Read Online Just The Pits (Hetta Coffey Series, Book 5) by Jinx Schwartz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jinx Schwartz
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and what do you want?"
Our intruder's face was buried in the carpet, so his answer was muffled.
"I can't heeear you."
Jan roughly wrenched his neck to one side with her feet.
"Oowww!"
"You speak English?" Jan asked.
He didn't answer, so she jammed his face back into the carpet. "Shy, I guess."
"Hookay, then, we'll do this the hard way." Unwilling to free him from Jan's power hold, I fetched a piece of line from the back deck, we trussed him up proper-like and rolled him onto his side. He squealed like a stuck hawg.
While our captive gasped for air and spit carpet threads, I gave Jan a pat on the back. "Where'd you learn that nifty move? You had him good."
"Goat roping in high school. Comes in handy." She poked him in his unprotected gut, eliciting a loud gasp. "You breathing yet, buddy?"
" Merde ," he gasped.
" Merde ?" I repeated. "You French?"
" Oui ."
"Well then, today's your lucky day, Mon Sewer. Hetta parlays French."
"I. Speak. English."
"Even luckier," I told him, "so do we. Wanna tell us why you broke into my damned boat? And if it was you who ate my Velveeta cheese, I'm gonna turn you in to Larousse Gastronomique. The French will surely revoke your citizenship for such a gastronomical infraction."
Jan and I found this worthy of a giggle. I can be so clever at times.
"Well?" I nudged him with my foot, very near his nuts.
"Please, I didn't mean any harm. I didn't know you had returned. I was hungry."
I looked at the guy a little closer. He spoke English like an American, said he was French? When a tear rolled down his cheek, my anger melted. Well, almost. There was that food stealing thing.
"We're gonna untie your feet and get you into a chair. Don't do anything stupid, okay? Oh, wait, you already did."
Jan gave me an appreciative grin. We shuffled him to a chair, tied him in across his chest and legs, then loosened his wrists. He moved his arms slowly forward and held them out for retying, but I waved them down. "That won't be necessary. For now."
"Could I please have some water?" he croaked.
"Water, coming up." Jan went to the fridge for a small plastic bottle of purified water and handed to him. He drank gratefully, brushed a blondish lock of hair from his face and squinted at us. "I lost my glasses."
"That’s okay, you don't need to see, you need to talk, so start. I have to work in a few hours and have to decide what to do with you. Jan here would prefer, I'm sure, to truss you up like a hawg again and dump you overboard, but this being a piece of very expensive, high-tensile-strength line I'd just as soon not waste it on some punk."
"You women are amazing," he said with a shake of his head.
"Oh, you have no idea. So you say you came aboard looking for food? How'd you open the cabin door?"
"Your lock is cheap. I opened it with a my fingernail clipper."
"Isn't there food anywhere else in Santa Rosalia, for heaven's sake? Why my boat?"
"I was here on the dock anyway. I thought this boat was still empty."
" Still , huh? So it was you who snarfed my Velveeta? That alone is a hanging offense in my book."
"It wasn't very good."
"Okay, that's it. Overboard you go, hot shot."
He threw his hands in the air. "It was a joke. I will work for the food, I need a place to stay until…." He shrugged.
"Until what?"
He hung his head. "I am in trouble and I need help. I don't know where to go, or what to do. I have money in my room, but I cannot go there. People are trying to kill me. People," he looked at Jan, " besides you."
"You have any ID?"
"No. Lost."
"What's your name?"
"Russell."
"That ain't French."
"My father is American."
"And you're French?"
"I lied. I'm actually Mexican."
"Russell ain't Mexican, either. Get the old line, Jan. He's going overboard."
"No! Okay, my name is Rosario Pardo."
Oh no, this can not be happening. "Rosario Pardo?"
"Yes, I used to work at Lucifer Mine and they tried to kill me. I came here because I know you were sent to find who was stealing money.
Our intruder's face was buried in the carpet, so his answer was muffled.
"I can't heeear you."
Jan roughly wrenched his neck to one side with her feet.
"Oowww!"
"You speak English?" Jan asked.
He didn't answer, so she jammed his face back into the carpet. "Shy, I guess."
"Hookay, then, we'll do this the hard way." Unwilling to free him from Jan's power hold, I fetched a piece of line from the back deck, we trussed him up proper-like and rolled him onto his side. He squealed like a stuck hawg.
While our captive gasped for air and spit carpet threads, I gave Jan a pat on the back. "Where'd you learn that nifty move? You had him good."
"Goat roping in high school. Comes in handy." She poked him in his unprotected gut, eliciting a loud gasp. "You breathing yet, buddy?"
" Merde ," he gasped.
" Merde ?" I repeated. "You French?"
" Oui ."
"Well then, today's your lucky day, Mon Sewer. Hetta parlays French."
"I. Speak. English."
"Even luckier," I told him, "so do we. Wanna tell us why you broke into my damned boat? And if it was you who ate my Velveeta cheese, I'm gonna turn you in to Larousse Gastronomique. The French will surely revoke your citizenship for such a gastronomical infraction."
Jan and I found this worthy of a giggle. I can be so clever at times.
"Well?" I nudged him with my foot, very near his nuts.
"Please, I didn't mean any harm. I didn't know you had returned. I was hungry."
I looked at the guy a little closer. He spoke English like an American, said he was French? When a tear rolled down his cheek, my anger melted. Well, almost. There was that food stealing thing.
"We're gonna untie your feet and get you into a chair. Don't do anything stupid, okay? Oh, wait, you already did."
Jan gave me an appreciative grin. We shuffled him to a chair, tied him in across his chest and legs, then loosened his wrists. He moved his arms slowly forward and held them out for retying, but I waved them down. "That won't be necessary. For now."
"Could I please have some water?" he croaked.
"Water, coming up." Jan went to the fridge for a small plastic bottle of purified water and handed to him. He drank gratefully, brushed a blondish lock of hair from his face and squinted at us. "I lost my glasses."
"That’s okay, you don't need to see, you need to talk, so start. I have to work in a few hours and have to decide what to do with you. Jan here would prefer, I'm sure, to truss you up like a hawg again and dump you overboard, but this being a piece of very expensive, high-tensile-strength line I'd just as soon not waste it on some punk."
"You women are amazing," he said with a shake of his head.
"Oh, you have no idea. So you say you came aboard looking for food? How'd you open the cabin door?"
"Your lock is cheap. I opened it with a my fingernail clipper."
"Isn't there food anywhere else in Santa Rosalia, for heaven's sake? Why my boat?"
"I was here on the dock anyway. I thought this boat was still empty."
" Still , huh? So it was you who snarfed my Velveeta? That alone is a hanging offense in my book."
"It wasn't very good."
"Okay, that's it. Overboard you go, hot shot."
He threw his hands in the air. "It was a joke. I will work for the food, I need a place to stay until…." He shrugged.
"Until what?"
He hung his head. "I am in trouble and I need help. I don't know where to go, or what to do. I have money in my room, but I cannot go there. People are trying to kill me. People," he looked at Jan, " besides you."
"You have any ID?"
"No. Lost."
"What's your name?"
"Russell."
"That ain't French."
"My father is American."
"And you're French?"
"I lied. I'm actually Mexican."
"Russell ain't Mexican, either. Get the old line, Jan. He's going overboard."
"No! Okay, my name is Rosario Pardo."
Oh no, this can not be happening. "Rosario Pardo?"
"Yes, I used to work at Lucifer Mine and they tried to kill me. I came here because I know you were sent to find who was stealing money.
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