Clint Faraday Collection C: Murder in Motion Collector's Edition

by Moulton, CD

  Probably a transplant or regular visitor from Colón or certain sections of Panamá City.

  He went to his car in Almirante and drove to Changuinola to ask around. He had some friends who were on the shady side of the law there as well as some Indio friends who would hear and remember things, even if they never did mention them.

  Two days later he had three names, one of whom was supposed to be good at the automobile accident methods. This one was from Colón and came to Changuinola for more than half the year. His name was “Tigre” Taylor. He wasn’t liked or trusted by anyone not in his immediate family. He was a violence freak and an arrogant SOB, according to almost everyone who knew him.

  Clint finally found him in a dirty little bar that catered to blacks. The reputation wasn’t among the best places for genteel folks.

  Clint went in and asked who he was. He was big and wore dredlocks. He was sitting with a pretty girl who looked like she would rather be someplace else. There was no one sitting close to them so Clint took a stool next to the girl with him against the brick wall at the end of the bar. He ordered a Balboa, they only had Atlas so he took one and sat back to look around the place in the small mirror behind the bar. It was a place he might come in the front door, but not a place he would stay, usually.

  “Give us a drink here!” Tigre called to the barmaid. “The fucking gringo’s gonna pay for them.”

  “Like shit!” Clint returned. “In fact, you’re going to pay for this one, hotshot.”

  “If I say you’ll pay, you’ll pay!”

  “Same here. I guess we’ll have to see how this one turns out, huh? I guarantee you’ll regret getting in my face!”

  “You know who I am, gringo?”

  “You’re some self-important asshole I came across in a cheap beer bar. You’re probably one of those people from Colón who think they’re badasses. You’re usually pussy-asses. Somebody stands up to you and you back down like a rabbit facing a beagle.”

  He stood and came toward Clint, who smirked at him. The barmaid said, “Tigre! No aqui!”

  “I’ll have to put it off, gringo. You better watch where you go from now on!” Tigre said.

  Clint laughed. “Like a rabbit facing a beagle!”

  Tigre grabbed at him – and came to five minutes later laying on the floor staring at the ceiling. When he lunged at Clint, Clint decked him with a hard shot to the jaw. He wanted this to happen because there was a very definite pecking order among this type. He was now the “A” male. The barmaid started to come around at the same time Tigre went for Clint. Clint waved at her as soon as Tigre hit the floor and said it was all over. Just a little misunderstanding about who was the real badass here and who was a big wimp who intimidated people into thinking he was a man.

  She let a grin escape and bought him a beer. She said Tigre was a pain in the ass and she was glad somebody finally stood up to show everyone else what he was.

  “He’s probably a badass among people who’re just like him. All mouth and bluff and no spine or ass. Anything he does, he sneaks around with. He’s a carbon copy of half the badasses from Colón. He made the mistake of challenging someone else without six of his buddies along – though I wouldn’t have much cared if they were. They’re all alike.”

  “He’s a professional killer!” the girl cried. “You better watch your back!”

  “My back is the only place he’ll try to attack from,” Clint agreed. “I think, after living more than fifty five years, I can watch my back for this kind of crud.”

  Tigre was coming around, Clint smirked at him and said he could use some lessons in matching his actions with his mouth. That was ‘way out of balance at the moment.

  “Yah-ah! You’ll wish you’d never been born before long!” Tigre snarled.

  “Want another go? I’ll lay a hurting on you that’ll show next round. Third round you take the long dive. Capich?”

  This exchange with Tigre had been in English. The other patrons didn’t know the words, but knew what was being said. Tigre didn’t know how to react to anyone who was standing up to him, depending on his size and reputation to keep anyone from actually moving against him. He was fidgeting and didn’t know how to regain his reputation as a badass.

  “Don’t let your stupid mouth get you in any deeper than you are. Don’t pull this badass shit on anyone else, particularly gringos. A lot of us grew up in cities that make Colón look like Pleasantville. If you live as long as I have you can handle amateur wannabes.

