Clint Faraday Mysteries Collection B :This Job is Murder Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  Never attack at center. Come from a close angle at times. Nobody will detect it. The purloined letter with a different stamp on the envelope. Clint found it effective. “Destin” sported a neat moustache and was a little shorter and not in as good a condition. He was ten years younger than Clint, but looked almost like he could be a brother. Clint did most of it with clothes and some very good make-up. The effect was what he wanted when he left the pensión through the restaurant under construction on the side. Very few people knew how to go directly from the pensión into the patio and through.

  He was in La Tipica about twenty minutes when Gordo and Harry came in. Harry waved and said he saw him at the marina earlier. He hadn’t found anything yet, but he was looking. They went to a side table and ordered a pitcher of beer.

  Clint waited. They left about three quarters of an hour later. As they walked by Harry did a hand down flat. He wanted Clint to wait there. He came back in about fifteen minutes, stayed in his car and waved for Clint to come. Clint stood, stretched and went out to the lot. He waited behind Harry’s SUV so Harry knew he suspected he was being followed. A taxi came between the restaurant and Harry’s SUV to let some people out. When it pulled away Clint was gone. Harry pulled out as a man who Clint had seen around earlier ran out to flag a passing taxi. Clint was out of sight from him, low in the seat.

  Harry drove to Las Brasas. The followers would definitely not look for him there now. They thought he had headed back to Pedrigal. He parked behind and he and Clint went in.

  Facts and Suspicions

  Clint and Harry talked for the hour and a half they took to enjoy the excellent food. He was pretty much on track with what he suspected. Harry was a bit worried because of the Martín family. He never thought anyone would be that stupid. Clint said that was the way great grandpa did it so it’s the way I do it. Geraldo, at least, wouldn’t do a that kind of thing again. Clint had hinted that it was a scam.

  “Oh, he thoroughly expects it to be a scam. He just thinks someone else is working it. The someone else thinks he’s working ... that’s what has me worried in this. The gold mine was something Geraldo wasn’t supposed to know about. Yet.”

  “Who is the someone else?” Clint asked.

  “Ramos. He’s the other two-bit who thinks he can crowd me into letting him buy a partnership in the marina.”

  “I’m not familiar with him.”

  “Same type. From the Panamá area. Runs women and some dope. Into protection. Murder for hire – cheap.”

  Clint nodded. He didn’t doubt the type. He just didn’t know who. Now he did.

  “Clint, it’s going on too long and it’s gone too far. How can we end it?

  “I’m assuming you’re with me on this.”

  “For a bit of a, shall we say, partnership, I’ll have my guys handle it for you.”

  That got Clint the bird. He laughed.

  “Maybe we can ... I do have an in. I’d like to get that kind of cruds out of the equation. Be deaf, mute, blind and stupid about me and anything concerned you might hear. I assume Gordo is working for this Ramos character, but you’re not supposed to suspect anything?”

  Harry nodded and grinned.

  “They suspect a scam. Geraldo suspects a scam. They’re both waiting for confirmation of a name. You give Ramos Geraldo and I’ll give Geraldo Ramos. Just make damned sure the slimeball doesn’t involve anyone else in his little vendetta that started in a couple of hours or three.

  “Give Gordo the name as a sort of ‘I wonder if he...’ or ‘I wonder why...’ kind of slip of the tongue.

  “I can assume the only things Gordo knows is because you sometimes say things before you think where he can hear?”

  “Now, why would I do that?”

  This time Harry got the bird.

  Clint finished the meal and got a taxi while Harry headed on out toward Pedrigal. When he got to the pension he went in the way he’d come out, got rid of the disguise and went to Peter’s. He talked with several people there at random where the watcher could note them. He spoke with some tourists from Nicaragua for a few minutes. They would be going home early in the morning. Geraldo wouldn’t have time to check them out if that was what he was doing when Clint talked with anyone. He talked with a couple from Colombia, several Panameños and some gringos. He went downstairs and stood just outside the stairway to call Geraldo. He said he didn’t really have anything to report. All he heard was that someone named Ramos was into something that may or may not have anything to do with it – though a gold mine and treasure maps came up as part of what the guy was into or asking about or something. Did Geraldo find any type of possible connection with anyone with that name or something like it?

