Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  “You’re making ME sick now!” Judi shot back. “Have you got a clue yet?”

  “Lots of them. Trouble is, they tend to point in several directions.

  “Judi, I screwed up when I brought you into this. This Al character is pissing in his pants – and a scared thug is damned dangerous. He could think you know too much. Like an idiot, I had you call Marko with him sitting there. I’m NOT that damned STUPID!

  “Usually.

  “Why don’t you visit your sick aunt somewhere?”

  She stared at him a minute. “How about this Puerto Armuelles you keep talking about?”

  “That should do.” He looked grim.

  Clint watched the people get off the Aeroperlas flight. “Manny” and his wife, Sylvia, came out on the tarmack with Sharon and Bill from Bohmfalk’s. Judi was right about how different he looked. If he hadn’t seen him earlier with the new look he wouldn’t have recognized him. He waited until he was through the customs crap and picked him up in the Jeep to head for the apartment he’d booked for them out near the cemetery. It was quiet there, reasonably comfortable and the kind of place people on a medium budget would take. He saw a gringo who was lazing around the airport entrance check a picture and shake his head, so it would be reported that “Manny” wasn’t Marko. That would put Judi in more trouble, but she had gone to, so far as anyone here knew, Puerto Armuelles. She was actually in Concepcion. She wouldn’t be found there and would change her appearance enough that she would pass for a typical China. There were a lot of Chinese in the area.

  Okay. That was covered.

  Marko explained that Al was really running scared, but he couldn’t find out why. All he knew was that he had made someone a promise that he couldn’t keep because of the time when he came to the aid of Clint’s Indio friend.

  “Manny – I’ll call you Manny all the time so I won’t slip up at the wrong time – it doesn’t make any sense. Is there anything to tie anything else to ... anything?”

  “Not really. Maybe it has something to do with that obsequious snob who was killed awhile ago here in Bocas. Henry Elmore.”

  “Well, that’s a place to start, I suppose,” Clint replied, sourly. “I’m running around in circles with this mess. None of it makes any sense.”

  “Sometimes that happens in life. Got to get somewhere I can wrap my leg. Airplanes make my left leg swell if I’m on one long enough. It’s just a kind of sometimes thing, too.”

  “I’ll be damned!” Clint exclaimed.

  “What?”

  “Friend Hank Elmore. A sometimes thing. Not connected, really, but someone used the expression.

  “Manny, find out about that guy who killed him. Name was Eduardo Guerra. That has to be behind it and we never did learn who he was working for. He did a hard clam and there was no lever, seeing he confessed.”

  Marko nodded.

  “Eduardo Guerra is Elvis Guilernos from Medelin,” Marko announced. “He used to work some with the Compton bunch from Atlanta. Born in Cuba in nineteen seventy seven. Went to the states, Miami, from eighty seven ‘til ninety four, to Atlanta for the Compton thing until ninety nine when the Compton cruds ceased to be a problem to anybody. Tried to get into the Doniletti or Greco group, but they didn’t want anything to do with his type. They’re going straight pretty much. Went to SanFran early two thousand but nobody wanted him there, either. Went to LA in late two thousand and got in with the Bernardino bunch oh oh one. Got in deep shit with them and went with the Rodriguez Cosa Nostra thing in oh oh four, then disappeared. Been in Mexico City since, but that’s iffy. Gloria Bocci had the word out about him.

  “Tell you anything?”

  “What kind of shit with Bernardino?”

  “Checking. I’ll have a call about that in an hour or so.”

  “Thanks, Manny. I still don’t have a clue, but that Mexico City bit might tell me something important. The MexMaf were behind the attempt to kill Ronaldo – with some input from the Colombian mob.”

  “Luck!” Marko said and hung up.

  “I hope like holy hell it’s no more than them!” Clint mumbled. He went out on the porch of the hotel and looked around the bunch on the corner. There were two new ones that he hadn’t seen there before. The few who hung there were almost always the same. These were studiously not looking at him while the others waved when they looked up to see him.

  Were they just watching or did they have other orders?

