by Moulton, CD
For instance, gringos took for granted that the Indio woman was subservient to the male because the man always walked a pace or two in front. Clint had learned that was because in these forests and mountains the man would come upon danger before the woman and could protect her. The women were subservient in some things and dominant in others. It was a system that worked well and that ended up, all things considered, very even.
The woman could be “divorced” in their culture very easily, but the man who divorced one was usually interested in another. The children came with the mother, so he would end up responsible for another man’s children while another man would end up responsible for his. That kept the “divorce” rate at far less than the states! The Indios are open sexually, not considering anything that adults wanted to do “wrong” or odd. That didn’t hold with small children. They agreed with Clint in that anything adults did together was good and fine, but anyone who molested a child should get a bullet between the eyes. There was very little problem with pederasts anywhere in Panamá. A man caught molesting a little girl on Bastimentos just a year ago had committed suicide. He hung himself – with his hands tied behind his back.
Of course, a child was only a child until the age of about twelve or thirteen. Most were well-versed in sexual matters by fourteen at the latest. They knew about sex and, quite frankly, liked it.
They went to a little stream to bathe. The water was ice cold, but clear and pure. The soap was from an agave-type of plant that grew there. The Indios are an exceptionally clean people.
The sexual customs brought about a bit of curiosity in Clint as it got darker and time to go to bed. Roberto had one small pallet for a bed.
Clint grinned to himself and they went to bed. Roberto wrapped around him and put the blanket over them and they slept. Nothing more.
In the morning Clint asked, “Do you always sleep like that with other guys?”
“Like what?” Roberto asked.
“All around each other. Don’t get me wrong, it was actually very pleasant – and I didn’t think it would be.”
“Well, yes. It gets cold up here and being close is warm.”
“Well, that’s true – but don’t you end up screwing each other?”
“Sometimes,” he answered matter-of-factly with a smile. “Oh! I see. Your silly taboos. You do it, but never admit it. We do it and think it’s natural. We aren’t gay because we like to do things that are pleasant. I don’t look for it, but won’t refuse it sometimes. It is, as you said, pleasant. Why should not friends give pleasure to each other?”
“There’s no reason in the world why not,” Clint agreed and hugged him. “It doesn’t appeal to me, but I don’t think I’d find it unpleasant. As you say, why shouldn’t you offer your friends a little pleasure?
“I’m not offering anything. I DO still have those taboos.”
Roberto laughed and put some water on the wood stove for coffee that he raised just a little down the mountain. It was part of the living he made. He also had cacao, so put a few beans in the coffee grounds. It was delicious. He also made an omelet with the eggs from the chickens all around the place (a rooster has awakened them) and the vegetables that grew everywhere. They spent the day roaming around the mountain seeing things Clint had never seen and stopping to talk with the few other people they saw. They were frankly curious about Clint and asked what he did. They thought detectives were like on the TV and that Clint had a very glamorous and exciting dangerous life.
The night was much like the one before. Clint didn’t wonder and would have probably gone along with almost anything, but it didn’t come up. In the morning Clint wondered about it. What if...?
He couldn’t honestly say. The idea wasn’t repulsive to him like to some. He was close friends with several gay whites and knew the Indios thought nothing of it.
Why was he even considering it? Because he was so used to having a woman sleeping with him and there were none here?
Stupid! It had been only three nights and the wondering started the second. He was more and more preoccupied with sex, but that also seemed the norm here. He’d lost a lot of his inhibitions and his ideas had changed radically. He would never have paraded around nude in the states like he did almost every morning in Bocas.
One thing was certain about the last couple of nights that may have had something to do with how he was feeling: the Indios have no body hair and their skin is like satin. He’d noticed that with a couple of Indio girlfriends. The men’s skin was as soft and smooth. He thought a lot about what was and what had been important in his life before he came here. A hell of a lot had changed there. He had been average-greedy in the states, but wasn’t the least greedy here. All those “things” he chased after were too stupid and silly to even think about here. Particularly here.
