Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (6 page)

“
Swear!
Ain’t nothin’ illegal about your part! Anything like that’s on my
own head.”

“
You got
it!” Clint replied.

“
Hotel
California has you booked. You been there. Good, but not real
fancy. Got a great restaurant. You like espageti con camarones and
they got the best. Ciao!” He hung up.

Clint sighed deeply and grabbed his bolsa,
threw in a couple of changes of clothes, got two hundred dollars
from his safe and headed for the airport. He could walk it in the
time. The plane was just filling up when he went to the desk for
his ticket and the security force looked at him almost in awe as he
went directly to the plane. They didn’t check him or his
luggage.

“
You this
Clint character?” a man asked as Clint went from the plane to the
baggage section – though he was carrying all the baggage he had.
“I’m Victor Salartes. Vic. Supposed to bring you up to what’s going
down here.

“
You’ve
got a friend in Marko and he says he hasn’t seen you since he was a
brat. I envy you!

“
I have a
car. Hospital or hotel first?”

“
Hotel
and fill me in. I don’t have a clue as to what’s going down, but
I’ve heard things. If it’s what it seems to be I’ll help Marko pull
the roots on them!”

“
It’s an
old game here,” Vic answered. “Nasty.”

They went to the car, an old Dodge Dart that
still ran “like a sewing machine,” as the saying goes. Slant six
was a strong engine that seemed to go on forever. Clint had one in
the seventies and put more than 200,000 miles on it before he sold
it. So far as he knew it was still going.

Weird thoughts when he was there for the type
of thing he was there for!

As they headed toward the Hotel California
Vic explained what was happening. It was pretty much what Clint was
afraid it was. He thought that kind of thing had ended when Noriega
was ousted.

“
What is
happening is the old routine that cost a lot of Indios their land
and their lives. A powerful politician or bunch like this one will
smooze an Indio who holds a right of possession, but doesn’t have
any close family other than maybe a wife and kids. No brothers or
sisters to later make a claim on the land. They get a crooked
lawyer and bribe ... well, like this case.

“
What
they’ve done is get their hands on copies of the ROP papers in the
way a seller handles things here with land transfers of the type.
Their crooked lawyer will get a deposit from the gang, then go out
of the country for a certain time. This one went to Venezuela for a
year. He screwed the gang in that he put part of the land in his
own name. He’d end up dead in a very nasty way if this had gone
through – or he’d have something that ensured they’d never bring it
up again, ever, which is probably what’s happened.

“
Anyhow!
They get a phony ROP – title, in this case – made up, the Indio has
an accident and they show up with the phony title and claim it was
a done deal before the Indio died so they own the property. There’s
no one to contest it. After all, they had their own workers there
that THEY paid, as everyone in the area can attest!

“
Your
friend was with several people when a local looney tried to rob
him. He had no money so the nutcase beat him with a pole. Even the
doctor said someone seriously tried to kill him, but his friends
ran him away after he kneed the crud in the balls. He has a skull
fracture and a hairline-cracked jaw and was cut a bit, but not too
seriously. The police, of course, can’t find anything about the hit
man so he was probably a transient crazy from Colón or somewhere.
Very sad.

“
We found
him. Seems there’s poetic justice of a sort here and someone,
probably a transient from Colón, beat him to death with a
pole.

“
Listen,
Clint, Ronaldo seems to be a very good person. He refuses to
believe what’s happened is what happened. Talk to him.”

“
THAT I
will do! Can you be sure it’s not a coincidence?”

“
You mean
the socalled robbery attempt? Oh, yeah! Positive!

“
See,
everybody in Panamá knows Indios don’t have any money, so why would
some nutcase try to rob an Indio when there were several others
around who very obviously DO have money? One was even wearing a
diamond watch worth several grand – and people, thieves or not –
notice watches here. Watches and shoes. Gimme a break!

“
Here’s
the hotel. You have room three oh nine. I’ll wait in the
car.”