  He would wait until after dark to stroll toward Calle 6ta where there wouldn’t be many around – except for a couple of friends who lived there.

  Clint left the hotel and went to the right on Avenida E toward 6ta. He noted one of the two strolling casually along half a block behind. He began closing faster as Clint got to 6ta and turned left. If the timing was right he would catch up just about Avenida C. From C toward B was dark and deserted.

  Good timing. The hood caught up to him just past C and drew a pistol from the belt holster in the center of his back. Clint grinned and said, “You gonna use it or just threaten?”

  “You tell me where Marko is and I don’t havta use it.”

  “Oh? Then where will you find anyone who knows where Marko is? That’s assuming I don’t know within one meter where he is right now!”

  “Yeah? Where is that?” he snarled (he didn’t seem able to speak in any other way).

  “One meter behind your left ear, hijo de puta!” Will Verano, a friend of Clint’s who looked a lot like Marko used to, said. “The three fifty seven is only ten centimeters behind your left ear. Give the piece to Clint VERY slowly and carefully!”

  “Guhnnnnn!“ He replied and slowly reached the pistol out to Clint, who took it and dropped it in his pocket, then he searched the hood to find a little .25 on one leg and a knife in a sheath on the other. Clint took both weapons, then said to deliver a message to his boss: “If any of you mess with any of my friends here I’ll see the roots pulled. Get out of Panamá and stay out.

  “No doubt you’ll be in Panamá City, but stay there or in Colón where your type belong! Capich?”

  “You don’t know who you’re foolin’ with!” he cried. “You can’t tell them what to do! I guarantee! You don’t know what’s going on!”

  “Really? Tell Mikail I know a lot more than any of you could guess. People here LIKE me – and they do NOT like you!” Clint replied icily. “Maybe you can intimidate them for a little while, but you can’t fight a few thousand of them. That’s what it’s coming to if you don’t wise up! Keep your shit among yourselves. Do NOT mess with another Indio or other friend of mine. No mas! I can get an army down here to wipe the bunch of you out!

  “The ‘phony papers and kill the Indio for property’ is gonna stop or, so help me god, there’s going to be a war!”

  “Uh, Mikail? Who’s Mikail?” he whined.

  “If you actually didn’t know you wouldn’t ask. I’ll get a couple hundred guys here and we’ll put an end to this crap!” Will said, matching the snarl from the punk earlier. “The Ruskie Mafia hoods are crazy, but they ain’t stupid – I hope. If I gotta, I gotta.”

  Clint saw the other hood on the corner watching. He was far enough away that he couldn’t say definitely Will WASN’T Marko and this one wasn’t going to get a close look. Will would stay behind him.

  “Git!” he ordered. “Don’t look back.”

  The punk bolted.

  “I’ve got to call Manny,” Clint said to Will. “It won’t take them an hour to learn you aren’t Marko, but they can never be quite sure. I know what this is about. It’s not over.”

  “Yo, Manny! I think I have an idea what’s going on,” Clint greeted. “It’s still about the land. They have the phony papers ready and don’t have enough sense to see that scheme’s already failed. I’m calling from a pay phone in Almirante. I know damned well they can listen in on anything on my cell or home phone.”

  “That Mexican thing? No way!”

  “If it was the Mexican thing, I’d agree. It’s gon
e way east.

  “Remember when you said there was one group you wouldn’t get involved with?”

  There was a few seconds of silence, then, “Oh, shit! No shit?”

  “Not a smell – if I’m right.”

  “You backed them off before with a threat of the UN or something? Can you stop this from what it will ... wait a minute! They’re looking for me? Now I’m really confused. Why? Who would know I had any connection. Why do they want that particular piece of land so much?”

  “Mar ... Manny, there’s something really screwed up about that land. I can’t figure it. I’d say Elmore probably pegged it as you buying or backing the buy so they figured what that was about. If ‘Manny’ ends up dead, regardless of who he is or who he works for, they can use the phony papers and get the place. It’s in your name. That’s all still there. Elmore knew too much and tended to run his mouth so they eliminated the possibility of that becoming a problem.

