by Moulton, CD
“Yeah. In the Top Place on the main street up there.” He pointed to the Via España.
“You then followed him, so you saw this one come in?”
“Yeah. About three quarters of an hour ago.”
“And Ras didn’t leave?”
“Probably through this alley.”
“But it was padlocked ... forget I said that. He could open the lock to put this trap here so he could open it to make his exit. As you said, neat and well-planned.”
“Let me check something. He may still be here. It would be the smart thing to do. He wasn’t stupid, but he is a cokehead, judging by the way he impressed me in the Top Place.”
Vito raised the eyebrow. Clint pointed to the fire escape.
“He came down to ... he didn’t come down here and he didn’t leave through that gate. The watch and rings wouldn’t still be on this one had he done so.”
“No, he went up the fire escape and is probably on the roof. Have a man at every exit here and that building across the alley, though I doubt he’s over there. The rings etc. wouldn’t be here if he’d come into the alley at all.”
Vito nodded and called an officer over to tell her to see that all exits were watched. No one was to leave the building until he said so. Clint went inside and to the fire escape at the end of the second floor hall, then climbed to the roof. Ras was there. Just at the top of the fire escape. His throat had been cut ear-to-ear.
He called down to Vito that Ras was there. Dead. Clint checked the body while he waited for the crew to come up. This one, the fancy gold chains, watch and rings were gone. Also the fancy earrings. Clint smirked and nodded.
He went down to tell Vito to get an immediate alarm out for those earrings to every pawn shop and fence he could cover. He had good pictures of Ras and the items if he probably didn’t have a good one of whoever offed Ras.
“We have a sort of deal with the types of places that would deal with such as those earrings,” Vito said three hours later at the station. “We overlook minor infractions and they cooperate on major matters or we put them out of business and they might serve three years for dealing in stolen properties. If those items are shown to anyone, we will know in minutes. You said to not do anything except make sure whoever tries to sell them can be located quickly and surely. That will be handled because of the value of the items. Those earrings are worth more than a thousand balboas each so the seller will have to return in one hour for the cash to be delivered to the buyer.
“It is now a time to wait.”
“I’ll be at the hotel. Just call me and I’ll manage to be at the place the seller will return to. Damn! I’m beginning to talk like you!”
Vito gave him the finger. He grinned and went to the hotel restaurant to put on his disguise. It would be fairly certain that the killer would recognize Clint Faraday as the one in the Top Place and later loitering outside the flop house.
The call came just before five. A pawn shop in the outer part of town to the east. A woman was trying to sell the items. A known local prostitute. She had the whole lot.
Clint barely made it to the place before she came back for the money. Vito was waiting in a café two doors down. He and Clint went to the shop just after the woman came back.
Clint had to admit she was a looker. She was the more expensive type who worked out of the most exclusive clubs. She wouldn’t steal that stuff because it would destroy her chances of ever working those places again. She claimed it was all stuff some guy had given her for special favors. It was by far the biggest payment she’d ever gotten! Vito was about to say something, but Clint shook his head slightly so he simply said the stuff was stolen from a man when the man was murdered. They wanted to know the name of the person who gave her the items.
She said his name was Jorge Something and he was from Las Tablas.
Well, that was progress! His name was anything but Jorge and he’d probably never been anywhere near Las Tablas. That only left a few million suspects. They would certainly not get anymore information from her.
Denton Hanrady, who just happened to be there when Vito and “Roxanne Roxanne” (Gloria Vasquez) came in said he wasn’t about to spend hours waiting for the cops to stop harassing customers and stalked out. He waited just around the corner until she left in a huff because she couldn’t get anything for stuff stolen from a murdered man even if she didn’t know it was stolen. She got into a waiting taxi and they drove off. Clint got another taxi and followed her out of town to a very exclusive hotel that reminded him of El Critico, though this one was much more upscale. Probably because the clientele was the same, if a good bit wealthier.
