Clint Faraday Mysteries Collection B :This Job is Murder Collector's Edition (33 page)

He asked about anyone. Clint was well-known.
He sighed and went to bed.

“
Clint? This is Moises. I’m still in
Chiriqui Grande.”

“
Coin dega.” Clint replied.

“
Remember that preacher? Emanuel the
Great or something such? The one on the bus?”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
He stayed here in Chiriqui Grande last
night. He didn’t say too much about Christ or any of that. He
actually made a couple of friends. He seems to really be interested
in people. He had to stop himself, it was obvious, a few times from
saving souls or whatever.

“
Clint, I don’t know what’s going on.
Two men came from Panamá City and were asking about him. We don’t
like them and they aren’t the kind of people we ... we were
suspicious so I told everyone to say they didn’t know who they were
talking about. When gringos come into our places we mostly act like
they’re not there. (Not true. The Indios are the most welcoming
people in the world!) and deliberately don’t remember anything
about them. They said they were from the government and that he had
problems about his passport. They said they were afraid he was one
of those terrorists from the United States. I said if there is
anything the indigenos don’t give a shit about it is those stupid
terrorists or the more stupid people who let them scare
them.

“
That seemed to anger the one in some
way. I can’t imagine why.

“
Anyhow, I thought you should
know.”

“
Are the two still there?”

“
Yes. They were right here ten minutes
ago.”

“
Thanks, friend. I’ll manage to come
there to shop or something in a little bit. Maybe I’ll accidentally
meet them and be able to see what the hell they want – and
why.”

They chatted a few minutes about everyday
things, then Clint hung up and put a few thing in his boat. Judi
came out on her deck and waved. He called that he was going to
Chiriqui Grande. Did she want to go?

She said she’d be ready in five minutes,

He chatted on the way about what was going on
in Panamá. He wouldn’t mention why he was going to Chiriqui Grande
so she wouldn’t let it slip that he was there for any specific
purpose.

Judi? What? He had slipped a cog? Judi Lum
would let something slip?

“
What’s it about, Clint? You were in
Chiriqui Grande yesterday, then suddenly want to go shopping there
today?”

He told her. He said the guy was weird
enough, but a standard type of weird. He was damned curious as to
why anyone would be after him. Particularly with a lame excuse like
terrorism in Bocas del Toro, Panamá. She was the best he’d met at
getting information by acting like she wasn’t the least interested
in whatever.

They came into the dock where Moises was
working on his cayuca. He was adjusting the injectors on his
motor.

“
Injectors? On a twenty five horsepower
outboard?” Judi asked.

“
Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to get
it adjusted just right! It doesn’t
have
injectors!” he replied.

They joked a bit. Moises said the two were at
the hotel, still asking about Emanuel. He had the word out that it
would be a good idea if they had a lot of trouble finding him.

“
He took the bus to Changuinola. He
wanted to visit some of the smaller pueblas to learn the real way
of life of the people. I suppose he got off at Rio Uyama or
Norteno.”

“
Point them out to me where they can’t
see. I’ll manage to run into them somewhere,” Judi
suggested.

“
They’re hard to miss,” Moises replied.
“The two big morenos with lots of flashy jewelry. Suits – and you
can tell they don’t wear suits in whatever they really do. At the
hotel.”

Judi grinned and said she’d give Clint a ring
if she learned anything. She strolled toward the hotel. Clint
thought a bit and said to have someone suggest Emanuel went to see
Valle de Aguas. There was a tiny chance he got off there, but it
was a very unlikely destination.

He went into the town and chatted with a
couple of people, then happened to be passing the little restaurant
across the street from the hotel when Judi came out with two big
blacks. One of them kept trying to paw at her, but she was expert
in avoiding that! She saw Clint and waved. Clint waved back and
went into the restaurant. She brought the two over and introduced
Roberto Smith and his cousin, Willie Silva, from Panamá City,
working in immigration for the government looking for a suspected
drug smuggler.

“
Drug smuggler? I thought ... didn’t
Jorge say ... terrorist?” Clint asked innocently.

“
Oh! Er, we just said that to get
information. The truth is, seeing you’re a gringo, he was trying to
assassinate President Martinelli. We’re trying to find him to
deport him back to, uh, Canada.”

“
Isn’t it exciting!” Judi cried. “He’s
the one you were telling me about that sat next to you on the bus
and tried to convert you to that silly cult or
whatever!”

The two exchanged looks. Willie looked like
he just got a fist in the gut.

“
That nut? He didn’t try to assassinate
anybody. He wouldn’t have the spine to kill a mouse in the
kitchen.”

“
Er, I guess we’ll have to level with
you. He absconded with more than a million dollars of church money.
It was for a fund for construction, now we have a church half built
and no money to finish it.”

“
A million dollars for a church
building in a country where there’s so much poverty and where so
many need medical and can’t afford it?” Judi asked, looking shocked
(she was good at that, too). “That’s downright sick! It’s
disgusting!

“
So. You sit here wearing two hundred
dollar suits and ten thousand dollars worth of jewelry looking for
somebody who stole a million dollars for a church building. You
cruds ever hear the words `scam’ or `corruption?’ You’re
disgusting!”

She got up and walked out.

Moises was out front when she marched out,
talking with a gringo tourist who looked a little familiar. Clint
was sure he’d seen him somewhere, but couldn’t place him. Blond,
blue-eyed Swiss or Dane, by the look. Judi grinned at Moises and
pointed at Clint. He got the message and came in to say, “Clint?
You asked where that preacher went if we could find out?

“
He went to Valle de Aguas, according
to Sylvia. He wants to see the Caribbean from the mountains and to
see how the people live.

