Clint Faraday Mysteries collection A Muddled Murders Collector's Edition (96 page)

They did.

It was drizzling a bit in Panamá City,
nothing unusual this time of the year. Clint went directly to the
Hotel California. Sergio had called and asked for a room for him.
There wasn’t one available. They arranged for him to stay at the
Europa. It was close enough that it wouldn’t matter.

He went to the California for dinner. He had
the shrimp spaghetti, which he particularly liked there. No one
knew anything. That was the place to find information of a certain
type. It wasn’t there. Clint knew who to ask.

The Europa had some bigshots staying there
who left about the time the Continental flight got to Tucumen. One
was a main man in the government here. In immigration. The other
two were from Colombia and Venezuela. The Venezuelan was almost
assassinated at the airport, but a tip saved him.

Interesting. Clint called the Panamá Policía
to find his good friend wasn’t there for another week. He was on
his vacation. A Capitan Lincoln said he knew Clint’s story and
reputation with the department and would grant the same cooperation
he was used to there. He didn’t know much about the Velasquez
assassination attempt. Someone knew all about it beforehand because
a tip was called in describing exactly what was going down. A woman
who called from an airport pay-phone. She made another call later
to tell them a man called El Tigre was the almost-assassin. She
called from a payphone near the Hotel California. Across the Via
España, as a matter of fact. She knew Jimenez would be with
them.

“
Jimenez?” Clint asked.

“
Immigration biggy here. Crooked as a snake, but I didn’t
say that. We haven’t
yet
been able to
catch him. The other one was Gardina, from Colombia.”

“
Why
would they think someone who just arrived on a plane from Miami
would ... I don’t know enough,” Clint complained. “Well, at least I
have a starting point.”

He thought a moment after hanging up, then
went downstairs to the lobby to talk to the staff. None of them had
a clue. He decided to check up on Velasquez and El Tigre. A call to
Manolo, a friend who was an agent for Interpol who knew most of
what was going on. He said Velasquez was into oil or something and
El Tigre could be any of seven people who were known by the name.
What else was he mixed up in?

“
Something to do with immigration, I’d say,” Clint answered.
“Jimenez.”

“
It’s
big, then. Probably El Tigre would be Samuel Gortas. Him or one
other ... no, not big enough. It’ll be Gortas. Anybody else
involved on their end?”

“
Gardina.
From Colombia.”

“
Um-hm.
Gortas. What’s it about?”

“
A woman
in Bocas is to be hit. She happened to be on a plane from Miami
that landed not long before the assassination attempt. A woman
called from the airport with a tip, then called again from near the
Hotel California. They put two and two together and got seven and
three quarters.”

“
They
tend to do that. Good luck!”

Clint thought a minute more. He didn’t know
much. What could be the connection that would make an assassination
attempt among that group? All he had to work on was that Jimenez
was in immigration. That would mean someone was in Panam who was of
interest to the other two – or they were trying to arrange for
someone to come to Panamá who was persona non grata to someone
here.

Logic: Jimenez wouldn’t have much influence
in getting anyone in. He was watched. Someone was here who didn’t
want to be found by those two.

What could be the connection between those
two?

He shook his head and said he would stay the
night in the Europa, then head back to Bocas.

He was out until nearly midnight before he
went back to the hotel and up to his room. He got a telephone
message. A woman. “Boquete. Two years.” She hung up.

Interesting. He would change his plans and go
to David and Boquete. He hoped he had a clear enough clue in
that.

He slept well and left in the morning on the
bus. That would throw the man following him off a bit. He could be
going to David or on to Bocas. From David, he could go anywhere he
liked.

He thought a bit, then called Manolo.

“
Does El
Tigre stand about six two, has longish black hair, about two
twenty? Flashy jewelry, smokes cigars. The small ones. Big diamond
ring and pierced ear.”

“
Uh-huh.
He following you?”

“
He was.
I sort of messed up his head when I caught the bus.”

“
He’ll
beat you to Santiago to see if you get off or go on to David. Be
very careful. He’s very professional, usually. He was rushed, I
suppose, so missed. Maybe he’s figured he was after the wrong one.
That means you’ve figured something and you’re now the dangerous
party, in a manner of speaking.”

Clint talked another minute, then relaxed. He
rode to Penonomé, got off, waited for the second following bus two
hours later and went on to David. He didn’t get off the bus in
Santiago and no one checked inside. El Tigre would have to figure
he never intended to go to David. Now he would have to wonder where
he did go.

He got into David at the rush hour. It was
easy to get off the bus in Las Lomas and take a taxi into David. He
went to El Poderosa and bought a clean change of clothes, then went
to the Pensión Costa Rica and took a room.

He had to worry about one other thing: he
could lead someone to exactly the person he didn’t want them led
to. He had to be very careful.

He went to Poderosa and bought another set of
clothes in a quite different style. He would use a disguise.

A sort of gawky Panameño with rather too long
hair left the Costa Rice wearing a backpack. Lee, the owner,
noticed him and started to say something, paused, then did.

“
What’s
going on here? You come out, but you never went in. You look very
different.”

“
Hi, Lee.
I’m trying not to lead some people to a person they intend to
kill.”

“
Faraday?
I’ll be damned! That’s a damned good disguise!

“
If
anyone knows I’m here I went to Pedrigal and should be back anytime
after an hour or so. I may go to a mariscos place for dinner. This
is Pete Somebody you’re talking to now. You can give Edith a name
to give out if anyone asks if there’s anyone who looks like this
staying.”

“
Okay. Be
careful. If they’re looking to kill someone else and you get in the
way it could be you
and
someone
else.”

Clint nodded and went to the bus station, got
the Bugaba bus, got the Boquete bus in Bugaba and was there in an
hour, strolling around the parque.