Clint nodded and took his bolsa to the
room.

“
Okay.
You know where I can find this Alicia person?” Clint asked upon
returning to the car.

“
Uh-huh.
She’ll be expecting you. Seems Marko called a friend with a big
mouth and accidentally mentioned you.”

Clint nodded and grinned. Vic maneuvered
through traffic as only a Panamanian can. Driving in most of the
country is not bad at all, but Panamá City looks like a demolition
derby in progress to those not used to it. They went out to an
upscale community and in through the gate to a large and rather
ostentatious house with a wall with razor wire on top and electric
sliding gates. A typical goon was standing inside to open the gates
and gave them dirty looks. Vic sneered at him and ordered that he
tell the lady, excuse the term, they had arrived. A couple of
minutes later they were escorted into a room with an attractive
woman in her forties and a heavy younger man were having a
cocktail. They were pointedly not offered any refreshment.

“
Clint
Faraday, Sra. Vargas and Alfonso Ariel,” Vic said easily. “I think
maybe Marko told you about them when you talked to him
earlier.”

“
He told
me that Sra. Vargas was someone to speak with about certain
matters,” Clint replied as easily. “He said Ariel is a clod of the
lowest order. Seems to have an alligator mouth and a gecko
ass.

“
This is
going to be short and to the point. If you ever try another stunt
to in any way harm any friend of mine your families to the second
cousin will cease to be a problem to anyone else again. Ever. That
includes any suspicious circumstance, such as some street punk
trying to rob an Indio while there were several others around who
obviously had money – as Indios never do. Capich?”

“
It seems
I’m not the only one with an alligator mouth, hunh?” Ariel said,
sneering. Clint grabbed the front of his fancy shirt and yanked him
to his feet. “Difference being I also have an alligator ass, hijo
de puta!”

Their goon grabbed for his Glock – and found
Vic had one stuck in his ear before he could pull it out. Vargas
smirked and laughed. Ariel looked like he would faint.

“
What do
you think this will accomplish?” Vargas asked, pouring a drink from
the pitcher and handing it to Clint. Vic very slightly shook his
head.

“
Thanks.
I don’t drink before dinner,” Clint said and she put the glass on
the table with a hard look at him.

“
Very
well. I promise your friend will have no more problems. He WON’T
have a sale for his land!”

“
You
never intended to buy it, anyhow, so that doesn’t matter,” Vic
said. “We have someone else who wants it and who will pay cash and
who will take care of people. Marko said to remind you of a
conversation he had with you a little over a year ago. It seems you
made an agreement. You broke that agreement with this so you can
wonder when he’ll fulfill the part he promised if you tried any
such stunt. Maybe you could drink that little concoction you just
tried to hand to Clint?”

“
It’s
only a sedative,” Ariel almost screeched. “It won’t hurt anything!
It was just to give us a little time to ... do something about this
situation!”

“
A
sedative mixed with alcohol? It wouldn’t hurt anything?” Clint
asked. “Maybe you can drink it?

“
Come on,
Vic. I think they get the message.”

“
I want
to know who their contacts are on Isla Colón,” Vic replied. “That
can wait. Give them the time to get him – or her – away from where
they can testify if we decide to get the police here onto it.
Panamá City is NOT the kind of place where anyone would want to
spend fifteen years in prison.”

Vic took the pistol from the goon and they
headed for the door. “Hey!” the goon yelled.

“
I’ll
give it to the local policia,” Vic said. “You can apply to get it
back – if you have a permiso for it.”

They went back to the hotel.

In the morning Clint went to breakfast in the
hotel restaurant, then to the hospital. Vic came to the hospital
and said he would drive Clint and Ronaldo back to Bocas. There was
probably a heck of a lot less danger to them now, but it wouldn’t
hurt to be sure – besides which he would like to stay on Isla Colón
for a little vacation. He heard it was a lot like Key West
there.