The big glass doors let him watch her go to the desk and pick up the keys for 322. She got in the elevator and he took the one next to it a minute later to get off on 3. She wasn’t in the hall, so was in the room. 322. He went to stand just outside the door, but the sound insulation was far too good for him to hear anything so he sat on the bench at the end of the hall with a copy of Visitante (The Visitor), a free newspaper tourists liked.
Two hours later she came out and went to the elevator to punch for the top floor. The private bar and restaurant were there. The public bar and restaurant were on the ground floor. He was undecided as to whether to follow her, but she wouldn’t wait that long to tell whoever that the stuff was gone and in the hands of the police. Her contact was in that room.
Fifteen minutes late a “pretty” man came out and went down in the elevator. Clint managed to catch the door and jump in, grinning at the man – who gave him a very obvious once-over look. He said his name was Denton.
“I’m Mark, called Marchesa here. Esta solo? Casado? Con novia?” (Are you single? Married? Have a girlfriend?)
“Single and unowned at the moment. I’m afraid my Spanish isn’t very good.”
“I like that! Unowned! Looking?”
“Well, a man’s always looking, but that’s not why I’m here. Business.”
They got off the elevator and went into the bar where he bought Mark a Marguerita and himself a Chivas on the rocks. They chatted for a few minutes, Mark trying to get him to go upstairs with him, he saying he’d never paid for sex in his life and wasn’t about to start now – particularly as a gringo in Panamá! He got offers of all kinds all the time. Mark laughed and said he was off duty at two. Maybe they could get together then? Clint grinned and said one never knew!
A fat older man came in to be greeted by most of the people there. Mark said he was Gordo Sandista, a local VIP. He had to get to work. He went to the table and chatted earnestly with Gordo a moment. Gordo seemed royally pissed, but soon waved him away. Roxanne came in and went directly to Gordo. She didn’t say much, but Mark had already explained what had happened. She was just the runner.
Gordo did NOT climb that fire escape and did NOT steal the crap from a man whose throat he had just cut. Mark?
Very unlikely, but possible.
Mark came back and said there was a bit of a problem because of an employee who had stolen some things at a job and there could be a lot of trouble over it. It was a stupid thing to do. You don’t cause people like Gordo that kind of problem. He wasn’t personally scared. He wasn’t the hit man. He damned well knew who the hit man was.
They chatted for a little while until an older rather ugly woman came in to hang all over Mark. He excused himself and stood while she went toward the bar. “This is the part I hate!” Mark hissed. “Well, it pays well. Very well.”
“For every refuge there’s a price,” Clint agreed. Mark laughed and went to the bar. Ten minutes later a man came in to talk animatedly with Gordo. Gordo seemed to give him instructions and he left. Clint managed to be paying his tab when the man went by to get into a waiting car. Clint got a taxi and said to follow the car from a distance. The cabbie said no one followed that car. Clint said twenty bucks extra and he could stay back far enough to where they wouldn’t know they were followed. The cabbie said Okay – unless they took a road that would let them
know they were being followed.
They didn’t. They went to the Via España and to a fleabag hotel, The Wanderer’s Inn, where the man got out to go inside. The car drove off.
Clint paid the taxi and went to the bar across the road. Before long the man came out and walked back toward the center of town. He’d only gone more than a block when someone stepped from behind a stall and hit him rather forcefully over the head with a board. “Another one who isn’t going to get capped that easily!” Clint mumbled. He yelled to stop and the one with the board dropped it and ran. Clint went to the man on the sidewalk and noted he probably had a fractured skull, but was alive. He used his cellular phone to call the emergency number for an ambulance and Vito. Vito came up a few minutes later in a police car, nodded to Clint and helped the man on the sidewalk to sit up. Clint said he shouldn’t move him until there was a medic who knew what to do.
“They don’t know what to do, my greatest concern. What happened?”
“I saw this man walking down the street – I was in that bar there – and somebody jumped out from behind that stall and hit him with that board. I yelled and the other one ran. I called for an ambulance.”
