by Moulton, CD
Clint turned back to the two and innocently asked, “Gringos o de Europa?”
“Uh, we speak English and the lady speaks Italian. Her Spanish isn’t good yet. I’m Juan, from Medelin, and she’s Fiona, from Vespa, Italia.”
“Clint,” Clint replied. “I’m from the US, Florida, but don’t care to ever go back. This is my home now.
“Here for long or plan to stay?”
“We’re both residents staying in Panamá City,” she answered. “We’re investors. A friend lives somewhere near here – I suppose you’ve heard of him. Marko Boccini – and we hoped to see him. He’s very hard to find because he came here to escape the business in California.”
Juan was staring at her in shock almost. He looked like he’d totally enjoy strangling her.
“So you would know who I am,” Clint said easily. “He’s somewhere in the Med. His only interest here is a little investment over on the Pacific side with some of the local people. He’s actually a decent person who wants out of how his pop made his.”
“He has an investment in the Pacific coast?” she asked, eyes as hard as steel. “Where?”
“Uh, we have a large tract on the Pacific just out of Barqueta,” Juan said, still staring at her in disbelief. Clint knew of some of the large tracts for sale or recently sold there, which was why he mentioned the place. He’d heard a lot of mafia-types were trying to get a foothold in that area.
“Then you’re probably neighbors! They bought something like two thousand hectares close. I’ve never seen it. I like the Caribbean side. He also bought a little finca just out of Alanje. Now THAT is a place I could like! He says he wants to bring some of the family from Sicily down here for retirement.
“Well! There goes Ben! Have a good stay here. Ciao!”
He waved at Ben, who was going by with a boyfriend and went out. As soon as he was out of sight of The Plank he called Marko to say, “They’re into the Barqueta bit. Probably want to establish casinos and such. I told them you had invested there. Two thousand hectares. Juan couldn’t believe how she kept on running her mouth. I wish I could have sent you the pictures of HIS face while she blabbed on about wanting to meet dear old friend, you!
“I told her it would be easier on the Pacific side, seeing you were neighbors there.
“Oh! You bought a little finca in Alanje to bring some cousins from Sicily to retire in peace. Or something.”
“Hmm. Okay. I can handle that. Might want you to run over there for me in a day or two. It IS a good place for investment – so long as you don’t tell the whole story.”
“Yeah,” Clint replied drily. “Such as the undertow that kills a bunch of people every year. Just show pictures of the FANTASTIC miles of PRISTINE beaches! Black sand, yet. Sixteen foot tides.
“What you got planned?”
“I might actually invest. That part is already past saving to any extent so I’ll get a patch and save it. Don’t do no good to have umpty million dollars if you don’t do anything with it.”
They chatted a few minutes more, then Clint went to Bohmfalk’s to chat with the people he knew before going home.
“Clint? Do me a favor?” Marko greeted.
“Sure! Whatever you want – short of the things you’d know better.”
Marko laughed. “Seems this Marko character and a few friends have a little vacation spot where they want to build a big hotel and casinos in maybe fifty, a hunnert years. Little two thousand four hunnert hectares. Seeing as you’re the first vice president of the sorta transparent S. A. and own thirty percent you can sign the papers and all that crap because this Marko hood is in the Med on his private little island and don’t wanta come to no crud place like Panamá just for normal business, see?”
“I own thirty percent?” Clint asked.
“Hey! You got me into this! You gotta take a little what you call responsibility for THAT!”
“Cripes! How much did that cost you?”
“Real good deal. Twenny five hunnert a hectare. Paid cash. Six mil,” Marko said, laughing. “I got geetus up the ass! Shit ain’t worth shit you don’t do somethin’ with it, y’know? Use a mil to make ten mil, which you use to make a hundred mil. Business. Just don’t never ask what it’s for or you get what you call migraines.
“Ah, here comes my bimbo! Sexy as hell! Don’t she know that stuff has to wait for business? Huh?
“Think about it, I’m damned glad she don’t! Ciao!”
