Just Needs Killin by Jinx Schwartz Read Free Book Online Page A

and everything one might need to survive a few nights in a raft, or afloat. Into this pack, before I go to bed each night, I always toss in my handheld radio, money, binoculars, and both mine and Po Thang's inflatable life jackets, his with a tether that clips to mine.
    Before boarding Se Vende , I jammed on an oversized straw hat like the ones favored by local fishermen, then grabbed a fishing pole, which sent Po Thang into a tail-wagging frenzy; he just dearly loves it when I catch a fish.
    I hid behind some nearby mangroves, and not a minute too soon, for I first heard, then saw, a panga streaking toward Raymond Johnson . It was loaded to the gunwales with six or seven uniformed, armed men. It first circled my boat, then sidled up to the swim platform.
    One of them called out something in Spanish, and knocked on the hull, but getting no response, boarded. Finding the boat locked, and no one reacting to their ever more vocal demands, they posted an armed guard on deck. After a discussion of some sort with the others, the rest of the contingent left in the panga, which headed for the other anchorage near the entrance to the harbor, a popular spot called the Waiting Room.
    As they disappeared behind a low hill, I figured this was a good opportunity to make a run for my pickup. I opened up the sixty-horse and streaked for the parking lot. The marine standing guard on my boat gave me a glance, but didn't raise a ruckus; he was most likely on the lookout for a Gringo 's inflatable, not a beat up old panga like Se Vende .
    I called Denny on seventeen and he met me at the dinghy dock. He watched the harbor through his binoculars while recounting how this little drama was playing out. "You gotta stay clear of the marina office, there're still some guys up there who are looking for you. They may know you have a red pickup by now, but so far they haven't posted a guard on it. Give me the keys and I'll take it up to the little grocery store. Meet me there. You have any idea what this is all about?"
    Oh, boy, did I . I tossed him the keys. "No," I lied, "but I want to be sure I have witnesses around when they catch up to me. Any ideas?"
    He shook his head. "No, but you know how things are down here. If it were me, I'd head for the border."
    "And leave my boat? No way. I'll meet you at the store, then maybe figure out what to do next. I owe you, big time."
     
    Po Thang and I jogged to the tienda , even though I don't jog all that well.
    What to do? What to do? Obviously someone finally found both parts of Ishikawa, and zeroed in on me as suspect numero uno . At the top of my mental TO DO list was to warn suspect numero dos .
    The little store has excellent WiFi, and several cruisers and RVers were bent over their computers. One guy I knew was talking on Skype when I arrived, so as soon as he said, "Bye," I asked if I could make an emergency call.
    "Jan, the feds are here. I think they're gonna take me in."
    Every head in the place turned in my direction.
    If I wanted witnesses, I sure had 'em.
     
    The thing about Mexico is they have a really crappy legal system. They got it from the French.
    Their judicial swamp is so corrupt and dysfunctional that if you commit a crime in Mexico you only have a two in a hundred chance of getting caught and, if you have money, even less chance of being convicted and punished. I read somewhere that only twelve percent of crimes are even reported, and for good reason: the cops want money to work on the case. Or worse, the person who calls the authorities becomes a suspect. So, lacking a pesky body to deal with at the resort, it was doubtful the staff would report a suspicious bloodstain. So what happened to sic them onto me?
    And if nabbed, I'd be deemed guilty until proven innocent—that marvelous Napoleonic Code the French thought up—during which time I'd languish in a Mexican jail. Mexican jails are god-awful hellholes.
    I'd just gotten off the Skype call with Jan, telling her to run for the hills,