Just Needs Killin Read Online Free PDF

us. We have to get back to Puerto Escondido. Tonight."
    Every man in the room, including the bartender, rushed our table. Jan sniffled while I embellished our sad tale of woe, adding we had money to pay for the panga, but needed to leave immediately. Within ten minutes we were bundled up in loaned surfer-dude windbreakers, and sat mid-panga with our mitts wrapped around two more cuguamas .
    Since the wind was offshore, our eight-mile ride north was smooth and rapid. Of course, the panga had zero running lights, but with so little traffic on the water, the occasional flick of a flashlight alerted others we were coming. Anyone out there now was probably setting lines and nets, so they could easily hear us anyway.
    In no time we were on the dock and waving our saviors a fond farewell. They were all grins, probably because I paid them double what they asked, which was most likely double what they usually charged.
    Since I didn't want them connecting us with Raymond Johnson , we told them we were staying at the nearby Tripui hotel, thus the dock drop. Now we had to figure out how to get to my boat.
    Luckily for us, someone left a dinghy at the dinghy dock.
    Silly bugger.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    By the time we boarded Raymond Johnson, Jan and I were frazzled.
    It had been a long and stressful day, and it wasn't over by a long shot. My pickup was still at the resort, we had to return the "borrowed" dinghy to the dock, and worry over becoming the prime suspects for a beheading.
    I'd figured out how to get the pickup, the dinghy was no problem, but Ishikawa? My vote was to let dead guys lie and hope no one came looking for us in connection with his demise. Then again, I wondered if we shouldn't be lawyering-up.
    We tied the borrowed dink to Se Vende , returned it to the dock, and then went back to Raymond Johnson to contemplate our run back to the resort. We had three choices, all bad in our exhausted condition. We could take Se Vende, the fastest method, but that meant a roundtrip in an open boat, and it was already nearing midnight. Taking Jan's Jeep to retrieve my pickup was sensible, but why add yet another identifier to the mix? The guard at the entrance was sure to log in Jan's vehicle, and it had easily traceable Mexican plates—traceable right back to Jan's boyfriend, Chino. Weighing our options, we decided on taking Raymond Johnson.
    I started up the engines, Jan threw off the mooring line, and we slowly left port, hopeful not too many people would witness our exit. An hour later, we entered the resort's bay. I had noticed earlier there were two other powerboats and a sailboat anchored there, so I dropped the hook as far out as I could and still be able to catch a piece of bottom without also catching attention from shore. We ran in dark mode, turning off all lights—interior, mast, and running—before we let go the anchor and backed down. To us, the chain playing out sounded like a passing freight train, but the offshore wind carried most of the sound out to sea.
    From the flying bridge, my binoculars were powerful enough to see the luau still going strong. An occasional drumbeat drifted our way on the sea breeze, and what looked like a fire dance was in progress. I couldn't make out individuals, but by the size of one, I was pretty sure Samoa was still there. If they'd found Ishikawa's body by now, wouldn't you think they'd stop the party?
    "Jan, why don't you grab a nap? I'll wake you when the party's over. I figure it'll go on until at least two, maybe even three o'clock."
    "Sounds like a plan. Uh, just what, exactly, happens now?"
    "I intend to kill you, just as soon as we're safe. And I've changed my mind; I no longer embrace your new profession as a hooker. I mean, your very first trick ups and dies before you even showed."
    I ducked, so the book she launched only nicked me.
     
    The alarm went off at two-thirty. We fed our slight hangovers a sandwich, chased it with a Coca-Light, then bundled up in sweats and donned