Clint shook his head and sighed. Great!
Clint walked along the wide beach. It was more than a hundred meters wide at low tide, and maybe ten at high. The rocky point ahead where the mountain met the sea was picturesque, in a way. The land was flat on the eastern end and mountainous on the western. There were some lazy cows munching the place where the rice had been harvested. Marko would let that grow back to the normal scrub of the area. He had walked along the beach bordering the land the syndicate had bought. It was mostly rocky and covered with the low scrub. Marko’s part had more clean rich soil and was flatter. They would play holy hell building much on this part.
He’d signed the legal papers and was doing an inspection. He had his camera and would get everything he could, though there wasn’t much to be seen before the start of the mountains.
He climbed to the point to take some pictures that were more like the brochures. The view over the sea was like a painting. It was a great place for a seaview house, though the winds would be pretty fierce a couple of weeks of the year.
He saw three people walking towards him from the Juan-Fiona property, so went down to meet them and another man they introduced as their local lawyer, Edwardo Listor Jimenez.
“We understand Marko bought this plot,” Fiona said a bit sarcastically. “We had planned to buy it for the extension of the place. Seems he beat us to it.”
“C’est la vie,” Clint replied.
“We too,” the lawyer said. “It is why we’re here.”
“What the hell is that...!” Clint exclaimed, then, “Oh. Spanish. ‘Se la vie’ means ‘I saw it.’ Never mind. Marko wants to preserve this stretch. Maybe his grandkids will do something with it.”
“We can’t have that!” Fiona snapped. “We will buy it from him! We need this part!”
“It’s not for sale,” Clint replied off-handedly. “It’s too pretty a spot up there (pointing to the point) for some gaudy tourist trap hotel and casino.”
“We want that property and we WILL have it!” she replied haughtily. “We get what we want!”
“You’re going to have a bit of a surprise this time,” Clint replied conversationally. “I really don’t think you’re going to intimidate Marko with this crap.”
“If you fell off that cliff they would never find your body!” she snarled. “Think about that! This isn’t the US, it’s Panamá! WE are in charge here.”
“Well, you’re unbelievably stupid here, at least. What would you gain by offing me? Can’t you think at all? That would tend to anger Marko, wouldn’t you say?”
“It would send him a message! We don’t play silly games with your types!”
“Is she always like this?” Clint asked Juan. “Your socalled lawyer stands there and listens to it? Is that wise?”
“What?” the lawyer asked. “I’m here to look over the land and recommend a reasonable price. No more.”
“Well, I’ve had Marko on the cel phone since you came. You can make your threats directly to him. Here.”
He took the phone from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. She threw back her head and took the phone, listened for a minute, then shakily handed it back to Clint. He said, “Yo, Marko?” into the receiver.
“There are four men standing on the hill and four more between that bunch and their land. If they so much as give you a hard glance they will end up falling off the cliff. Talk to you later.”
Clint smiled pleasantly at the three and said, “You were leaving.”
They left.
Clint went back to
David and caught the bus for Bocas.
“Well, Clint! Como esta?” Judi greeted. “There were a couple of people I never saw before at your place last night. They came in a boat. I called Manny and he said they were there to clean the place up.
“Interesting on the other side?”
“Sorta. Seems I’m a thirty percent owner of six million dollars worth of land on the Pacific. Two thousand four hundred hectares. I might actually build a little place on a point over the water there. It is beautiful – to look at.”
“To look at?” She grinned impishly at him.
“Deadly undertows. Looks like paradise, but there’s a bug in that beer.” He returned the grin. “It seems they neglect to tell people that those big waves coming in on top mean that the water goes back out underneath. It’ll take you out with it. Underneath.”
“Oh my!” She aped shock. “They should TELL people that!”
“Do WHAT?! And not make the SALE?!?!” he cried, outdoing the shocked look.
“I’m going to meet Manny at The Reef for lunch. You’re invited. About twelvish.”
He nodded and waved, then went inside to check the e-mail. Not much new there. He put on the coffee and went to the deck to see it freshly stripped and painted. He shook his head and went back in to turn on the local news on TV.