  “Manny, there has to be something somewhere on that land – and it has to be worth more than a couple of mil. If even the Ruskie bunch would go after you it’s damned big!”

  “Something I heard about three years ago might just fit!” Marko cried. “How about maybe two hundred mil in cash?

  “See, the Ruskie mob was moving something more than that from the Colombian cartels for washing – which is why they started it! Mexico, Colombia and the Ruskies! It’s gotta be true!

  “Okay, let me check. I’ll get back. You threatened them with the UN so be seen talking to someone from there or forget a letter on a table or whatever. Make them think you’re actually going to get someone from the UN or World Court to check on what’s going on. I got an idea. An hour, max!”

  He hung up after a minute. Clint got a smug look on his face and used his cell phone to call Judi. He was sure they would be listening to both. He said he wasn’t using his home phone because it was probably tapped and she knew about that stuff.

  They’d discussed how easy it was to intercept cell phone calls. That would, he hoped, warn her to be careful what she said. He told her he’d just gotten in touch with a General Downlerner at the UN, who got him in touch with a Director K’both of the world court. If there was one little thing more to make her, Manny or himself suspicious that it was about the San Cristóbal land – and it would have to be – the two organizations were going to send in special teams to investigate. It might still be a good idea to stay wherever she was.

  “Hmm? Got you! So Manny and Sylvia bought a big headache?” She wasn’t slow! She knew this was a ruse to make them back off.

  “I wish I knew what’s so important about that place,” Clint complained. “It’s the Ruskies more than anyone else. Everyone knows they’re crazy. If they decided it would be a good drop-off spot they would go after it until hell froze over. It doesn’t have to make sense if they’re involved!”

  That would, hopefully, satisfy them. They wanted the reputation for being crazy. It made things easier for them if people were especially afraid of them.

  “Okay!” Marko greeted. “I’m going to Cristóbal in about an hour. I’m taking an army with me and we’re going over that land inch by inch. You’ve been there. You know that little quebrada that runs through the big black rocks about halfway up the mountain?

  “That’s a landmark. You saw how that creek and those rocks were included on the plano? That’s because the plano was being used as a map. Your friend sent the original set to the lawyer and the surveyors used them to measure for the new plano when he got the title.

  “Can you get your hands on that original?”

  “I suppose. Rolando’s in David. He’ll put them on Aeroperlas for me. I can pick them up, but not before tomorrow ... there’s time for him to get them on the four o’clock from David to Panamá where they can be sent on the six o’clock to Bocas. Put off your little search party until early in the AM tomorrow and we’ll have them to work from.”

  “You got it!”

  Clint called Rolando, who said he would send the plano and legal descriptions because parts of them didn’t make any sense, so that could be the code for the map. Rolando wasn’t slow, either.

  “Clint! Welcome to our little Bocas watering hole!” Sharon greeted as he came over the pallet laid in the ditch in front of Bohmfalk’s while the road was paved. “We met Manny and Sylvia on the plane from Panamá. They seem nice.”

  “They’re planning to build a place on Cristóbal,” Clint agreed. “Nice enough – for gringos.

  “Salutations and all that rot, Bill.”

  “Yo, Clint!” Bill returned. “I could swear I saw Manny somewhere before. Maybe in my bar in Key West or when he was younger in Nola.”

  “Bill,” Clint warned seriously. “You never saw Manny anywhere under any circumstances, Okay?”

  Bill is anything but slow. He nodded and looked serious, then nodded again. He looked up and cried, “Chris! Need a confab about some of that shrimp you get in David!” and waved at Clint. Sharon looked a question at him. He nodded the least bit.

  “Wendy! Clint will want an Abuelo and coke – unless you’re working?” Sharon called. Wendy gave her a thumbs up, she patted Clint on the shoulder and he said he wasn’t working at the moment. She smiled and went to greet Chrisy and Lynne, another couple of the “regulars” at Bohmfalk’s. Most gringos spent some time there.

