Just Needs Killin Read Online Free PDF Page B

Jenks's baseball caps so we'd maybe pass for a couple of fishermen. Beaching Se Vende on the sand in front of the now-closed Playa Blanca bar, I tucked her in next to the panga we'd ridden in to PE a few hours before. I didn't want to land directly in front of the resort for two reasons; there was a shoal I'd seen waders walking on at low tide when Jenks and I anchored there a couple of months before, and there were almost sure to be guards about.
    Under our sweats and caps, we wore tourist garb: Bermuda shorts, sandals, and long tee shirts declaring I HEART BAJA. It was our hope that, should we encounter a guard, he'd just think us a couple of drunken vacationers out for a stagger in the wee hours. But with the exception of a stray dog that woofed once and then fell in step with us, no doubt hoping for a treat, we never saw a living soul, even after we reached the hotel parking lot, and Jan drove away. 
    As I lurked in the shadows, making certain Jan was not noticed or followed, I heard voices and the sound of footfalls on gravel. Plastering myself to a wall behind an oleander bush, and hoping a scorpion hadn't done the same, I held my breath as the voices grew louder, even though they were practically whispering. One man hissed orders, one whined apologies, and the third just huffed and puffed. If these guys were trying to sneak around, they were doing a crappy job of it. But then again, I hadn't seen any sort of security around.
    The three walked right by me, and I had to wonder why they, like Jan and me, were skulking out a back exit like thieves in the night. The answer was soon clear: two of the guys lugged a very large black plastic bag, and the other was the one giving orders and generally harassing the other two.
    Hmmm. Ishikawa in a bag? Enquiring minds have to know.
    Once again I whipped out the nifty camera Jenks gave me so I could photograph birds at night without making much noise and no flash. I got off two shots of the bag, the luggers, and their tormentor, before following at a safe distance.
    Once in the parking lot, the trio made for a Lincoln Navigator, the vehicle of choice for Mexican drug dealers.
    With Jan safely long gone, I decided it was in our interest to snoop some before making a run for Se Vende and getting out of Dodge . What with tonight's grisly murder, and our possible suspects status, I needed as much on these creeps and their dirty work as possible in case someone came looking for me and Jan. Short of getting a peek into that bag, which I highly doubted contained leftover pig, all I could do was link them to Ishikawa, however circumstantially.
    Dodging around behind a few parked cars, I got off a couple more shots of the bag going into the back of the Navigator, and men opening the front doors. What I hoped was the money shot was when the interior lights illuminated the faces of the two men in the front seat, but I wouldn't know for sure until I had a chance to see what I’d captured.
    They drove off, I hoofed for my boat, and was underway and heading back to port before my heart quit trying to escape my chest via my throat. The trip back to Puerto Escondido and getting the boat safely re-anchored so I could collect Jan from the dock, seemed to take forever, but was actually only a little over an hour.
    We'd agreed Jan would wait for me in my truck, and when I got there she was sound asleep behind the wheel. I considered just crawling into the passenger seat and catching a snooze myself, but we still had work to do.
    It is true: there is no rest for the weary. Wicked?
    Or the weary wicked.

CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    Because I was single-handing my boat, and it was dark, I had decided to re-anchor Raymond Johnson back in my cell tower access spot rather than try to snag that mooring near the marina again. By the time I retrieved Jan from the parking lot, and we got back aboard, it was only about an hour until I could call Jenks back, and lie like a Persian rug about why I wasn't home to take