Standard. Traffic accidents, a suicide in Penonomé, a small riot about wages in Panamá City, a murder in Santiago, an unidentified woman, and some politics. The run-through showed a picture of the dead woman (they love to show dead bodies on TV here). It was Dona Mariana.
“Oh, SHIT!” he cried and called Marko, who didn’t know anything about it. He would check. Ten minutes later Marko called back to say it was a hit that was supposed to look like a robbery. He’d called Vincente, who told him he didn’t know who was behind it. He thought it was probably Marko or the Fiona-bitch. He didn’t seem unduly upset about it until Marko pointed out that meant he was next in line for an accident or something then, seeing he was the only one who knew whatever Dona knew.
“What would be the point of hitting her?” Clint asked. “What would that prove, seeing that bunch is as much as untouchable from anything she might know.”
“I’m getting in touch with the police there. I want to know if there’s anything odd about it. It’s a warning to someone, so they would leave a message.”
Clint went to take a shower and clean up.
“There was a message the police didn’t understand or know about,” Marko (Manny) reported at lunch. “It was stupid beyond belief and typical of what she is. There was a picture of Raymondo’s body on your deck sticking out of her purse.”
“So is the threat to you or me? Me. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to directly threaten you.”
“Y’know what? I think she would. She’s living in some fantasy world where she’s beyond the reach of anyone,” Manny replied sourly. “She’s gotten away with it for years because of the people she’s with, like that Juan clod.”
“They can’t protect her from even the local hoods if they decide she’s becoming too much of a problem – and they haven’t – so what’s going on?”
“Y’got me! Let’s go to the girls and get some lunch.”
The lunch went well. Everyone laughed and had a good time. They were popular with the locals, several of whom joined them for a few minutes. When they stood to leave, Clint looked at Manny and said, “They’re puppets being used to hide something – or someone.”
Manny nodded.
“I think I’m going to take a few days in Panamá City,“ Clint said. “I’d like a little company.”
“We can go in the morning.”
“Not you. You have to keep out of it. You’re in the Med.”
“Okay. I’ve got a guy and a woman who can show them how it’s done. What’s the plan?”
“To find out exactly who’s behind this soap opera. And why. It AIN’T no damned development near Barqueta.”
Again, Manny nodded. “It IS weird though.”
Sandi was a beautiful naive woman and William was the overly-handsome type of typical gigolo a lot of women couldn’t resist. Candi was the third, looked like a dream and was more than qualified for anything. She was very deliberately sexy. To look at.
They were three of Marko’s best friends and best agents. They were in Panamá for the first time, but looked like natives and spoke and acted same. Candi was to be Clint’s “escort” for the trip. She was a bimbo-type of airhead who always said or did something stupid at the most embarrassing time. She was actually “more than average intelligent” and was a black belt Tae-kwon-do instructor. She spoke flawless German, French, Italian, Danish, Spanish, and Portugese. She was also a computer expert.
They booked in at the Hotel California and went to the restaurante for some of the great espageti con camarones (spaghetti with shrimp) they served there and to discuss what they were looking for. Two locals came to sit at the nearest table after about five minutes.
“Oh! Look!” Candi suddenly cried. “I can’t believe how many camiones are in this!”
“Trucks?” William asked.
“Huh?” Candi replied brightly.
“Camarones are shrimp. Camiones are trucks,” Clint explained patiently.
“Oh, yeah. I always get this espaniola all screwed up. I don’t see why they don’t talk English so everyone would understand them. I mean, after all! They want us tourists to bring them our money – or yours, at least – don’t they?” She looked innocently into Clint’s eyes as she said it in a bimbo voice. Clint almost laughed at the “typical airhead” act. He got it that the two were not just a couple of locals who happened to sit at the next table.
“Excuse me,” one of them said. “Didn’t I meet you in Hollywood about a year ago?”