Here was Boquete. What about the two
years?

Something happened to someone two years ago
or there was someone who had been here two years.

He went to the coffee shop/restaurante at the
back corner and asked about some friends, which gave him an idea.
He called Robert Fellon, who had been there for about six years.
They met at the restaurante and talked. Clint asked about anyone
who had been there two years and who deliberately remained out of
sight.

“
Maybe
the Johnsons. Maybe those Cortez people,” he replied. “Johnson is
from Ohio and is about sixty five. He’s just antisocial, I think.
Sour disposition and everything’s because the states have gone
straight to hell because of the liberal commies or
something.

“
Cortez
is here from Costa Rica. They’re just disliked, for some reason. He
tries to be more arrogant than some of the gringos here and rubs
you the wrong way ... how about someone who is very much in sight,
but seems to me to be in disguise?”

“
How
so?”

“
Carlos
Vega. He came here with a real knock-out woman, Flora Rios, and was
black-haired and clean-shaven. She was and is a Latina with eyes
that promise you passion and heaven. She wore really sexy clothes
when they got here, but was dressing ‘way down within a week. He
grew a bushy moustache and wears clothes that make him look fatter
than he is. He started wearing glasses two days after they got
here. I’ve looked through them at a newspaper they were laying on.
They’re not magnifying or distorting anything. I’ve seen him
reading a newspaper, suddenly realizing he doesn’t have them on and
puts them on. He smoked cigars constantly the first couple of days
and has stopped smoking altogether. Sometimes you think he’s not
Spanish for some reason. They go to the clubs and drink cokes. Once
in awhile a beer. At a celebration a couple of months ago he drank
a Chivas on the rocks and was getting the second when she got him
aside. He stopped drinking anything and they left after a little
while.

“
The
change in looks. He’d lightened his hair a bit. She cut her long
hair and went for a page-boy look. It doesn’t suit her. She had
beautiful hair down almost to her waist. His hair was clipped very
short, now it’s almost shoulder length. You can tell he doesn’t
like it.

“
Lots of
things you notice if you’re around them for a couple of years that
most people would hardly notice, but I was a cop in
Detroit.”

“
Purloined letters,” Clint said. “Where can I find
them?”

He pointed to the road up the mountain. “That
big stucco place with the big white stone wall. Ostentatious. Like
you said, purloined letters.”

“
Sometimes the best way to hide is to be so close to the
searcher’s face he keeps pushing you aside to see what’s behind
you. Thanks, Bob.”

He went out and to the road, walked up and
looked at the house, started to go in to knock on the door, changed
his mind and went back to the parque. He called Manolo and gave him
the descriptions. Nothing. He called Manny, ditto. He called a
friend in Colombia, Jaime. Nothing.

They weren’t jewel or art thieves. They
weren’t mob-connected. They weren’t involved in drugs. What? Clint
was sure they were it.

One thing to do. He went back to David and to
the pensión and became Clint Faraday again. There had been a call
for him. Edith said he was in Pedrigal.

Okay. His follower knew Clint was in the
pensión, but wasn’t there earlier. He would be watching the place.
Clint couldn’t walk out if he didn’t first walk in.

Lee owned the whole quarter block. He was
building a restaurant on the side street that could be entered
through the pensión. Clint became himself and went through the
little yard and into the restaurant. He scanned the street
carefully outside, then casually strolled along the side of the
building and in the front. Edith greeted him and said someone was
looking for him. He nodded and went back to his room, stayed about
twenty minutes, then went out and to the little local restaurant
across from the taxi stand and Romero’s. Gortas came to sit at a
table behind him. He got the plate and went to sit across from
Gortas, who looked a bit surprised, then a bit more scared.

“
Give!”
Clint ordered. “Who are you looking for and why? How were you ever
so stupid as to involve the innocent tourist woman in your
scheme?”

Gortas studied him for a minute, then
grinned. “I would waste my time lying to you. I think you’re a very
dangerous hombre.

“
I am
very sorry she became involved. The situation is very dangerous to
some powerful people in three countries and it appeared she was the
one person who could know too much about it. She is in no danger
more. This I swear.”

“
You’ll
send her five thousand dollars and an apology,” Clint stated. “If
you ever do anything like that again you won’t survive the day.
It’ll be done in such a way you’ll beg to end it. I’m not
interested in this shit beyond seeing that woman has things made as
right as possible to her.

“
I
am
curious.” He waited a
moment.

“
It’s
about some people who were planning a robbery of a lot of emeralds
a certain person who got them by the same tactics was holding in a
vault. There was something else in the vault. Some very important
information about some VERY important people. They got the
information and a few of the emeralds, which they have discreetly
turned into cash, which is how we found who they are.”

“
The
information is about people staying here in Panamá to hide from
other people?”

“
Si. And
people in other countries who are hiding from people here. These
people tend to spend inordinate time hiding.”

“
It’s
usually because they tried shortcuts to something they didn’t
really want,” Clint said. “Are these hidden people hiding from
others like them or from more, shall we label them, legal
situations?”

“
Those
people don’t hide from legal situations. That is why so many sleazy
lawyers are needed.”

Clint grinned. He could like Gortas if he
wasn’t what he was.

“
If I
return the information to you, will you stop the search for the
ones who got it?”

“
Him,
yes. Her, no way! She’s the type to use what she knows for
blackmail. It will make a bad situation much worse.”

“
That is
fact?” Clint stared hard into his eyes.

“
This is
not her first ... escapade. It is not her third.”

Clint nodded. “Give me a cel number and do
NOT follow me. I’ll see what I can do.”

“
Have you
seen her?” Gortas asked with a small smirk on his face.