He had busted his ass for money, had cut moral and ethical corners for it – for what? Money was as much as useless in the mountains. These people would automatically share everything they had. They weren’t after a bunch of things that were “better” than their neighbors’ property. They didn’t even think about ownership in that sense. Land was “owned” to the extent that it was considered yours if you farmed and maintained it. They shared most things. They didn’t get into the “keep up with the Jones’ concept until they were in the cities and never really understood anything except that’s what the gringos do.
Clint didn’t want to ever go back to the rat race of the states, to the greeds and emptiness of the lifestyles there.
He had awakened a few minutes before Roberto. When Roberto woke up and said, “Co da coin metare!” he laid there and held him for a few minutes just for the closeness and warmth. They got up and had another great breakfast, then headed down the mountain. Clint would go back to Bocas and Roberto would stay out here for a few days, then go to David where Clint met him for what few supplies he needed.
There was a small ache inside when Clint got on the bus. He came very close to getting off again and going to live with Roberto on the mountain. He had no doubt he would be welcomed.
What if he did? He had reverted to his primitive self there and liked what he actually was. Roberto would have a woman there tonight, no doubt. If Clint went back he would have to get his own women.
People stared when he cried, “Thank you, God that I don’t believe in, for making this perfect paradise for these perfect people!”
He actually felt exactly that. This was paradise and these people belonged here. He could only hope he would fit half as well. The real values in life were here, not in some condo in Florida. THAT was the self-delusion.
Well, it fit a certain type. A type he didn’t want to ever be among again.
When he got back to Bocas the paradise and perfect people stayed on the mountain. What he found was the very people he hoped he’d left behind in the states. They were staying in a leased fancy house on Isla Carenaro.
Well, one wasn’t. Anymore. She was dead. She wasn’t staying anywhere with or without the phony values.
*Translated from Spanish – CD
“Sheila Forbes, nineteen, from Bentonville, Ohio, been here six days with this group,” Ernesto reported. Ernesto was with the Bocas Police and a good friend of Clint’s. “There are twelve people in all here. There is a maid and cook who comes during the day except Sunday. Maria. Samy Lorenzo is yard man twice a week and runs their boat for them. The bay craft. The yacht has its own crew. All of the crew are in Colón while the yacht is cleaned and refitted or whatever. Been there three days.
“It’s a mixed crowd. Sheila was a guest and wasn’t wealthy while her host is Kathi Crossman, heiress and multi-millionairess. Kathi’s husband is Mark Crossman of the Crossman-Devereaux Development Corporation in Orlando, Florida, Houston, Texas, and Bentonville, Ohio. Mid-thirties. They live about a third of their time in each of those places.
“Emile Devereaux and his wife, Florence, mid-thirties, are from Versailles, France, and are living in Orlando now. His brother is Liam De
vereaux, eighteen. His girlfriend is Verity Knowles, nineteen, from Modesta, California. Another case of a poor girl with wealthy sponsors.
“Martha Sommers and Gilda Bonarte are from Houston and are, I think, lovers. They’re mid-twenties.
“Hamilton Williams, twenty two, is from Tampa, Florida. Mid-wealthy. What you call comfortable.
“Bernard Fowler, twenty six, is from Atlanta, Georgia. Girlfriend is Rita Prentis, twenty, from same.
“She was both poisoned and stabbed for some reason. Either would have been fatal. All we know is that there is some kind of trouble with the business. The older ones want to make a bunch of cheap houses here. The brother, Liam, is dead-set against it as are Martha Sommers and Gilda Bonarte. Hamilton is for making a fast buck any way you can as are Verity Knowles and Bernard Fowler. Rita Prentis is an airhead who doesn’t even consider anything except who can buy her the best presents.
“Clint, I do NOT like these people and would do all I can to keep them out if I didn’t know from long sad experience that those of the same kind here will chew them up and spit them out. I’d bet they’ll go home within four months much less wealthy than they are now.”
