Stuart Woods - Santa Fe Dead

“Please come on deck and bring Mrs. Keeler; the police want to inspect the yacht and see the crew’s papers. Please bring your passports!”

“Yeah, give us a couple of minutes, okay?”

Barbara sighed and rolled off Gillette. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just a routine thing,” Gillette replied. “Happens all the time; homeland security and all that. Let’s get dressed.”

They got into their clothes, and Barbara took a moment to apply lipstick. She grabbed her handbag. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“They’re going to want to see our passports,” Ron said, taking his from an inside pocket of his blazer and holding it up.

Barbara dug into her handbag and came up with her passport. “Got it.”

“Don’t worry,” Ron said. “We’ll be back in bed in ten minutes.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Barbara said, smiling.

He led her up the companionway stairs and onto the afterdeck. A brightly lit motor vessel was moored alongside Enticer , bobbing on the small waves. It was flying a Mexican flag.

“Ron,” Barbara said, “that’s a Mexican flag.” She pointed.

“Yes, it is,” he replied.

“Are we in Mexico?”

Ron looked toward shore at some lights. “I guess so.” He pointed. “That must be Tijuana over there.”

Barbara looked around, as if for a way out, but there was no escape; she’d just have to brazen it through. Then two men appeared from forward on the yacht, and she knew one of them. “Cupie? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hi, Barbara,” Cupie said cheerfully. “You remember Capitán Rodríguez, don’t you?”

Barbara stared in horror at the Mexican policeman. “No,” she said, “I don’t.”

“Well then,” Cupie said, “you remember his nephew…”

“Ernesto,” the capitán said, helpfully.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“May I see your passport, Mrs. Eagle?” Capitán Rodríguez said. “I’m sure we can straighten this out very quickly.”

“My name is Mrs. Walter Keeler,” she said, handing the capitán her passport. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“Oh, he’s not confused, Babs,” Cupie said.

“No, señora,” the capitán replied, “I am not confused.” He removed a piece of paper from his tunic pocket and handed it to her. “I have a warrant for your arrest on three charges of attempted murder.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” she demanded.

Vittorio appeared on the afterdeck. “One,” he said, raising his hand. “Attempted murder by drowning.”

“Two,” Cupie said, raising his hand. “Attempted murder by gunshot.”

“And three,” the capitán said, “counting my nephew, who will be very happy to see you, Mrs. Eagle.”

“I tell you I am not this Eagle person!” Barbara said desperately. “My United States passport will tell you that!”

“Yes,” Cupie said, “she is.”

“Right,” echoed Vittorio.

“You are all insane!” she shouted. “Ron, do something!”

Gillette took the paper from her hand and glanced over it. “Well,” he said, “this appears to be a valid warrant. Did I mention that I’m a lawyer?”

“Well, if you’re a lawyer, do something!”

“I’m afraid I’m not licensed to practice in Mexico,” Gillette said. “I’m awfully sorry about this, Barbara, but it looks as though you’re going to have to go with this policeman.”

As if on cue, two other policemen, bearing automatic weapons, appeared behind the capitán.

“If you please, señora,” the capitán said, indicating that she should board his boat. “I hope it will not be necessary to handcuff you.” He took her by the wrist and elbow and began dragging her toward the other boat.

“This is outrageous!” Barbara shouted. “I want to speak to the American ambassador at once!”

“Unfortunately,” the capitán said, “we did not bring his excellency with us, but as soon as we reach my office you may telephone him.”

The two policemen stepped forward, lifted Barbara off her feet and handed her over the rail to two more policemen on the other boat.

The capitán gave Captain Ted a smart salute. “I think we need not detain you further, Captain,” he said. “I bid you all a good evening,” he said to the others, then, assisted by his officers, he climbed over the railing and reboarded his boat.

“Cupie!” Barbara shouted from the police boat, “call Ed Eagle! Tell him I need a lawyer!”

“Oh, don’t worry, Barbara. I’ll call Ed Eagle. You have a nice evening, now.” He waved as the police boat pulled away. “Well, Captain Ted,” he said, “if you could drop us in La Jolla, then you can be on your way back to Marina del Rey.”

“Sure, Cupie,” Ted replied.

“Oh, and may Vittorio and I have some dinner, please?”

“Of course. I’ll tell the chef.”

“I assume you’ve already eaten, Ron.”

“Yes, I have,” Gillette said, “but I’ll join you for a drink. Tell me, did that beautiful woman actually cut off somebody’s dick?”

“She certainly did,” Cupie said. “Probably more than one.” He got out his cell phone and speed-dialed Ed Eagle.

“Wow,” Gillette said, “I guess I got out lucky.”

The yacht slowly turned back toward La Jolla and her speed increased.

ED EAGLE PICKED up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Cupie.”

“What’s the news?”

“Mrs. Keeler is in custody.”

“Where?”

“In Tijuana, Mexico, though I think she will shortly be transported south, to the scene of the penilectomy. By the way, she asked me to call you, and I assured her I would.”

“Call me? Why?”

“It seems the lady needs a lawyer.”

Eagle laughed. “Well, she hasn’t lost her sense of humor,” he said. “Send me your bill, Cupie, and thank you so very much.” He hung up.

“What is it?” Susannah asked.

“It’s over,” Eagle said. “Let’s spend tomorrow in bed.”

“You talked me into it,” she said, melting into his arms.

ALEX REESE GOT out of his car at the border patrol station and ran inside. A man wearing captain’s bars got up from a desk and came toward him. “May I help you?”

"I’m Detective Alex Reese, Santa Fe P.D.”

“Oh, of course, Detective. I’m Captain Taylor.”

“The California Highway Patrol tells me you’ve got Jack Cato.”

“Either Cato or Timmons, take your pick.”

“Sorry?”

“He had two sets of ID but only one registration for his truck, in the name of Cato. I don’t know how he got across the border. One of our people must have slipped up. The CHP says you can have him, though.”

“I’d like to see him,” Reese said.

“Come this way.” He led Reese down a hallway and opened a door. Jack Cato was visible in the next room through a one-way mirror. “He was drunk as a skunk when we got our hands on him; he’s probably just hungover by now.” He indicated a pile on a table behind them. “That’s all the stuff we found on him and in his truck. He had a kind of safe welded to the underside of the chassis.”

Reese turned and stared at the pile. “How much money is that?” “Something over two hundred grand; each of those bundles holds ten thousand dollars. He had more than a hundred thousand in the shoulder bag, there, and at least that much in the safe under the truck.”

Reese produced a pair of latex gloves and pulled them on. “Have you catalogued all this stuff?” He poked among the contents of Cato’s pockets.

“Yep, here’s a list. If you agree, then sign it, and we’ll give you a box to put all this stuff in.”

Reese went through the two wallets, then counted the bundles of money. “Looks good to me,” he said, signing the list and handing it to the captain.