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butcher, and can, baby whales.
    But even before we uncovered the whale-in-a-can scheme and his other nefarious dealings, Jan and I took an instant dislike to Ricardo Lujàn. He smarmily told us we could call him Richard, Ricardo, or Rick, but not to call him Dick. So quite naturally we dubbed him Dickless Richard.
    Obviously Dickless and his former partner in crime, Ishikawa, had gotten back in cahoots after the Mag Bay debacle, because for them to be accidently at the same resort when one of them literally lost his head is way too much of a coincidence. Potential whale-canner or not, of the two men, Ishikawa was by far my choice to still be breathing.
    I paced while Jan wiped peanut butter from my computer screen. We were both still speechless from the shock of Dickless's ugly mug—the one now so justly splattered with peanut butter and spit—popping up. Once in awhile, one of us would start to say something, then not do it. We were too tired, and too appalled by this nasty turn of events in an already nastily eventful evening. Finally, Jan stood and declared, "Stick a fork in me, I'm done," as she headed for her cabin.
    Wiping Lujàn's smarmy face from my computer screen, I sent myself an email with all of the photos attached, then deleted them from My Pictures on my laptop.
    My eyes stung with fatigue, and maybe an impending tear or two. I longed for the comfort of a furry rump on my feet, but Po Thang would have to stay put with my friends until after I got a few hours of sleep.
    I popped a couple of PMs to give myself half a chance at sleeping, and called Jenks while I waited for them to kick in. I missed his lovely rump, as well. I envisioned his long lanky frame, slightly graying blonde hair, kind bright blue eyes, and his classic Norwegian features as I waited for my call to travel all those miles to Dubai. He picked up on the first ring, and when I heard his deep voice, a tear did escape my burning eyes.  "Hey, you're up early."
    I made a valiant effort to sound cheerful. "Heck, I've already had breakfast. Jan made it."
    "Ah, Jan's there. That explains why you were out and about and not answering your phone. How's Jan?"
    I liked the way this was going. No reason for Jenks to wonder if we'd been up to no good, because if Jan was with me it was a given, and he usually just didn't want to know details unless he had to post bail.
    "She's going back to the fish camp today. If I had a slip for this boat, I'd go with her, but I'm still on the wait list. I'm actually thinking of taking the boat back up to Santa Rosalia, or maybe down to La Paz. It's starting to warm up in the Sea of Cortez, and before long I'll have to run the air conditioner during the afternoons." And besides, there's this dead guy, and that rat Lujàn is involved, and I'm scared, and tired and….  
    Jenks's voice cut into my pity party. "Is the generator running okay?"
    "Oh, uh, yes. It's just that I hate listening to it. I will, if I have to, but I think I need to maybe move the boat. There's still no electricity at the new small marina here, so no use going there, and I don't have any idea how long it'll be to get into the other marina. Besides, I'm leery of leaving Raymond Johnson here this summer anyway. I don't trust that Med-tie situation at the main marina."
    Putting out an anchor and backing in to tie the back of the boat to a dock—called a Mediterranean tie—is fine in benign conditions, but Puerto Escondido was hit with a major hurricane a few years ago, and even where my boat was now anchored, there were reportedly one-hundred mile an hour winds, and eight-foot waves crashing into the harbor through the '"windows" between the low hills. Several boats sank, and Puerto Escondido's claim to fame as a hurricane hole sank with them.
    "So, you're going to put the boat away and join Jan and Chino on their little treasure hunt?"
    Yes, I find it preferable to being beheaded. "Why not? It's much cooler on the Pacific side of the Baja, they have