“
I see these two mentirosas are with
you. They were asking about him, but told three different stories
why so we didn’t try to find anything for them. We don’t like
mentirosas from the government here and will not cooperate with
them in anything.”

“
Thanks, Moises. They’re just
government agents. They’re alike everywhere in the world. They
think they have to make up an exciting lie to get information when
it would be faster and easier if they would only bother to tell the
truth. Politician and liar are synonyms.”

“
They’re what?”

“
They’re the same word said with
different pronunciation.”

“
Oh. I’m going home. Care to
come?”

“
I’ll be out there next week. Tell
everyone I said `oye!’ and send my love.”

They hugged, then Moises left.

“
Maybe I’ll go to Valle de Aguas to ...
no. Why bother? He’s not up to anything. I’ll just do my shopping
and go back to Bocas.

“
Have a nice day or
whatever.”

They looked embarrassed and grunted. Clint
walked out.

Now Clint really was curious. He simply
couldn’t connect Emanuel with anything to do with crime or
terrorism or anything else – other than evangelism. Of course, that
could be what made him the perfect agent for some kind of stupid
political intrigue.

Moises was waiting near the dock. He said he
knew where Emanuel was. Rio Uyama.

Rio Uyama

Clint went to the dock where Judi was talking
with several of the Indios and their wives and children. She had
bought a big bag of cookies to pass out. He told her to take the
boat back to Bocas and he’d come later or tomorrow on the bus. He
wanted to find out what this was about.

They chatted there for a few minutes with
their friends. Judi noticed Willie and Roberto were off to the side
watching them and told Clint. He got in the boat with her and her
packages (while she was there anyhow she did some shopping) and
they headed out toward the islands. When they were out from Punta
Robalo she came to the dock and dropped Clint off. He would get a
bus there for Rio Uyama.

His cellular buzzed. It was Fredrico, with
the policia in Chiriqui Grande. He said he heard Clint was in town.
It may not mean anything, but Anita Clemento Serena L. died in a
strange accident late last night. She was a very powerful and very
corrupt woman who had caused several of the gringos in the area a
lot of problems to force bribes from them.

“
What kind of accident?”

“
She had a dangerous electrical fence
on her gate. She came home after midnight and got out of her
Mercedes automobile to unlock the gate. The disconnect wire on the
switch to the lock had rusted through and the wire was off. She
touched the gate and it electrocuted her. Fitting, but rather
strange.

“
You were here yesterday and again
today. I wondered if she was the center of your attention or if it
was a coincidence.”

“
I’ve heard of her. Nothing good. I
didn’t have anything concerning her as a reason to be here. I was
looking into something very different. From what little I know
about her and her family, it was, as you said, fitting.

“
It was probably an accident – unless
there’s something you haven’t told me?”

“
It is just a small suspicion that I
don’t have time to investigate now. I can’t picture her not having
everything, particularly a gate with an electrical connection to
more than twenty times the legal limit, in perfect working
condition at all times.”

“
I see. Sad accident. Case closed. If
it’s some of her crooked friends starting a personal war maybe
they’ll kill off a bunch of them.”

“
We can but hope avidly. If there are
anymore incidents I will contact you. Caio!”

“
Caio.”

Clint wondered. Roberto and Willie? He
couldn’t picture Emanuel having anything to do with any such
thing.

Still?

He walked out to the highway and waited for
the bus. He was in the casita when he saw a big car that he’d seen
in Chiriqui Grande coming so managed to be behind the casita when
it passed. It was Willie and Roberto. Probably headed for Valle de
Aguas.

He got on the bus and off at Rio Uyama. He
asked about the preacher at the almacen and was told that he had
walked on in toward the village by the river a ways off the road.
Clint saw several people he knew and stopped to chat. They had all
noticed the strange man, but said he didn’t say anything about
religion to them. He only asked where to find Carlos Rincón, a
local landowner. They told him they didn’t know much about him
because he was never around. What they didn’t tell him is that they
wouldn’t know anything about the crooked ladron if he was around.
He was not liked by decent people. Emanuel did say that he had a
message for him from some people who mentioned that he had strayed
from the true path. That was as close to religion as he came.

Clint went on to the village and found that
Emanuel had gone on toward the rancho about a kilometer toward the
west. The very large and ostentatious red brick house in the
valley. There was another stranger around.

Clint remembered the man in Chiriqui Grande
who was talking with Moises.

No. This one was dark and had longish hair.
Panamanian, probably. He was probably just looking around and
hadn’t spoken with anyone. No one saw his eyes because he was
wearing dark glasses.

He met Emanuel about two-thirds of the way
there, coming back. He said he talked to a man in Chiriqui Grande
who said that Mr. Rincón was someone who could use some counseling
about his evil ways and had come to see what it was about, though
he suspected that a sharp businessman had gotten the best of his
complainer in some deal.

“
He is, it seems, in some place near
the Pacific. All I wished to do was speak with the man and try to
determine the truth. Perhaps I may be of use in such an endeavor. I
would not make the faith a part of it except to the extent of
showing which passages were pertinent to the problem.

“
I find many people who are spoken of
as evil are merely misguided and unable to communicate their true
feelings so hide behind a facade of toughness or such. That is most
true in Haiti and Jamaica and is spreading through many large
cities in the states. Miami, Los Angeles, New York and so forth,
where people who are usually very afraid of life pretend a
toughness that is not there. It is what they all call a macho
complex. It is, in greatest part, the direct result of the extreme
glorification of violence through the moving pictures and
television, with particular attention to this horrible rap music
stuff, I fear. The culture is decadent and holds little hope for a
good future anymore. The most negative traits are the ones
glorified.