  There was a pause, then a few rather vulgar epithets, then Geraldo said he was one that he’d suspected was into it, but that he’d never thought would have the guts to try any such thing.

  Clint went back to the pensión and to bed. Tomorrow might be an interesting day.

  “...tions just coming in. Several known malditos were involved in a shootout in Los Abanicos that ... one moment.”

  The screen changed into the noticias of a news event in progress. A scene with police cars and people hiding as best they could behind them was on the screen. There was a very nice house with a strong steel grate fence to one side. Shots were fired at the police cars from the house. The police answered with automatic weapons.

  “The police report that the persons inside are known criminals who seem, at this time, to be involved in a gang war with others who broke down the gate just in the background of our picture by driving a large truck through it. Little is known except that there are several bodies on the lawn. We cannot get close enough to see them here. No police have been injured. The bodies are those of members of both of the gangs, according to reports. We will stay here with our cameras and this reporter will report any and all things that transpire as they happen.”

  The windows and windshield of a police car near the reporter exploded when hit by automatic weapons fire. The reporter dove down behind the camera van. The picture was suddenly the tire of the van. It moved quickly up the side of the van and to the reporter, who was crouched down beside the driver’s door with the microphone clutched in her hand. She gasped that there were more shots fired that had come terrifyingly close. She was moving to a safer position. The scene shifted back to the studio.

  Clint grinned and went to breakfast. The police knew how to handle this. None of the people around would be hurt if they followed orders. Clint was sure not one person in that house would survive. The report would be that the police finally were able to enter and all of them inside had already killed each other. There would be no survivors.

  The TV at the little local restaurant had the scene. The reporter from before was saying that the owner of the house, a Sr. Ramos, was long suspected of mobster connections, but there was never evidence to convict him of anything. There was a rumor that the rival gang was led by someone known only as Sr. D to the reporter. This seemed to be connected with an attack on Sr. D by members of the Ramos gang. Something had happened that brought the rivalry between the two gang lords to attacking each other at almost the same time. Investigation into the causes of the violence would have to wait until the violence was ended. It was believed that Sr. Ramos was in the house under attack in Los Abanicos, as Sr. D was in his house that was attacked at nearly the same time in Pedrigal. If the attack in Pedrigal was at all like this one it was most unlikely either of them survived.

  Clint called Harry, who said he didn’t wake up this early. It was only six o’clock!

  “Turn on TVN. Have a nice day,” Clint replied.

  “Already?”

  “They were both ready. Neither thought the other was. We can now write those two and their goons into a footnote in the history of penny-ante wannabes. I’ll head back to Bocas, I guess.”

  “Don’t fall for any treasure maps or goldmine maps or any scams like that.”

  “P
romise!”

  Clint sighed, watched the TV for a few minutes, ate his chuleta and rice with sweetened fried bananas and beans, then had a salad of papaya, pineapple, apple, manzana de agua, melón and pear with a mayonaise type of dressing and a guanabana chicha. Nowhere else in the world could you find a breakfast like that.

  Clint again thought of how much he loved Panamá.

  Good Life

  Clint looked out over the bay and smiled. He raised his coffee cup to Judi, who was checking her plants on her deck. She called that she would come over. He could fix her a cup of coffee.

  He went inside to check his computer. Nothing new.

  Judi came in and said there were some rumors that a couple of gangsters were going to start a war over some old maps or something and that the Martín family had been kidnapped, but were back home. Nothing else that caught anyone’s attention. Wild Bill couldn’t find a lawyer willing to take his already lost case. Some detective from the states was buying a big island down off of Chiriqui Grande. Some multibillionaire friend of Dave’s who had a bellyful of the states.