  “I suppose most gringos here are retirees from better places. They came to get away from places like that and people like you. The problem you’ll have is that, just once in awhile, you’ll get in the face of someone like me who grew up on the streets. Take a lesson when it’s offered. You’ll live longer and have a lot less problems in life.

  “Now that we’ve broken the ice, you the one who knocked over that fucking idiot spoiled brat and his lovely mother?”

  “No. That was from Bocas. You don’t ... you knew who I am and what I do when you started this?”

  “I didn’t start it. I finished it. I knew you’d play the badass and would do exactly what you did.

  “Who in Bocas?”

  “I don’t know. One of those brothers who hang around the VIP, I think.”

  “That figures!”

  Clint bought him a beer, said it was as much as a set-up to find out if he was the one who should get a reward for purging the Earth of those two. He accepted the beer and asked if he could make it look like they had it set up. It was an act. They did it before.

  “See, if they think I can take a KO and get up and laugh about it they won’t start getting in my face all the time.”

  Clint shrugged. Tigre slapped him on the back and laughed. Loud. Clint grinned and shook his head. He looked at the patrons who didn’t know how to take this turn of events. “El es loco, pero is Okay. Yo tambien!” Clint announced. “Es mejor el conoce donde es la fila. No cruce!” (he’s crazy, but that’s Okay. I am too. It’s better he knows where the line is and that he doesn’t cross it.)

  Clint finished his beer and waved goodbye to everyone and left. He went back to Almirante, got his boat and went to Bocas Town. He had plenty of time to clean up and get a good meal before he would go to the VIP. It didn’t get started until about 9:30.

  Closer

  There were about six people at the VIP when Clint walked in and ordered a Balboa. They were out so he took a Panama, which was also a good beer.

  Clint knew several people there. They were always around somewhere in Bocas Town. Most of them were fairly decent people, but a few of them were the worst kinds of thugs. Almost all of them were blacks and several were from Colón. Colón is the only dangerous place in Panamá except for one section of Panamá City. The present president was trying to clean up Panamá City, but the last five or six presidents have given up on Colón. They suggest on their international website that tourists (or anyone else) stay away from Colón. The thugs here depended on the bad reputation of Colón to intimidate people. Clint knew that they were the type who had to have several, enough to outnumber the ones they were molesting or they would be the nicest people you could meet. The type disgusted him, but that was a common type on all the Caribbean islands and adjoining mainlands.

  He knew the type he was looking for and knew he wouldn’t get any direct information because they knew him. They also knew he couldn’t be intimidated. That would work in his favor.

  He chatted with a couple of the girls, then with Rocko and Streeter. (Their parents picked names from rap music names), two from Colón who were always together. Clint figured, as popular as they’d made themselves they’d be dead if they weren’t together. They said they didn’t have anything to do with knocking over the gringos. That wasn’t their style and they weren’t about to tell Clint Faraday whose style it was.

  Clint grinned at Streeter, who had just made the statement. “That’s because you don’t have a clue. You aren’t ones any of th
em would trust while they were looking at you.”

  They’d been digging at each other for some time. This was merely looked on as a joke between friends. Clint had said that “Many a truth is said in jest.” – but that went a mile over their heads.

  Marchsca came in, a local drag queen whose real name was Nicolo. Clint could probably get more information from him than from any of the others, but would have to do it very discreetly.

  “Hi, Clint! Buy me a rum and Coke?”

  Clint waved to Lydia and pointed to him. She brought the drink. Clint asked what was new.

  “Well, other that some real macho badass in Changuinola dumped Tigre, not much. Of all the people in Changuinola who deserve dumping, and they number in the hundreds, he was top of the list. He’s a creep! Can’t keep his hands off you, then pretends he won’t even stay in the same room with a gay. Stupid fucking piece of shit is probably gay himself. Why else would he always be the one who’s pawing at transvestis like me?