“Can you describe the one who hit him?”
“Thin, about five eight or nine, longish hair, moreno at a guess, black shirt and purple pants. I didn’t see too much because I wasn’t that close.”
“Ha! You saw about ten times what anyone else would ever admit to seeing,” Vito replied sourly. The ambulance came and Vito helped put the man into it. He took the man’s cedula (ID) and wrote the information down, thanked Clint and went toward his car. Clint caught on that he didn’t want the man or the ambulance driver or both to know he knew him. Vito pointed up the Via España as he got in his car. Clint started walking that direction.
A number of people were standing around, gawking. Clint had gone only a few feet when Vito backed up and said to get in the car. It wasn’t safe for a gringo to be walking alone at night in that section. Clint said he’d never had any trouble. Thanks for the concern.
“You just saw a man get hit over the head with a board, probably because he looked like he might have some money, and you say that?” Vito asked. “That’s where the expression ‘gringo loco’ came from. Get in. I’ll drop you off closer to Centro.”
Clint looked sheepish and got in. He noted the two who had moved close enough to overhear. One of them had been lolling around the fancy hotel where Gordo was having his meal and drinks. Probably the driver of the car that carried the man who had been smacked over the head. Veddy inderesdink! Was he there to see that the hitter or the hit didn’t make it? Come to think of it, if he put on a black shirt and purple pants he could be the hitter.
The way that kind thought would mean that the one who had been hit over the head was the only link between Gordo and the one who offed Ras. Gordo was, by elimination, behind the whole sordid mess – but what was it really about?
“Donaldo Presto, a part-time runner and gofer for Gordo Sandista,” Vito said.
“What?”
“The one who got his head bashed in about one-third the degree desired.”
“And the one on the left as I got in the car?”
“Mano Perez. Just drives a car for Gordo. Why?”
“Because he’s also the one who smacked dear Donny-boy over the head. He also does little odd jobs on the side for dear old Gordo, would you say?”
“Probably exactly what I’d say at this point.”
“The one who offed Ras lives or stays at The Wander’s Inn,” Clint said. Vito nodded.
Can’t Trust Nobody
Clint decided he would go as himself to The Wanderer’s Inn. It might be better to let them know he was getting very close to finding them with proof. He changed his mind and decided to go to the hospital to see if Donaldo Presto was ready to try to save his own skin about now. He couldn’t help knowing Gordo had to have him shut up. He was the only one who could tie the murder of Ras to Gordo. His only chance was to take the option away from that one of getting rid of him before he blabbed.
Donaldo was still in a coma, but the damage wasn’t enough to keep him in it for very long. Less than three hours. He decided to wait. It was pretty certain someone would make an attempt at Donaldo. They didn’t have much time. He sat back in the reception room with his copy of Visitante to watch who came in. It wasn’t more than about fifteen minutes when Mano came to ask the receptionist something. He went to the stairs and Clint followed close enough to see him checking room numbers. He looked around in front of Danaldo’s room, saw Clint and said he recognized him from when his friend, Mano, was hit with a board. He just came to see how he was doing. Vito stepped from the room across the hall and asked what the two were doing there.
“Apparently the same thing. I was – Oh! You’re the policeman! I just came to see how he was doing. I could tell he had a concussion or worse. They told me he would be able to talk in a few minutes so I waited. You know, you can’t let this kind of thing get started. If tourists think they’re in danger here they won’t come here anymore.”
“Yes. We’re trying to keep it down as much as we can. It’s the same story all over. Not enough money for the necessary force. We have to convince them that the money will come if tourists come. I’m afraid we can’t let him talk to anyone until he’s talked with the police. That’s not my job, but I was close and got the call so will stay until we’ve had a little chat. I doubt, seeing he is who he is, it was a random thing. He will know who and why. It’s a matter of getting him to tell us. If he doesn’t he will be killed the next time.”
“You know who he is?”