“What was the victim’s reaction to the cheap tract house idea?” Clint asked.
“That, I don’t know.”
Clint nodded, thanked him and went toward the fancy little swimming pool patio where the various people were hanging around with various drinks. Samy was acting as bartender. Clint rolled his eyes at him and he hid a smirk.
“Greetings all, I’m Clint Faraday, working with the police on the murder here,” he announced. “Please don’t play stupid games with me. I don’t have the time for it. We’ll try to get this over with as quickly as we can.”
“Who in hell put you in charge?” an older (for that group) man asked acidly. “I’ll give you a boot out of my house if you pull that tough-guy act with me! Got it?”
“I think you’d be smart to understand where you are,” Clint said sweetly. “Your money doesn’t mean shit here – particularly with me. I am NOT impressed with some self-important egomaniacal asshole. Got it?”
“You! The copper there! Toss this bum out of my house! Now!” he ordered.
“It’s not your house, it’s rented,” Clint replied. “Two more words from you and you’ll learn a bit about the law here. This ain’t Florida.”
“I gave you an order!” he snarled to the policeman, Sergio Generoso, close friend of Clint’s. Sergio spoke English.
“Who in hell put you in charge?” Sergio asked. “Mr. Faraday represents the criminal investigation department here when requested. It was requested. HE gives me orders. NOT you!”
“I’ll have your badge!” the man yelled.
“Now, Mark! These types have their job. It will go easier if you will simply cooperate, distasteful as that may be.”
“When hell freezes over!” Mark almost screamed. “Do you ... people ... know who I am?!”
“You’re an ugly American jerk,” a dark younger man said. “Isn’t it bad enough that Sheel’s dead? Do you have to always be such a pusillanimous bastard?”
“You shut the hell up, Liam!” Mark yelled. “God! How did I ever get into this mess? You people get out of here. I can investigate a lot better than you, anyway. Back in Houston they’ve learned to listen to me. Back in Florida too! Cops have a little intelligence there.”
“I see. They cater to the idiot rich guy because he can buy off the crooked politicians and cops,” Clint said. “This is Panamá, in case you haven’t noticed. It isn’t Florida or Houston.
“I’ll want to know where each of you were since noon yesterday and who with.”
“Maybe somebody else will answer to you, but I won’t!” Mark snarled.
“This is Panamá and you’re considered guilty until proven innocent here,” Clint continued as though he hadn’t heard that last. “Sergio, arrest Mr. Crossman and take him to holding and processing. I’ll get there as soon as I finish here if it’s today or tomorrow morning if I’m not through by, say, five.
“Anyone else got an act like this one? You can join him. You WILL join him if there’s anymore crap out of you.”
“I’ll be out in ten minutes! What’s the bail?” Mark said a bit shakily if as loud.
“There’s no bail until the corregidor sets it and he’s in Changuinola today and tomorrow so you will NOT be out in any ten minutes,” Sergio told him. “With your attitude you’ll be lucky to be out in ten days. I’d like to see you pull this act with a judge! Ten YEARS at least!”
“I demand to see the American consulate!” Mark yelled, now VERY shakily.
“You can call him when the corregidor sets terms,” Sergio confided. “Maybe one of these will call them for you, but they can’t interfere in a murder investigation.” He pulled out his handcuffs and snapped them on one wrist of Mark, who was uncertain of whether to take a swing at him. He did refuse to offer the other hand so Sergio took out his billy club and said to put his wrist out, conscious or unconscious. It was the same to him. He slowly offered the other wrist as Ernesto came in to ask what all the shouting was about.
*Translated from Spanish – CD
“This one thinks he’s important,” Sergio explained. “Typical bigshot gringo. Clint took all he could of him. Now he goes in for processing and interrogation. Intensive.”
“Oh. Okay,” Ernesto replied. “Just him?”
“So far,” Sergio answered. Ernesto waved a hand and went back out.
The others mostly seemed amused by this act. Liam laughed and said he would be glad to translate the Spanish to the others who didn’t speak it.