  “What a thrill! Big Bad Brucie-woosie, in person!”

  “Yeah. He broke bad with me. All I did was go in for a beer. It was hot as hell over there this morning.”

  “He tells everybody you two are friends and always try to get the best of each other. Sometimes he decks you, sometimes you deck him. You’re both man enough to take a little dumping from a friend in a good spirit.”

  “We’re friends about like chickens and boa constrictors. He thought he had some old geezer he could intimidate and make himself look like a real badass instead of a cheap copy wannabe. He tried to intimate he was the one who clocked the gringo punk and his mom.”

  “Shit! That was probably Anderson or Rico. Tigre – and that’s a bigger joke than the rest of him – doesn’t do anything himself. He just finds people who will for a fee. I’m more actual macho than he’ll ever be.”

  “I sort of figured Rico. I’m not familiar with Anderson.”

  “He’s that really big one, in more than one sense, from Panamá City. The one with the gold chains all over the place. He’s man enough to say he likes sex and doesn’t care who it’s with so long as they at least know what they’re doing. He considers me an expert!”

  “I’ve heard you really are.”

  “Well, Ben has you so tied up with the gay stuff that I can’t get an even chance, but I’ll be glad to demonstrate anytime you’re feeling lonely and unloved!”

  They chatted awhile. Clint moved away when a young tourist came in and looked over the place. Marchesca moved right in and said he’d show him the best side of town.

  “You’re a guy in a dress! I’m not gay!” the man cried.

  “I wouldn’t be interested if you were. Where are you from?”

  Clint grinned to himself and went outside where several people were sitting on the curb (such as it was) across the street, smoking. Smoking isn’t allowed anywhere in Panamá where anyone else will be in the smoke. That’s all restaurants, bars, stores, parks, etc. Clint doubted very much that the police would check a place like the VIP for smokers. He chatted with several about general things. They didn’t say anything he wanted to hear about anybody, but he had a place to start looking. Anderson, who he didn’t know and Rico, who he’d met and been unimpressed.

  He went next door to where they were sitting and into El Ultimo Refugio for a good late meal and to talk with various people. Not much was happening so he went to the Toro Loco, which was about the same, then to the Rip Tide to find the boat was gone. Neal and Cathy had broken up and she owned the landing, but Neal the boat. She was running the restaurant on the land now.

  He finally went home about twelve thirty. Anything else could wait until morning.

  Clint laid in the hammock on his deck with his coffee and hojaldres he’d fixed. He had some spaghetti sauce from a couple of days before in the fridge so used it as a sort of cold dip for the hojaldres. It was damned good!

  He had to look up Anderson and Rico today. He figured he would know which one by what they were doing now.

  Judi came onto her deck and waved and shook a finger at Clint. That was as much as a ritual anymore. He didn’t wear anything until he decided what he would do for the day. He waved and called that he would probably be around for the next day or two at least. His case was at a standstill. She waved back and said, “Regular!”

  He finished the semi-breakfast and went into town to talk with the regular people sitting at the Golden Grill and other regular stops. Don Chicho’s and Chitres. Nothing much new. There was some talk about the dead gringos, but few of the people ever met them. They were the type who didn’t mix with the natives. The few who met the punk said he always seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about one thing or another.

  Without asking he found that Anderson was living just off 6th street with Arnie and Jorge Salinas, also from Colón and they wished he’d go back and take them with him. Judi had taught him how to drop a little piece of information and move on. A lot of times someone else with a gripe or any knowledge or something would say something. You act like that’s interesting, did you plan to go to the Orchid Fair in Boquete?

  They would just have to expand on it to impress you with what they knew.

  Clint said he’d heard there were a couple of real thugs from Colón on the island. Supposed to be hired killer type. He wished there was some way to get them out before they did something that Sergio could use to bar them from Isla Colón. He then said the fishing was pretty good down by Tierra Oscura and the islands there clear out to the Zapatillas. Jim had connected that in his mind with the gringos they’d mentioned in passing earlier. Anderson occurred to him immediately as a likely type to have killed them.

