Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) (21 page)

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 in 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 multi-million 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.

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 as 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.

He escaped back to his shop, leaving us girls to chat. ChaCha made limeade and placed it on the glass coffee table along with some cookies—thankfully not wrapped in cellophane—then sat back with a crackle and waited for me to say something. Like, why I was there.

"Your work is
buena
?"

"
Sí.
"

"
No mas problemas
?"

"
No
."

Okay, in for a penny, in for a pound. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a thumbdrive. "Do you know what this is?"

"
Ah, sí. Memoria Ooh Esse Bay
."

"You're sending that nice woman into the lion's den to do your dirty work?"

"Oh, come on, Jan, John Warren isn't exactly Hannibal Lecter. He's just a thief."

"How did you talk her into it?"

"I asked her to retrieve the
memoria ooh esse bay—
that's
USB thumbdrive in Spanish in case you ever need to buy one in Mexico—from John Warren's office next week. When he isn't looking, of course."

"And she didn't question your motives? I mean, she could lose her job if she gets caught."

"I promised her a promotion. She really hates driving all day and would like to work in the office. Or maybe train other women to operate those big machines."

"There's a scary thought. You can't promote people."

"I hired you, didn't I?"

"Yo, Trob. How's it going?"

"I'm thinking of moving a bed into my office. No sleep."

"I told you, get a nanny."

"Allison's almost there."

"Good news. Jan and I think we may be zeroing in on your culprits. I do have one question though. Who exactly hired us? I mean, you hired me, but who hired you?"

"I was contacted by the project comptroller, Julio Vargas. Why?"

Well, crap. So much for figuring it all out. Why would Julio Vargas call the dogs on himself if he was involved in an embezzlement scheme with the Gang of Four?

"Oh, just wondering."

"So, you think you are close to unraveling this puzzle?"

"Uh, well, maybe not so much. Get some sleep."

Jan and I were dejected.

Here we thought we had, brilliantly of course, unearthed the dastardly culprits and now we were almost back to square one.

I have a lifelong habit for dealing with dejection: I leave town. I first ran away from home at three. Mother helped pack my bag.

"Po Thang, how would you like to go for a boat ride this weekend?"

He thumped his tail, probably thinking I said, "Po Thang how would you like to eat the entire state of Baja California Sud this weekend?"

Jan, however, didn't do anything near a tail thump. "Hetta, you promised Jenks you wouldn't leave the dock until he returned."

"So? I lied. He's used to it."

"I'm not going."

"Fine, I'll be back Sunday afternoon so you can get a room in town while I'm gone, or take my pickup and head for Camp Chino."

Silence.

"I have to get back in time to spiff up the boat and have Topaz's room all ready for Monday morning."

Silence.

"Earth to Jan?"

"Where are you going?"

"Just out to San Marcos island. You can see it from the flying bridge."

"What if Jenks calls?"

"Cell phones work fine out there. It's not like the middle of nowhere, you know. There's that big phosphate mining operation on the south end of the island and the village of San Bruno on shore."

The frown on her face smoothed some.

"Look, it's only an overnighter. An escape from WiFi, a chance to exercise the engines, watch some movies, chill. Jenks and I met
pangueros
from the Sweet Pea cove fish camp before he left and I'm sure they'll sell me fresh fish and maybe a lobster or two. I found a couple of good bottles of white wine at the liquor store to go with the lobster. So, I'll see you Sunday afternoon when I get back?"

"Lobster?"

"You know, those spiny little things you love?"

"What's Geary say the weather 'sposed to be?"

"Dead flat calm, light variable breezes. Nada. Sweet Pea cove is only a hop skip and a jump from the marina, so if the wind comes up from the wrong direction I can be back in less than an hour, so you don't have to worry about me."

"I won't then."

"Good then."

"Fine then."

I busied myself on the computer and counted to ten before Jan growled, "Oh, okay. I don't want you out there by yourself."

Friends, sometimes you gotta know what it takes to reel 'em in.

Saturday dawned Charlie Charlie, as Geary had predicted: clear and calm.

Po Thang, when I started the engines, paced the decks in worry. He stood on the bow and watched and whined as we backed away from the dock, made the turn and motored out the harbor entrance. Once we cleared the harbor, however, he joined Jan and me on the bridge and settled down for a nap.

Jan made us an underway Bloody Mary, light on the vodka. I'd long ago learned that no matter how good the weather, or how well the boat was running, keeping a clear head when away from the dock is a smart idea.

Po Thang suddenly levitated, rushed to the bow and began barking wildly, somehow alerted before we were that dolphins were about. The first one we saw was a big guy executing a double flip right off the bow, his splash spraying Po Thang and backing him up a bit. He quickly shook off the water and spent the next hour communing with the dolphins, both bottlenose and their little buddies, called common dolphins.

The dolphins wove in and out of our bow wave and frolicked in our wake, performing twists, turns and other acrobatics and occasionally turning sideways, looking at Po Thang and chattering, or maybe chiding.

Jan and I took great delight at Po Thang's antics as he ricocheted between being intrigued, annoyed, confused, and downright manic. Dogs are better than television.

"Ya know, Hetta, you were right. It is good to get away from it all. Nice thing about boats is that you can."

"When I bought her everyone, and I mean everyone, including you, thought I'd finally lost my last loose screw, but as it turned out, it was a life-changing move. If it weren't for
Raymond Johnson
, I'd probably have never met Jenks."

"And God knows you need someone like him, what with your track record."

"Yeah, there's a lesson there."

She sighed. "I know, I know. I should appreciate Chino more. If he takes up with Doc Di, it'll be all my fault."

"He won't. Wanna call him and make nice?"

"I better not. What if he wants to drive over for a visit? I'd have to tell him what we're doing and then he'll rat us out to Jenks. I'll call him when we get back."

"I'll call Jenks then, as well. What they don't know won't hurt us."