  Clint told her what had happened in David. She was a bit shocked he would set those hoods up, but she had to agree it was better much than having them around and interfering with the police and abducting innocent bystanders.

  Maybe Clint was getting pragmatic enough to see the best way out of a bad situation. Finally.

  Nothing else was important enough to catch their attention at the moment. They decided to go into the mountains to visit with some of their Indio friends and maybe could make a few more. Judi said Dave would go along.

  “Oh, yes. Dave’s live-in has decided to move to Las Tablas. She really likes it there and has a couple of friends from the states who have been there three or four years.”

  “Selma? I guess Dave will be upset about that.”

  “No. That was always the deal. They’re very comfortable with things as they’re going. Dave says he’s to old for commitments and Selma is as independent as he is. He’ll visit at times and she’ll come here at times or to his place in David.”

  “Did he ever get that straightened out? I know he owns two houses there, but they ended up in some crook’s name.”

  “He’s still waiting for the police and courts to do something other than make excuses and delay after delay. He’ll get a few hundred of his Indio friends and take the places back. Even the local excuse for the mafia doesn’t want a hundred Indios kicking their asses every time they step outside the front door. That’s more or less how you have to do anything.”

  “What the hell? He’s getting pragmatic too? A pragmatic cynic?”

  “I guess. I’ll call him. The detective moving to the island is a friend of Selma’s. She says to wait until I get a look at his wife. She makes Playboy Bunnies look like drudges. If she wasn’t such a great person and friend she’d hate the bitch on general principles.”

  They chatted awhile as they collected what they’d take up into the mountains. Besides a camera, Clint wouldn’t take much. Dave came over and asked where they planned to go so he’d know whether to take anything special. They said they hadn’t gotten that far so he suggested inland from the Tierra Oscura peninsula. He hadn’t gone more than a kilometer or so into that area. It would be in the comarca, but they were all welcome there.

  Clint threw a shirt, underwear, toothbrush and such in a small backpack. If they went to one of Dave’s friend’s places up there they’d be there at least one night. They set out for the mainland in Clint’s boat. It would probably not rain today, but who knew? Or cared?

  Clint Faraday

  book seven

  Comedy of Terrors

  (c)2010 & 2013 by C. D. Moulton

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons or events is purely coincidental unless otherwise stated

  When does the act stop being funny? After the first murder ... or later?

  Clint goes on a vacation in the mountains of Calderas with some people who want to visit Panamá.

  Some vacation!

  Contents

  Tourists

  On the Comarca

  Live and Learn

  Witch Connection?

  Kidnapped!

  Nothing Figures

  How Droll

  The Missing Clue

  Codes

  Rewards

  Comedy of Terrors

  Tourists

  Clint Faraday, retired detective from Florida, lazed on his deck with his first coffee of the day to watch the not-so-colorful sunrise today. The breeze off the Caribbean was warm, so there was no rain approaching before noon. This time of the year rain came from the Caribbean. It would be a beautiful day.

  Judi Lum, his attractive neighbor, came to call from her deck a hundred meters farther along the bay, “Good morning!” and to shake a finger at him for being on his deck, as on most mornings, nude.

  Why bother to dress until you know what to dress for? He was in his own house and would wear as much or as little as he chose. He wasn’t built any different than any other guy and didn’t have anything to hide.

  He waved and called that he thought he would go out past Tierra Oscura for the day. Did she want to go along? It would be all day.

  “I’ve got company,” she called back. “They want to see the country, the real Panamá, not Bocas. Today will be here, because they get in on the eleven o’clock flight. We can meet for dinner at, say, seven thirty at The Rip Tide, Okay? We can decide what they want to do tomorrow or whatever. They’re very nice people and you’ll even like their teenage kids. I think they’re as balanced and mature as any I’ve ever met that age.”

