Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) (19 page)

Thou canst not joke an Enemy into a Friend; but thou may'st a Friend into an Enemy.— Benjamin Franklin

The rest of the day, after Bert blew up at me and stormed out, passed without further kerfuffles. Still, I remained on edge; too many things hung heavy over my head, and I felt embattled on all fronts. 

Still smarting over Bert's unexpected admonishment, I also stressed over the possibility that Safety would somehow spot the bug I'd placed in his computer tower. He was in and out of the office most of the day, so I doubted my plant would glean anything of interest, but I didn't want it found. He did stop in and volunteer to visit the boat later and bring beer, and I gratefully agreed. Bert's rebuff was painful and I needed a friend. Any friend.

Now that I'd gotten reassurances (how pitiful and needy does that sound?) from Jenks, and sent that plea for help to Nacho, I really had no room in my life for another man, but he did bring the beer, so what's a gal to do? He also brought Po Thang a big old greasy knucklebone, which the dog wanted to drag around on my carpet, but earned him the boot onto the dock. I had everyone trained to close the gates onto the docks so Po Thang, even if he wanted to, couldn't escape the marina grounds unless he jumped into the water and he showed no inclination to do so.

While Po Thang worried his bone, Safety and I retired to the sundeck with beers. Once we settled in, he said, "Boy, did you ever punch Bert's buttons today. What did you say to him?"

"I really don't know, exactly. Well, I know what I said, but not why it upset him so much."

"What exactly did you say before he blew?"

"Lemme think. I simply told him that Jan and I think the cost overruns might have something to do with purchasing."

His beer stopped at half-mast. "You're accusing Osvaldo?"

"No, of course not. I simply meant we are delving into purchasing anomalies. I didn't get a chance to explain what."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"Look, Bert hired Osvaldo, despite other candidates suggested by corporate, so if he thought you were saying Purchasing with a capital P, as in Osvaldo's department might be guilty of something, he may have taken it personally."

"Have you talked to him since our dustup?"

"No, I wasn't there, remember? I heard about it later."

I wondered if I should try to find Bert's house and attempt to rectify the situation, but wasn't exactly sure where he lived. It shouldn't be hard to figure out, however, because he said it was near the hospital, on the hill, and since his company truck couldn't be driven after dusk, it should be easy to find. I had seen very few garages in town, and certainly none that would house a truck the size of Bert's. Almost everyone parked on the street. I decided to go on a little foray later, but felt it best not to share my plans with Safety.

Instead, I changed the subject, once again bringing up the night Rosario vanished and once again getting nowhere.

"Why are you so interested in Rosario, Hetta? You didn't even know him."

"I don't know. Like Jan, I have this feeling his disappearance might not be an accident." As soon as I said it, I wanted to give myself a swift boot in the butt. I'd already alienated Bert today and I needed to keep someone on my side. Nothing like needling your prime suspect.

Safety looked annoyed. "You're beating a dead horse. Why on earth would someone want to do harm to that kid? I mean, on purpose."

Hmm, that
on purpose
part sounded sneaky. "You tell me, Safety. I wasn't there."

"There, where?"

"On the boat. You said you were, didn't you?"

Safety's eyes narrowed. "Not that I recall."

Oops, now
I
recalled. He had told Ozzie, and I got it from the bug Rosario had planted.
Way to go, Sherlock.
You're batting a big fat zero today
.

"Oh, um, don't know where I got that idea. I guess because you said he was fixing the radio on the boat?"
Lame, Hetta. Better keep your day job. Oh, wait, I'm doing it. Albeit badly.

I didn't like the way Safety was looking at me, so I changed the subject, once again. "Say, when I stayed over at the office the other night, I took Po Thang outside and saw headlights to the southeast, on what I'd call a back road into the site. There's a road there?"

"Many. But what you saw was probably the brine truck. For some reason he usually comes at night."

"Brine truck?"

"Yeah, there's an old man and his son who own land on the back side of El Boleo and he has this dilapidated water truck he uses to haul brine to our site. Makes a little money that way, and we use the brine on our roads to keep down dust."

"Ah, the byproduct water from El Boleo's desal plant?"