“Liam, we speak English. If they want any information from us it will be proffered in English or it won’t be answered,” Kathi sniffed. “It is insufferable to treat Mark that way! He’s under the greatest pressure running the companies the rest of you seem to be so determined to bankrupt! I never!”
“You want to join your husband?” Clint asked. “Do NOT pull this act with me or you WILL sit in a cell until the corregidor gets back at the earliest. You’d better understand that!
“Now! I’ll want to know....”
“Act? What act?” she demanded. “I will not be treated in this manner!”
“One more word and you join your husband!” Clint warned. She glared and shut up.
“You’ll have most of us in the pen shortly,” Liam said. “They don’t know how to act in any situation where they can’t control every little thing.
“I was with a girl called Angela at noon yesterday. We had a snack at the Golden Grill, then went to Drago until about six, then went to The Reef for dinner, then to the Barco Hundido for awhile, then to her place for an hour or so, then I came home about two thirty or so to find the police here.
“I don’t know Angela’s last name. She lives about two blocks this way from the Golden Grill and maybe a block north. I can take you there.”
“Thanks,” Clint said. “We’ll check it out and you’re probably home free. Nobody would be stupid enough to lie about something so easy to check.”
“I’m Gilda Bonarte and she’s Martha Sommers. We were together all afternoon and came back at six, dressed, and went to the Lemon Grass for Thai food. We came home about eleven and found her in the foyer.”
“I see. You left for the Lemon Grass at?”
“Just before seven” Martha answered. “We got there for reservations about five til.”
“Thank you. Did you speak to Sheila when you came back to dress?”
“Well, she was out here with her daquiri and we may have said hello or something. I couldn’t say. It’s not the kind of thing you remember when you’re in and out all the time. We just came through here on the way to our room.”
“I asked her if Hamilton was about,” Gilda said. “She said he’d gone to the marina with some girl he met.”
“Yes, he was there,” another put in. “I’m Bernie Fowler. I was there with Rita here until about t
enish. We came back together. Him and Laura Hunt from Bastimentos.”
“The food is really good there!” Rita cried. “I had shrimp camarones or whatever in garlic. It makes you smell, but I love it. Do you ever eat there?”
Bernie looked like he could kill her. Clint replied, “Sometimes,” and hid a little laugh behind a cough. He thought of Roberto’s “Sometimes.”
“I’m Hamilton Williams,” another said. “They sort of answered for me.”
“I’m Verity Knowles,” the other younger woman stated. “I don’t really have any alibi because I was with a man I met by the Parque yesterday. We went on a little boat to across from what he called Playa something-or-other where there’s that big hotel. We didn’t go to the hotel and only talked to one other person on the beach there.
“Oh, yes! That man called him Carlos!”
“You didn’t know his name?” Clint asked.
“I just called him ‘Spike’ because he looks like his name should be something like that.”
“That leaves you two, who will be the Emile and Florence Devereaux.”
“We’re no part of this sordidity!” Florence replied regally. “We are NOT the kind of people who get involved in MURDERS!”
“Guess what, Ma! You ARE,” Liam said.
“You answer for yourself, not us,” Emile ordered. “We’re quite capable of handling this situation.”
“Yeah! You’ll handle it exactly like Mark did and end up exactly where Mark is!” Liam replied. “Might even learn that not everyone is impressed with all your money and power.”
“Some of the old families here could buy and sell the bunch of us for pocket change,” Hamilton said. “I’ve met some of them. I rather imagine Mr. Faraday knows a few.”
“A few,” Clint agreed. “I could introduce you to two in the jail in Panamá City. They found out how impressed the general population here in Panamá is with all that crap. They are NOT impressed.
“Mr. Devereaux, am I to take it you refuse to answer questions?”
“That’s my right!” he snapped.
“In the USA,” Liam warned. “As Mark discovered, the law isn’t the same here. All you’ll do is end up in a cell with him.”