  Clint wandered around greeting people a bit. Nancy and Mike – a hell of a good singer/guitarist – came in and went to the group at the little table near the porch corner. The only others at the time were a couple of backpackers at another porch table using the free internet and a lone man standing at the rail with an Atlas beer in his hand watching the people pass. Several of the Indios working at the new construction beside the water taxi saw Clint and called greetings. A couple of gringos, new to the place, came along the road and across the pallet. The man at the rail casually glanced at them and nodded. As soon as they passed he took a picture from his pocket for a quick look, then lazed back against the rail.

  Clint finished the rum and coke, waved at Sharon and Bill and went to Bongos to ask Marko, who had gotten a picture on the phone of the one on the porch, if he rang a bell.

  “No. Santos will check on him. Got the plano. It’s a map of some kind, alright. Gonna go over to lay out where we want the guest house. Probably near those rocks because the quebrado is sorta pretty.”

  Clint nodded. Dave, the author/character he’d met, first at the Big Bamboo, then at The Plank, came from the water taxi carrying a guitar and laptop computer, saw him and waved. He went over to ask if the invitation to stay at his apartment was still open.

  “Got yourself into some shit, I hear. Go for it! I can use some excitement right about now! Ruskies really gonna have a war here?”

  “Not exactly here,” Clint answered. Manny waved and got into Maxie’s boat with four Indios with surveying equipment. They pulled out from the dock and Dave said, “Isla San Cristóbal. Again. Surveying crap where there’s not a thing to survey anymore. Ruskies. A couple where the man uses a few terms Normal Joe doesn’t use. Someone tried to kill an Indio for that land. One hell of a book, huh?”

  “You figure things a lot too close. This is deadly serious, Dave. That’s not just an expression.”

  Dave smirked. “What the hell! I’m seventy and have had a great life, no real regrets. I don’t exactly have a reputation for avoiding confrontation. I know when to be deaf, mute, blind and stupid.”

  “The best one to be here is that last one.”

  Dave grinned and nodded. “Duh! Chew’ngum!”

  Clint went into the Refugio where Manny and Sylvia were enjoying some of the famous Mahi-Mahi. He greeted them and was invited to join them.

  “Clint! The surveyors found a huge box of MONEY on our land!” Sylvia cried. “We’ll have to get a big CRANE in there to even MOVE it!”

  This was for public consumption, of course.

  “Money?” Clint asked. “You mean cash?”

 
“Yeah, money.” Marko answered. “There’s at least a hundred fifty million dollars in hundred dollar bills in a big steel box. We thought it had to be phony, but the bank says all the ones we had tested are good. A lot of them are old. I would say that it’s got to be drug money or something, so we won’t get any of it.”

  “It’s on your land, you got it honestly enough if you just found it there so they have to show that it’s not just money some eccentric dead billionaire hid there, particularly if it’s been there for awhile,” Clint suggested. “Tell them you’ll split down the middle to take care of taxes or whatever and they’ll grab the deal.”

  “I already told them I don’t want what has to be dirty money of some kind,” Marko replied. Clint almost laughed at the “innocent” look on his face. The man from the porch at Bohmfalk’s was around the potted palm and dropped his drink .“I said it would be nice to get what I have in the place back, like a sort of gift. The T-man from the states jumped on it, but the Panamanian government guy said they had nothing to do with it. We got a deal – made an arrangement where I get one million dollars and the rest goes into the preservation and reforestation fund or something. Royally pissed the T-man off, but he can kiss my ass. Like the Panamá guy said, it ain – isn’t any of his concern if he can’t show something says it is. Just because it’s US dollars don’t hold no – any weight here. Panamá uses the dollar.”

  Clint grinned and called, “Cath! A Balboa, por favor!”

  “Who’s the clown watching us on the porch?” Clint asked (pointing to the palm) as Dave and Paul, a well-known musician, came in with guitars. They waved and Dave came to say Manny was an idiot to not take all that money they found on Cristóbal and make the government negotiate for a percent.

  “We already did,” Manny replied. “I got enough to pay for my crap there. The rest of it goes into the conservation bit.”

  Dave grinned and nodded. “That leaves it easy for them to steal most of it. Really more than ten million bucks cash?”