"Yep. He can't haul it over the
Cuesta
, so he's forged a road that turns less than twenty miles into about fifty by following zigzag goat paths, a dry river bed and heaven knows what else, but he manages to get here every few days. How he keeps that old truck going is a freakin' miracle. I'm always amazed at how much work, and I mean hard labor, Mexicans are willing to do to make a peso."

"They are very inventive, that's for sure. You ever drive that road?"

"I rode with him once and believe me, once was enough. I did it to mark the road, in case we ever need to use it."

"How'd you mark it?"

"The Mexican way, with rocks and a bucket of whitewash. The old man helped me. Took us all day, but we got it done."

"I know about painted rocks. I once took an off-road vehicle across the peninsula and learned the system in a hurry. A line of rocks across the road means don't even
think
of going here." What I didn't mention was at the time I was driving an off-road 4X4 Toyota, or that I had stolen said vehicle from Nacho. Hopefully Nacho didn't hold a grudge, now that I needed his help. 

Safety brought me back from my thoughts of Nacho, saying, "The Mexican system of lane control works. I hadn't realized how many roads, if you can call them that, are all over the place here."

I knew, because I'd checked them out on Google Earth, but I had decided not to share anything with Safety that didn't get me more answers.

"Anything else you want to know before I leave, Detective Coffey, or am I free to go?" Safety said, rather sharply, as he rose.

I shook my head, knowing I had annoyed him enough for one evening.

He finished his beer and left, no mention of the previously mentioned dinner.

So, in only one day I managed to almost lose my job, goad one perfectly placid man into apoplexy, and alienate another.

I must be losing my touch.

I've traveled far and wide, always alone, so therefore I've never been in Cahoots. —Anonymous from the Internet

After Safety left in somewhat of a snit and I had an evening to kill, I decided I'd go on that house hunt and maybe clear the air. When I'd told Bert Jan and I suspected the problems might lie with some purchasing ploy, he evidently thought I meant Purchasing, with a capital P, meaning Osvaldo. And now that Safety told me Bert had hand-picked Ozzie for this job, I guess my speculation came off as a reflection on him. I can understand his getting steamed. Still, that Jekyll and Hyde outburst was odd.

Since we hadn't had dinner, Po Thang and I hit our favorite taco stand and indulged in a few. The owner didn't mind Po Thang, since the entire place is outdoors, but after my dog successfully stared down a few diners, willing them to toss a taco his way, I put his Rasputin self back in the pickup. He was still fixated, but from a distance and through the window he was less the hound from hell.

After our tacos I set out for Bert's house. Once on hospital hill, I drove a quadrant zone search pattern starting with the Clinica Hospital Santa Rosalia as my base. I had a map of town in the pickup, but since I only had about six streets no more than three blocks wide to cover, I didn't think I'd need it. Sure enough, I turned down the second street and there were four white trucks parked at the curb, three of them stenciled with the Mining Company logo and, to my surprise, the white dually belonging to Safety. All sported the required safety whips flying orange flags required when on site.

I parked a block away and left a sulking Po Thang in the truck. Backtracking on foot, I stuck to the street side instead of the sidewalk figuring, I could duck for cover behind a vehicle if need be, but also because Mexican sidewalks are notoriously booby-trapped with holes and pieces of rebar sticking up for no apparent reason. Walking on one after dark without benefit of street lights is a good way to break a leg.

In the center of the block sat a fairly large, by Santa Rosalia standards, Victorian style home with a wraparound porch. Since the street climbed a hill, it was obvious the home would have a great ocean view during daylight hours.

The interior was brightly lit but, unfortunately, gauzy drapes were pulled closed, hampering my vision. I could see there were people inside, but not exactly who or how many.

Company trucks not only have a logo, they are also numbered. I went back to my pickup for a penlight and my cell phone and left Po Thang even grumpier than before after raising his hopes with my brief return.

Back on the street in front of the house I was almost certain belonged to Bert, I called Jan.

"Hey, Hetta, how's things?"

"Fine, but I need some info, pronto."

"Why are you whispering?"

"I'm on surveillance. I've spotted some company pickups and I need to know who they're assigned to."

"Standby, I'll go get Rosario. He knows how to check on stuff like that. Want me to call you back?"  

"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!