  So. Clint knew where to find Anderson. Rico would be on Bastimentos in the mornings and come to Bocas Town about three nights a week so he would be easy to find.

  Clint went home to catch everything there up to date, then went back to town and to The Reef Restaurant. Anderson would hang around the dock outside. A lot of that type would because the tourists liked the restaurant and they could start conversations and learn if they had anything worth stealing or could hire themselves out as gigolos. Clint always told people coming in that he met to stop showing around their expensive cell phones and cameras or those were two items that would disappear. Laptops even more.

  Anderson wasn’t there, but Rico was on the island taxi docks talking with Guillermo, who wasn’t interested in what he was offering. Clint happened to walk by and greet Guillermo. Rico said “Hola!” and walked back off the dock to stand by the gate. He obviously wanted to talk to Clint so a few words later he went back to the gate.

  “Clint, I just want you to know I didn’t have anything to do with the gringos going over the cliff. Marchesca told me you seemed interested in it.”

  “I’m just that. Interested. Nothing I’m going to waste a lot of time on. I don’t want to tag whoever did it, but I’d like to know which one of those greedy clowns arranged it.”

  “It was some woman. She was asking about who to get to do a job that wasn’t entirely legal and would end up ending someone up.”

  “The gringa? Which one – and don’t answer if you’ve made any promises or whatever. I’m just curious.”

  “That one who went over. The Sarah bitch. That’s why I don’t understand it.”

  Clint nodded. “She probably wanted her dear husband knocked off. Someone else wanted her knocked off. Maybe she found the hit man who hit her, which would be a real giggle.”

  “It would be that!” He saw a woman who looked lost. A tourist, grinned at Clint and asked her what she was looking for. She said some place called “The Gourmet.” It was almost across the street, but they were building a hotel next door that hid the signs. Rico showed her the place and went inside with her. She managed to grin at Clint so she knew what she was doing. She was a middle-aged woman who wanted a good time, Rico was a good-looking native who spoke English, she could act like she had a lot of money and he would romance her to get some. Every
one would get part of what they wanted. Go for it!

  So. Sarah found a hit man. She was plotting with at least one of the others to knock over her husband. Her husband was staying out of reach. She became the next best bet to get that insurance payout. It would have worked but for a handprint on a gearshift knob.

  Hit Man Found

  Clint knew Anderson made the hit. He didn’t know which of the survivors was behind it. Even Robert could have found out about it and could have made a deal with that hit man to hit the one trying to have him hit. That would be un-poetic justice! She found her own hit man!

  It would be easy enough to prove Anderson did the job to Clint, though the proof wouldn’t be usable in court. He would have money. The type didn’t do anything but party if they had money – until it was all gone, then they’d be looking for another such “job” to have another big splash on. Anderson hadn’t been in Bocas Town for three nights. He’d gone to Changuinola where he could find a lot more parties that would appeal to him than he could in Bocas Town.

  Clint went to Changuinola and to places where he would be known. He had gone to David. He had a lot of money and couldn’t find any excitement in Changuinola.

  Clint drove to David and went to the spots. Anderson had been to The Esmeralda one night, hadn’t found a girl he particularly liked and had left. He was in two places in Pedrigal, then said this was nothing but shit and had gone to Las Tablas.

  Clint figured there wasn’t anything in Las Tablas that would attract him more than David, which meant Colón or Panamá City.

  Not Colón. If he showed up there with money his own type would soon relieve him of it. Clint headed for Panamá City. He would stay away from the worst parts of town there for the same reasons he wouldn’t go to Colón. He’d probably go to the more expensive tourist places at night, but would stay in the suburbs during the day.

  Clint wondered if it was worth it, then decided it was something to do so went to two places before deciding Anderson would go the casino route in Panamá City. He didn’t in David because he would be watched there. David had some bad experiences with people from Colón several years back and made it plain they weren’t welcome.