  Clint agreed, lazed around another half hour, read his e-mail and answered a couple, then took his boat down past Tierra Oscura to visit friends on the islands there awhile, went to Chiriqui Grande for a couple of hours at lunchtime, then came slowly back to Bocas Town at five o’clock. He cleaned the boat, cleaned up himself a bit, and checked his calls. Nothing important.

  Next was his e-mail. Mostly spam. One from his oddball friend, Dave, saying that he’d heard something strange and didn’t know what to make of it so would pass it on, seeing Judi was somehow involved. He knew how Clint protected her – even though she didn’t need any protection. She was thoroughly capable of taking care of herself.

  Some people he didn’t know had been looking for Clint, who wasn’t around and he was asked to tell him, “Those Campbell people Judi met at the airport are not here to look at the country. They came here to hide from some dangerous people. They are not who they’re supposed to be.” That was it.

  Clint sent back that he’d check into it if it seemed particularly advisable. How could he identify who sent the message? A description or something would do, seeing Dave said he didn’t know them.

  He put on some fresh shorts and a shirt and went to The Rip Tide to meet the Campbells, who were a family who seemed regular enough people to Clint. He was about forty and took care of himself, she was about two years younger and was also in great shape, as were her daughter and two sons. They weren’t really vegans, but were interested in seafoods. They didn’t eat red meat or certain vegetables.

  Mark, the eldest son (19), said they had learned some things in Jamaica about certain types of plants in the diet. They could wreak havoc with the digestive system in certain combinations. The mother, Ann, said to not make it sound like they were fanatics. The daughter Cori (16), said it was in Haiti that they ran across the fanatics. Matt, the father, said they ran across nutcases most places, but tried to use logic in such things. If you were told oranges were really bad for the teeth, check it out. He was raised in an orange grove and ate several a day for years. He had perfect teeth. The net information said it was bad, but depended, as a lot of those things did, on genetics. Mike, the younger son (15), said a lot of that crap was crap, anyhow. If you don’t like squash, don’t eat it. Don’t make up some kind of horror story as an excuse. Different people liked different things. He
didn’t like breadfruit until he tried some of the fried stuff that afternoon. It was delicious. All he’d tried before tasted like library paste to him. It was a big joke, anyhow. The human race had been eating all of it for millennia and were still around – if you used a loose enough definition of “human.” Some of the people they’d met recently would play hell trying to fit his definition.

  They had a couple from the islands with them who weren’t there for dinner, though Judi had met them and invited them. She said they were a little strange, but that may be because they’d never been off the island. In other words, the Campbells were normal if a bit health-conscious people. Clint tended to like them. They had great sense of humor. That always appealed to him.

  They wanted to go into the mountains where Judi told them Clint knew almost every Indio in the two close provinces. They wanted to see the real Panamá and meet the real Panamanians. They decided to go in the morning. They would take a bus to Gualaca, then would find a ride on toward Calderas. He hadn’t been there in almost two years and wanted to see how some of his friends were doing. The scenery was unbelievable from the tops of some of the mountains. At Obilio’s place they could see both the Caribbean and the Pacific if there weren’t too many clouds lower than the top of the mountain. He warned them that it was a long walk through native cloud and rain forests where there was usually not enough of a path to follow. They could ride horses, but that would cost quite a bit. He would ask Pablo and Maria Garza (the couple traveling with them. They were darker Caribbean island people, about twenty two or so) if they wanted to come. Matt said they had enough to hire horses. Clint said that Luis would go along with them. He had the horses and liked to explore along with Clint. He was Indio, but Clint was always seeing things that he wouldn’t notice. He learned a lot that way. He was a happy-go-lucky type with a great sense of humor. The night was very pleasant. Clint told them what to take and said they’d take his boat to Chiriqui Grande, then ride the bus to Gualaca. Remember that they would have to carry what they took in a climb that would take at least four hours. Lugging a load of stuff that you wouldn’t use could take the fun out of any trip. They would leave from the ferry dock at six thirty in the morning.