She giggled and put a hand on his arm. “Oh, I’ve never been in California since I was like four years old. Maybe in Orlando? I live there since ... there was someone ... it was Miami! You were on vacation and your wife was in ... oh!”
“Oh, no!” he cried, looking like he’d been slapped. “Er, It wasn’t in Miami and I don’t have a wife.” He was looking for a way out. Obviously, this was just a bimbo along for fun and games.
“Oh, then it was Orlando! I remember, I think! You didn’t want your BOYFRIEND to know where you were!” She looked at his companion, then said, “No. That wasn’t you, er, he was shorter, uh, so I was mistaken about, uh, you, er, y’know.” She looked innocent, then confused, then embarrassed as she went through the spiel. Clint was enjoying it immensely.
“Er, I have to make a phone call. Excuse me,” he said and stood to hastily head for the door. His companion was looking at him like he could kill him. He stood and followed him out.
“How did you know?” Clint asked. “Nobody cares here, but I wouldn’t have spotted them for being gay.”
“The way he was looking at William all along. Both of them. I just gave it a shot.”
“I can get an ID on them and we can find who they’re working for here,” William suggested. “I have some good pictures. Marko can find that in minutes.”
“Not those two. They’ll work for Fiona-bitch,” Clint replied. “Maybe they also do work for someone else. It’s worth a shot. The ones we want won’t be that obvious and won’t speak to us.”
Sandi nodded. “Maybe they won’t speak to YOU, but they’ll go for this ditzy half-brained idiot because she’ll spill everything and not even know what she said or who she said it to.”
Candi gave her the finger and agreed.
They soon went to their rooms, then into the city for a spin or two at the casinos. Clint noticed the man who seemed to be around a bit too much. William nodded, then suggested, “Deliberately obvious to a detective. Not him.”
“No. Her,” Clint said and glanced at the slightly hard-looking woman at the bar. “He’s using some kind of signal. She’s always where he can see her when he takes out his phone to check it. He pushes a key so the light will
be on if anyone’s looking. He’s trying to do it when none of us are watching, but there are a lot of mirrors here. I would never have spotted her except for that.”
William nodded. They played a couple of the poker machines, then a couple hands of blackjack, then William suddenly went to the bar to ask for a pack of cigarettes. He was almost touching the woman. He smiled at her and came back to the table to hand the cigarettes to a woman next to him who had smoked her last one a few minutes before. A typical gigolo action.
“Oh! Mil gracias!” she exclaimed.
“De nada – por una muchacha bellisima.”
(You’re welcome – for a beautiful woman.)
He chatted with her for a minute until Sandi icily said it was time to go. She tossed her head at the woman and glared. William excused them and they went out.
“Marko says she’s Filomena Silvestre, a big deal with the Colombian mob. He’s trying to trace who’s her boss,” William reported. “Listen!”
There were the noises of the blackjack table coming from his phone. A woman was asking the one he’d bought the cigarettes for how long she had known that gorgeous man who was talking to her. She said she’d just met him right there – and wasn’t he the most charming man she’d ever seen! Those handsome men were usually nothing but bums, but he was sophisticated and educated – and so HANDSOME!
“When he came to the bar for your cigarettes I thought I would faint! He smiled, and was so NICE!”
They giggled and she asked where he was staying.
“Wants to know if that one is a plant of some kind,” William said. Clint nodded and replied, “Mike in the cigarette pack?”
“No. Too easy to find. In the lighter on the tray with no flint. They’ll throw it out in the morning.”
“He didn’t say. I think with that woman. His sister, I think. She certainly didn’t want him talking to me!”
“Well, we can go find out who’s behind it now. I’m getting tired!” Clint suggested. William raised an eyebrow.
Back at the hotel they were getting on the elevator when Clint asked Candi to get him a couple beers and bring them to the room. She pouted a bit and said she wanted red wine, so he said she could get some of that for her. She looked a question at him. They were just past the few people sitting in the lobby so he said she could ride up with the beer and whoever would want to see what the bimbo might know. “They’re damned curious as to why I’m here and who you are.”
