Short Straw by Stuart Woods Page B

do hope the occupants of this car were not injured.”
    The captain shrugged. “Only their pride,” he said. “They are police officers, you see.”
    “Ah, any person would be very foolish who would cause an accident to police officers. Having been a policeman, myself, for thirty years, I can understand their displeasure. If you have a description of the two men, I would be happy to keep an eye out for them. Now that our work is done, my friend and I plan to spend a couple of days on the beach.”
    “I’m afraid I do not have a description, other than that they are gringos,” the captain said. He stood up and offered his hand. “But this is not your problem, señor; we are perfectly capable of finding them without your assistance.”
    Cupie stood up and shook the hand. “I am very sure you will do so, captain. Thank you again for your assistance, and I hope that we may meet again on some more pleasant occasion.”
    “Vaya con Dios,” the captain said.
    Cupie strolled back to the car and got in. “I think,” he said, “that I may have gotten the dogs called off. I gave the captain two grand and asked him to end the search for our lady friend.”
    “You think that will work?” Barbara asked from the rear seat.
    “Let’s give the captain an hour to give some orders and then make a run at the airport,” Cupie said. “We’ve still got plan B, Tijuana, in reserve.”
    “I’m hungry,” Barbara said.
    “Do you think you can eat lying down?” Cupie asked.
    “Find me some food, and find me a place where I can eat without being seen,” she commanded.
    “Vittorio?”
    “Let’s look for a taco stand,” Vittorio said.

Twenty-five
    T HE THREE OF THEM SAT ON PINE NEEDLES IN A LITTLE patch of woods off the main road, eating tacos and drinking Dos Equis.
    “I hope this food doesn’t do things to my digestive tract,” Cupie said.
    “It’s cooked,” Vittorio pointed out, “and the beer isn’t going to hurt you.”
    Barbara finished her taco and stood up. “Excuse me, while I locate the powder room,” she said, then vanished into the trees.
    “There’s something I didn’t mention in front of the lady,” Cupie said.
    “Oh, shit.”
    “It’s not necessarily bad. The police captain told me his people are looking for the guys in the Toyota 4Runner; that’s you and me.”
    Vittorio allowed himself to look minutely alarmed. “And how is that not bad?”
    “They don’t have a description of us, just the SUV, and that is now history.”
    “I hope it’s history they don’t bother to check with the rental car people.”
    “So do I, but I think we’re okay. He took the two grand, made it disappear like a sleight-of-hand artist; that should mollify him. I also told him we put Barbara on a private jet out of here early this morning and that she’s halfway to New York by now.”
    “Let’s hope he buys that.”
    “He was disappointed, naturally, not to get the whole five grand.”
    “Not as disappointed as he was not to get her three hundred grand in travelers checks. The natural state of mind of your average Mexican cop is Greedy, with a capital G.”
    “Well, let’s hope he thinks she’s gone.”
    “You know what I’d like to do?” Vittorio said. “I’d like to give her the ten grand back and get the first plane out of here to anywhere.”
    “I don’t think you’d run out on the lady, after making her a promise, but I’d feel better if we were better armed,” Cupie said.
    “I can do something about that,” Vittorio replied.
    “You got a secret weapons cache?”
    “I got a guy in Mexico city who can deliver anything anywhere. What would you like?”
    “A nice twelve-gauge riot gun with an extended magazine would be nice. And a whole lot of double-ought buckshot.”
    Vittorio took out his cell phone, checked for a signal and speed-dialed a number. His conversation was brief and in Spanish. He closed the phone. “An hour from now, at a little cantina south of Puerto Vallarta, not a