“Donaldo Presto, a sort of local thug. I can never understand how the type never catches on to the fact that the people who hire him to do the things they hire him to do will hire someone to do the same to them in a minute! His only chance to stay alive two more days is to tell us what it’s about and who’s involved. Fifty-fifty he won’t.”
Clint sighed loudly and nodded. He said he might as well go. He didn’t know he was trying to help a common thug who probably deserved being smacked with a board.
Mano said he had no idea. He thought the police were wrong. Naldo was a nice guy, though he did have a temper at times.
Vito shrugged and said chances were 90-10 he was smacked because of some kind of criminal activity – but he’d been wrong before.
Clint went out with Vito talking with Mano and to the hotel for a very quick change out of the disguise. He was soon waiting in front of The Wanderers Inn when Mano came to park in the lot to the side. He went inside and was close to the reception desk when Mano walked straight back to the elevator. He ducked into the stairs and ran to the second floor. The elevator hadn’t stopped so he went up to the third where the elevator was standing open. Mano was entering room 331 with a key. He called, “Chino!” several times. Less than a minute later he came out with a look of pure fury on his face. He came toward the elevator where Clint was lounging.
“Figured the odds of living to see tomorrow if Naldo talked and skipped, hunh?” Clint asked pleasantly. Mano stared for a good ten seconds, then shrugged. “Who’re you?”
“Clint Faraday. I got messed up with Gordo’s little group because of the idiotic crap in Puerto Armuelles.
“This leaves you in a hell of a tight spot, I’d say. Want to have a cup of coffee and talk?”
He shrugged again and looked trapped. Clint said he very definitely wasn’t working for Gordo, and wouldn’t. He just wanted to talk. Maybe he could find Mano a safe place until this was over. Mano asked why he would want a safe place.
“Because Naldo will have to spill his guts, Chino skipped. That leaves you.”
Mano shook his head and claimed he had a way to be safe. Gordo wouldn’t go after him. He wasn’t the least worried about that.
He was very definitely worried about something. That was obvious from the way he was looking around and the way he was sweating.
He wasn�
��t worried about Gordo because he had something on him. That meant he was worried about someone Gordo couldn’t protect him from. That meant Clint didn’t have nearly the whole pyramid of power here, which meant that Gordo answered to someone else. If he was second level there was at least one more on that level.
They went into a little caf not far along the calle toward Bella Vista. It was about halfway toward downtown from The Wanderers Inn to the Hotel California. Clint knew the people there. They ordered coffee and hojaldres.
“So. Do you know who Gordo answers to or his other contact on his level?” Mano looked surprised and shrugged. “Maybe Niko Valdez. I guess he would be the other one with the same power as Gordo. I never found out who the big man is. I don’t think it’s him.”
Clint nodded. “Where will Chino run to?”
Mano shrugged and said maybe Chitre or Colón. He had family in both places. Chitre. He was more Chinese than black. Not good for Colón.
That told Clint what he wanted to know about Chino. He was a black/Chinese mix who looked more Chinese. It was worth a shot so he asked if Mano knew any other name than Chino.
He shrugged again. It could be Sardina or Salvador, but those were probably just names he used. Clint said he figured the same way, making Mano think he knew Chino. Chino’s sirename started with an “S” and had six or more letters in it.
They talked, then Mano said he knew he was a dead man because he was now the link that had to be broken. What did Clint know about a safe place? Clint made a short call and soon said to go to Puerto Armuelles and talk with Paulo Lariez.
“LARIEZ?!” he cried, then shrugged and looked at Clint like he thought he was nuts. “But they’ll be ... I see. No one in his right mind would go to Lariez so that’s where I’ll go where they won’t even look. What’s the deal?”
“I have most of what I need. Naldo will spill. They’ll probably find Chino before I do. If you knew where he’d go they’ll know where he’d go. You’re the last link. If they can’t find you Gordo becomes very important, wouldn’t you say?”
