunately, it worked.

  Po Thang barked and dove right off the top of a very steep slope created eons ago when the volcano blew and created the crater that was now an anchorage.

  Jan and I screamed, "Noooo!" but he was gone.

  With my heart in my throat, I rushed to the edge, prepared to see a broken lump of fur on the rocks two hundred feet below. Which is where I would have ended up if Jan hadn't grabbed the back of my shirt and shorts and yanked me back.

  "Hetta, for cryin' out loud. Get a grip."

  "But, Po Thang!"

  "It sure as hell won't help him to have your big butt land on top of him. Now, very slowly, we'll crawl to the edge and take a peek."

  "I'm too scared to look. You do it."

  "Okay, stay behind me and hold my feet. What's that noise?"

  Hoping she hadn't heard yelps of pain, I cocked my head. "Sounds like...rocks falling?"

  Jan shimmied to the edge. "It is. I think he's found a path!"

  I scooted over to join her, losing skin in the process. Sure enough, just as I dared look down, Po Thang, preceded by a mini-avalanche of stones and dust, rolled ass over teakettle onto a stretch of rocky beach, gave a mighty shake, and bounded into the water to meet his BFF.

  "I swear, I'm going to shoot that damned dolphin," I said, as Jan and I rolled onto our backs and caught our breath Then we began to giggle, which is what we always do when in this kind of situation.

  Fi
nally composing ourselves, we stood, yelled, and waved our arms when we saw Chino, camera in hand, come up on the flying bridge to see what the brouhaha was all about. He waved and then focused in on us as we posed and vamped, camping it up for his camera.

  And that's when we saw the Parque Nacional patrol boat headed for Raymond Johnson.

  "Oh, crap. They won't arrest Po Thang will they? Let's go!"

  "Take it easy, Chica. First off, because Po Thang is the designated search and rescue dog at our fish camp, he's registered with the parks department."

  "Po Thang is registered with the Mexican government?"

  "Had to. Dogs are not allowed at the lagoon, so Chino pulled some strings. He's kind of a park ranger himself. And even if he wasn't, can you imagine those dudes down there trying to take your dog from Chino, Nacho, and Javier? No way are they any kind of match for those three."

  Even with those assurances, we made our way back to DawgHouse as fast as we could navigate that torturous trail, and while we didn't have to put up with Po Thang showering us with rocks and dust, we slid a good part of the way on butts and stomachs. We arrived back at Raymond Johnson looking as though we'd just competed in a mud wresting match.

  The park rangers were a little taken aback with our appearance when Jan and I arrived, but from the questions they asked us—Was Po Thang our dog? And was he swimming only, and not going to the beach?—it was obvious they had little interest in busting anyone for allowing a dog on the island. Matter of fact, they seemed much more interested in a dolphin and dog playing with each other than whether said hound had broken their rules. Both men took photos and made videos. One of them also snapped off a couple of Jan and me.

  When they motored on toward the main anchorage, waving as they left, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Whew! I was sure we were collared."

  Chino, looking us over said, "Maybe they thought you two had been beat up enough for one day." He snapped another photo of his own.