“
Well,
Key West thirty or so years ago,” Clint agreed. “There are a lot of
gringos. Some are good people, but some are as low a scum as you’ll
find anywhere.”

They chatted and the doctors said it would be
alright to take Ronaldo to anywhere there was good medical
attention available. There isn’t on Isla Colón, but Clint didn’t
want to leave him in Panamá City.

“
I have a
friend in David, which is a bit more than halfway back and the
medical in David is as good as anywhere in the world for most
things,” Clint suggested. “I think he has a place, a little farm
where there’s already an Indio from Bocas staying so he has room
there.” He used his cell phone to call Charlie, who said Ronaldo
was more than welcome so they made arrangements and headed for
David a little after noon, arriving there just at dark. Clint got a
call from Judi just as they were getting to David.

“
Clint?
How are things? Did you find Ronaldo okay?”

“
Yeah,
and things are pretty well settled now. We’re staying in David for
a day or so, then coming on to Bocas. Ronaldo will stay here until
the doctors say it’s safe for him to be away from the
hospitals.

“
How are
things there?”

“
It’s
really why I called you. Seems Hank Elmore was murdered sometime
last night or this morning.”

Clint swore colorfully. Vic asked what the
problem was now.

“
I have
to get to Bocas right away. I’ll drive if you want me
to.”

“
I like
to drive. We can go on just as soon as we drop Ronaldo
off.

“
Same
problem – or maybe the same cause of the problem?” Vic
asked.

“
I wish
to hell I knew!” Clint fired back acidly.

“
Ola,
Clint! Que tal?” Capt. Menendez greeted. “Tiene otro cuerpo muerte
aqui!”

“
So I
heard,” Clint replied. “Hank Elmore, arrogant
pain-in-the-ass.

“
How did
he die?”

“
Stuck
five or six times with a long knife. Bigger than a pocket knife,
but smaller than a machete. He fought back some, but the first one
was in the throat so he couldn’t yell, not that anyone would hear
him out here. It was before seven. Don’t know anything much more.
He was, it seems, making a telephone call, so we can find the time,
I suppose.”

“
That cel
phone?” Clint asked. “Have you checked it for prints?”

“
Only
his,” Menendez replied.

Clint picked up the phone, checked the menu
and punched to return the last dialed call. He got a woman who said
she had talked with Hank the night before about ten thirty.

He then called the last incoming call and got
a Jim Callas at the marina on Carenero. He asked when he had called
Hank.

“
Hank
who?”

“
Elmore.”

“
Mr.
Elmore? At six thirty to have him tell Silvio to call me when he
came in. He’s supposed to do some work on his dock.
Why?”

“
Because
he died about ten minutes later or less.”

“
Died? I
don’t understand. He seemed in good health. Didn’t ever complain
the two times I met him.”

“
Murdered,” Clint replied. “Thanks.”

“
Murdered? No kidding? Shit!”

“
My
reaction almost exactly, if for another reason. Thanks.” Clint
clicked off. “He died between six thirty and seven.” Menendez
nodded.

Clint checked around, then said he was going
to talk to some people. Silvio had NOT come to work, apparently,
and that wasn’t like him. He found him at the tour dock. “How come
you didn’t go to Elmore’s this morning? Jim at the marina at
Carenero wants you to call him.”

“
I went
over, but he wasn’t there or something. Didn’t come out so I
figured maybe he hadn’t got the materials yet.”

“
He’s
dead, so I guess you won’t get that job. Call Jim.

“
What
time did you get there?

“
About a
quarter to seven. He’s really cut into little pieces?”

“
Cut, but
not that extreme. That narrows it. Six thirty to seven. Oh! Did you
see anyone around the area? Somebody on the road or in a
boat?”

“
No.
Well, Carlos passed me going toward the point. I waved, but I guess
he didn’t see me. He was bent over working on the tackle or
something.”