Read Online Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) by Jinx Schwartz - Free Book Online
Authors: Jinx Schwartz
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(affectionately called donkey dicks by the Gringos) she'd stuffed with bacon and mushrooms. She'd also gone into town for fresh greens and ice cream. Maybe I'll marry her and put Chino out of his misery.
Sitting out on the covered aft deck, or sunroom as I call it, we finished our wine while watching pangas streak from the harbor in quest of fish and squid, or maybe a little drug running on the side.
Jan, who was unusually quiet, turned to me with tears in her eyes. "At one point I'll be in my seventies and he'll be in his fifties."
"Chino's only twelve years younger than you, how do you figure that?"
Ever the bean counter, she said, "He's actually eleven and a half years younger, but his birthday comes after mine. I'll turn seventy and he'll still be only fifty-nine."
And I thought I had an age obsession thing going. "Which is almost sixty. You're somehow turning a few days into twenty years? I think I'll get a new accountant."
"Hey, you're not the only one worrying about turning for—"
"Stop! This birthday is my crisis, dang it, and don't you horn in on it!"
For some reason we found this hilarious. Or maybe it was the wine.
Which, had we known what the evening held in store, we might have cut back on a smidgen.
Chapter 8
TAKEN ABACK (Nautical term): Stopped by a sudden shift of wind; surprised by a discovery
Back when Jenks designed my boat's security system he wanted me to sleep well at night, secure in the knowledge that if anyone came aboard, I'd know it. I have two choices for being alerted: a raucous claxon mounted on the flying bridge and guaranteed to wake the dead, or a more subtle blinking light in both the main saloon and my master cabin.
When Jan and I turned in, I set the blinker system. I am a light sleeper and a flashing light will usually wake me, even after a bunch of wine. Besides, if the light didn't do the job in thirty seconds, a beeper sounded, growing louder every fifteen seconds.
The light started flashing at two AM, according to the senorita's belly. At first I thought my nemesis, el mapache , was back, but then remembered I hadn't set the outside motion sensors. That meant someone was inside the boat. Had Jan needed a glass of water and forgotten to disable the sensor in the main saloon? I grabbed my handy dandy flare gun and headed for my cabin door, which I had not set the deadbolt on because I had company. Crap.
Throwing open the cabin door I went into defense mode. I stepped back so I wouldn't be highlighted by the flashing light behind me and waited. Nothing happened, so I yelled, "Jan, is that you in the saloon?"
Nada.
"Okay, then, whoever you are, I'm armed and I will shoot." Like I'm gonna fire off a flare gun in my boat? Oh, well, it sounded good.
Nada.
I backed into my cabin and hit the remote to turn off the flashing light in my cabin, but left the one on in the main saloon. Once again I waited, but my patience was running low. I was on the verge of rushing out when I heard a loud, "Oof," and a thump. Time was up.
Holding the flare gun as though it were my .9mm Springfield XDM (oh, that it were!) I vaulted up the three steps leading to the main saloon as though storming Normandy.
Catching movement by the settee, I crouched and crept forward.
"Help!" a male voice cried.
Help?
"Got the bastard," Jan yelled. "Where the hell are you, Hetta?"
I flipped on the cabin lights. Jan had someone flat out on his stomach, with his arms pulled behind him at an odd angle. She sat on his butt, her feet planted firmly on his head, and she'd somehow managed to clutch his wrists and was shoving them at what looked like a seriously painful angle using her feet for leverage against his skull. Whoever the poor dude was, I sort of felt sorry for him.
"Whatcha got there, Jan?"
"Ain't no stinkin' raccoon, but he is kinda cute. Ya wanna shoot him?"
"I'd love to, but there's my carpet to consider." I nudged him with the barrel of the flare gun for effect. "Okay guy, who are you
Sitting out on the covered aft deck, or sunroom as I call it, we finished our wine while watching pangas streak from the harbor in quest of fish and squid, or maybe a little drug running on the side.
Jan, who was unusually quiet, turned to me with tears in her eyes. "At one point I'll be in my seventies and he'll be in his fifties."
"Chino's only twelve years younger than you, how do you figure that?"
Ever the bean counter, she said, "He's actually eleven and a half years younger, but his birthday comes after mine. I'll turn seventy and he'll still be only fifty-nine."
And I thought I had an age obsession thing going. "Which is almost sixty. You're somehow turning a few days into twenty years? I think I'll get a new accountant."
"Hey, you're not the only one worrying about turning for—"
"Stop! This birthday is my crisis, dang it, and don't you horn in on it!"
For some reason we found this hilarious. Or maybe it was the wine.
Which, had we known what the evening held in store, we might have cut back on a smidgen.
Chapter 8
TAKEN ABACK (Nautical term): Stopped by a sudden shift of wind; surprised by a discovery
Back when Jenks designed my boat's security system he wanted me to sleep well at night, secure in the knowledge that if anyone came aboard, I'd know it. I have two choices for being alerted: a raucous claxon mounted on the flying bridge and guaranteed to wake the dead, or a more subtle blinking light in both the main saloon and my master cabin.
When Jan and I turned in, I set the blinker system. I am a light sleeper and a flashing light will usually wake me, even after a bunch of wine. Besides, if the light didn't do the job in thirty seconds, a beeper sounded, growing louder every fifteen seconds.
The light started flashing at two AM, according to the senorita's belly. At first I thought my nemesis, el mapache , was back, but then remembered I hadn't set the outside motion sensors. That meant someone was inside the boat. Had Jan needed a glass of water and forgotten to disable the sensor in the main saloon? I grabbed my handy dandy flare gun and headed for my cabin door, which I had not set the deadbolt on because I had company. Crap.
Throwing open the cabin door I went into defense mode. I stepped back so I wouldn't be highlighted by the flashing light behind me and waited. Nothing happened, so I yelled, "Jan, is that you in the saloon?"
Nada.
"Okay, then, whoever you are, I'm armed and I will shoot." Like I'm gonna fire off a flare gun in my boat? Oh, well, it sounded good.
Nada.
I backed into my cabin and hit the remote to turn off the flashing light in my cabin, but left the one on in the main saloon. Once again I waited, but my patience was running low. I was on the verge of rushing out when I heard a loud, "Oof," and a thump. Time was up.
Holding the flare gun as though it were my .9mm Springfield XDM (oh, that it were!) I vaulted up the three steps leading to the main saloon as though storming Normandy.
Catching movement by the settee, I crouched and crept forward.
"Help!" a male voice cried.
Help?
"Got the bastard," Jan yelled. "Where the hell are you, Hetta?"
I flipped on the cabin lights. Jan had someone flat out on his stomach, with his arms pulled behind him at an odd angle. She sat on his butt, her feet planted firmly on his head, and she'd somehow managed to clutch his wrists and was shoving them at what looked like a seriously painful angle using her feet for leverage against his skull. Whoever the poor dude was, I sort of felt sorry for him.
"Whatcha got there, Jan?"
"Ain't no stinkin' raccoon, but he is kinda cute. Ya wanna shoot him?"
"I'd love to, but there's my carpet to consider." I nudged him with the barrel of the flare gun for effect. "Okay guy, who are you
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